Why was she here?She was clearly looking for something she didn’t find. Why didn’t she kill me—us?She had every opportunity to slit our throats beforeandafter sniffing out my secrets stashed in the studio. Instead, she left a note on the very book her hide was destined for and called it a night.
“What’s our next move, brother?” Dantë sips his morning coffee, his focus lingering on the torn page lying atop the kitchen island.
Brontë,it reads,I found your pretty skeletons. Sadly, I don’t think the feds would admire your creativity nearly as much as me. I’ll make this simple: If you don’t want to worry about dropping the soap for the rest of your life, call me. I could use your help in serving poetic justice.
P.S. Don’t bother calling the cops. I think you know by now they’re as useless as tits on a rock.
Poppy’s number is scribbled in the bottom corner. I’m surprised it doesn’t contain a triple 6.
“Not a clue,” I admit, pausing the video on the little devil watching me sleep with a somber tilt to her head. She’s not smiling nor sniggering like she was after peeking into Dantë’s room. She’s looking at me as if she also wrestles with demons on a nightly basis. Like she may actually have a saint’s heart beating in that sinner’s chest. “I need to think.”
Dantë nods and turns away. I grab his hood, stopping him mid-stride. Reminiscent of when we were kids, I lean my brow against his.
“Are you sure you want to keep going?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Carefully, I say, “You know why.”
Dantë’s red eyes anchor to mine, allowing me to see every individual thread of maroon and vermilion and rose weaving through his haunted irises. “No, I don’t.”
“Don’t play dumb with me like you did with Poppy. I know the real reason you stalked that Hale girl.”
Since hearing him lie to Poppy about Margot still being in his life, I’ve had my suspicions. He may be helping me for no other reason aside from having my back like any decent brother would. But he’s also got some skin in this game.
Margot was the love of Dantë’s life until the day she abandoned him after he handed her a priceless heirloom. Grief has been eating him alive day in, day out. He lost his best friend, the person he wanted at his side for the rest of his life. Even after a year without her, he’s beenclinging to the shred of hope that she’ll come back and prove to him she isn’t the thief she turned out to be.
But she hasn’t. And he’s desperate for answers.
Desperate enough to tread back through the underworld to find her.
“Tell me where I’m wrong,” I say when he remains deafeningly silent. “You stalked Remiel to see for yourself how much of a risk you’d be taking in hiring her to trace Margot. When you realized your precious hacker was affiliated with the Morgensterns, you bailed.”
Dantë drops his gaze, avoiding my probing stare. “I told you it was recon. You’re the one who jumped to conclusions about my rivalry with her as Halestorm.”
“Conclusions you didn’t deny.” I lean back so he can fully appreciate my irked frown. “Now, you’re what? Helping me slay the dragon for the treasure beyond?”
“I’m not the only one benefitting from this. You want that dragon dead, too.”
“I want justice. Hundreds of innocent lives could be saved if this monster dies.” I jab a finger into his chest. “Youwant the inconvenience removed for your own personal gain.”
“Can you blame me?” He swats me off and drags a tattooed hand through his hair. “Margot took Mama’s ring and ran. Ineedto find her. I…” He stalls, tugging his hood up to shade his downturned lashes. I don’t speak, giving him space to think through what I can only imagine is a warzone of emotion. “That ring is the only piece of our mother we have left, Brontë. I need to get it back. I can’t do that without finding Margot. If anyone can track her down, it’s Remiel.”
I close my eyes and see our mother’s glimmering opal ring. It was her mother’s, her grandmother’s, and so on. A true Bourbon heirloomhanded from generation to generation through the noble French bloodline. Stolen by the same person who broke my brother’s heart.
“He’s your brother, mon petit chérubin,” Mama used to say, her hazel eyes bright with pride. “Take care of him. Always.”
I vowed to protect him. Never have I broken that vow.
I’ll be damned to every circle of hell if I do so now.
My eyes open and lock onto the note. “Time to best a devil, then.”
MAELSTROM
Poppy
September rain drums the glass as Emi’s aquamarine eyes bore into mine. “The fuck did you just say?”
