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I thrum my fingers against my arm in irritation as the music pounds in my ears.

All I want is to pull my phone out. To find wherever Cinnamon is. To go to that exact place.

Instead, I sit in this fucking chair on top of a club listening to Rye Barley tell me what I already know.

“Romaine is making moves. The death toll has increased in the last week to a hundred. They don’t care who dies,” he bites out. “We need to get this poison off the streets. Find out if they laced it in cocaine or heroine or what.”

Reuben shifts beside me, his muscles flex in his suit. The only sign of his irritation. “We are aware. We have taken four names off the list. Only two remain. Where is Benedict? Shouldn’t he be assisting?”

Rye is an asshole kid. Pompous and proud in all the bad ways. He raises his hooked nose, offering a weak jawline that I could easily pop out of place.

“He is handling keeping a lid on this. A bomb? Who’s bright idea was that?” His voice is scratchy and annoying over the music.

Reuben jolts infinitesimally, his fingers digging into the leather chair.

Rye is being disrespectful. Purposefully so.

But Reuben won’t say anything. He blames himself for Maple’s death.

Rye’s sister.

Benedict’s daughter.

But I don’t have any of those feelings. “Shut the fuck up,” I warn Rye, getting to my feet and walking until I tower over him.

He winces, but attempts to not show fear.

He doesn’t succeed.

I jab a finger at his shirt. “You go off and tell your daddy we are handling our side. It’s time he steps up and does the same. And I will figure out which drugs are laced with the poison.”

Rye gulps but doesn’t answer, he attempts to glare past me at Reuben.

“I’m right here. You’re going to fucking listen to me.” I narrow my eyes in warning.

“Orzo—”

“No!” I snap back at Reuben without turning. “This disrespect is going to end. I found the names. I found the addresses. I found Kale Aldente. I put a tracker on his car. What have you done?”

Rye realizes he is not going to get any help from Reuben, and it is at this point, the fear walks its way into the murky depths of his brittle eyes. “I’ll talk to Dad about helping to track the source of the drugs,” he rushes out.

That’s better. If they fear me, I don’t have to pretend I am something I’m not.

“Good start. Now go.” I grab him by the front of his shirt and propel him towards the stairs.

When I turn around, Reuben is standing with his arms crossed. “I’m going to have to deal with that.”

I step into his space. He has two inches on me, but my boots put us on eye-level. I like that better. “Good. It’s been sixteen years. You either move on or stay stuck in the bullshit of the past. I know which option I choose.”

Cinnamon’s face pops into my mind.

Reuben offers his typical annoyed look that I hate. But he doesn’t speak.

He walks to the rail, looking down at the chaos below.

This club was his father’s. And I know how much he hates it.

But we kept it going. A safe place where the tainted drugs won’t crawl into.