Page 19 of Guilty as Sin

It’s a text from Liam. Only one word.

Liam: Call

I clench my jaw. He knows I’m with my wife the morning after our wedding. Whatever he needs to talk about, it’s urgent. I lock Cora’s phone and put it back in the position I found it. Then I call my older brother.

Liam answers on the first ring and asks me if I’m still at the hotel. When I say that I am, he tells me to meet him in the gym. He hangs up without explanation.

I consider leaving a note for my wife to tell her where I’ve gone. That’s what husbands do, isn’t it?

But I’m no ordinary husband.

And frankly, I’m pretty fucking pissed about what I just found on her phone.

I slip my own phone back into my pocket. My wallet and room key are in the bedroom with Cora, but I don’t need them. I’m the fucking manager. I can get into any hotel room I want. I don’t bother with a shirt or shoes, I just head out the door.

As I approach my hotel’s gym, a ponytailed blonde steps out into the hall. She’s sweaty from her workout. The glistening kind. When she catches sight of me shirtless and barefoot, she pauses.

“Hey,” she says to me. She toys with the towel around her neck. It has the intended effect of getting me to look at her sports bra.

“Too skinny,” I tell her.

You’re not Cora would’ve been more accurate.

I hear the blonde huff as the gym door closes behind me. I see Liam on a treadmill, then verify there’s no one else in the room. It’s a state-of-the-art facility, all top-tier equipment with a fine view of the city. But some people just can’t be bothered. I lock the door before heading over to my brother.

His pace is ludicrous, way faster than I’ve ever cared to run. But Liam’s always gone for more lean muscle than bulk. I prefer weights. The satisfying strain of knowing how powerful I am.

When I circle around to the front of Liam’s treadmill, we don’t bother with hellos.

“Seven interfered with one of our shipments last night,” he says. He’s barely winded.

I curse loudly as he gives me a grim nod.

“How much?” I ask.

“Half a million dollars’ worth of product.”

I curse again. “Stolen?”

“Destroyed. Set on fire and driven into the cut.”

Jesus. It seems excessive. But this is Seven we’re talking about. He sends his messages loud and clear. And leaving one of our vehicles in the river means the cops will probably find it. If they haven’t already.

“None of our vehicles are traceable,” I remind my brother.

He grunts in acknowledgment. But the way he keeps running with his eyes straight ahead, he doesn’t seem reassured.

I should be offended. I’m the one in charge of the fleet. I’m the one who ensures all our plates are clean. All our VINs are scrubbed. All our parts are unmarked. I’m good at my job, and Liam trusts me. I know that without question. The fact that he’s still seeking reassurance means he’s legitimately worried.

“Our men?” I ask.

“Three beaten. Bad but they’re recovering at home. One burned. He was taken to Sinai.”

“Shit.” Sinai’s not one of the hospitals under our control. “Under guard?” I ask.

Liam gives me a look. Of course our man’s under guard.

“Does Da know?” I ask.