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I rushed out, took Anthony by the neck, and slammed him against the nearest wall. His back collided with a hard thud, and the man gasped, immediately struggling to free himself—and failing, because I was much taller and much stronger than him.
“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” He choked out in a hurry, “You hate the Black Hand, right? My boss, he—” I guess Miguel was his new boss. Go figure. Didn’t think Shay and the others would appreciate that one bit. This man was a dead man walking. “—he wants to take the Hand down, and he wants your help.”
I choked him a little harder at that, like I was still debating on killing him, to which Anthony started to gasp. “He’s the reason you’re free right now. He wants to team up, kill ‘em all. Ain’t that what you want?”
My chest rumbled with fury, but I let the man’s neck go and took a step back. When you were much taller than the average man, so muscular it was plain to any with eyes, it was all too easy to be intimidating. Plus, Anthony was on edge given his current task, so it didn’t take much to make him quake in his boots.
Anthony coughed as he massaged his neck. “Uh, is that a yes? Good. We, uh, should get out of here now.” He hurried away, though he did toss one glance back at me before scampering away.
I followed him, though I did not scamper. I took my time, acting as though I had to stretch my legs and crack my knuckles and all that. Anthony led me out of the house, to his parked car. He got me inside the backseat, and then we drove out of there like a bat out of hell.
I sprawled out in the back seat of the car, making myself at home. Anthony was nothing more than a ball of nerves in the driver’s seat. His hand shook as he took out his phone and made a call as we pulled out onto the road.
Miguel must’ve answered, because Anthony muttered, “I got him. We’re on our way now.” He ended the call after that, and his eyes glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “It’s a fifteen-minute drive, so, uh… just relax, okay?”
I said not a word, letting the mask on my face speak for me. That only served to make Anthony more uncomfortable. Let’s just say it was a good thing he couldn’t see the smirk behind the mask.
This was kind of fun, in a twisted sort of way.
I’d never been to the manor Miguel had bought when he’d moved to Cypress. Never had the opportunity to visit Giselle where she lived before she was thrust upon Luca Moretti. It was even more impressive than Nixon’s estate, in size and newness.
As we pulled up to the front door, where a pair of guards were waiting, I wrestled with my hatred for the man himself. After everything Miguel Santos did to Giselle, after selling her and making her life miserable three years ago to wanting her dead now so he could use her death as a rung on the ladder of his climb to power… I hated him.
I hated him more than I’d ever hated anyone in my life. No exaggeration there. No jokes. Just a hard, unflinching, burning hatred inside of me for the self-made mafia king.
I got out of the car with Anthony, and I followed him up to the front door of the house. The two guards paid the man in front of me no heed whatsoever; their eyes were on me and me alone, sizing me up, judging me, perhaps wondering if the Cobra really was as crazy as they’d heard.
Inside the house, Anthony led me to a seating room, where Miguel was waiting for us. Old couches with ugly designs were scattered in the room, along with a wooden boudoir on the far left side, its glass upper shelves housing a vast array of alcohol. My feet stopped when I saw Miguel, and I wrestled with my hatred for the man.
Miguel’s black eyes flicked to Anthony for the quickest of seconds. “Thank you, Anthony. You’ve done well. You will be compensated heavily for this—later. Right now, I need to talk with my guest.” Venom was laced with each word, or perhaps I only heard it because I knew just how big of a bastard he was.
Miguel wore an all-black suit and tie combo. Combine that with his darker features and his confidence, it was easy to see how he’d made such an empire for himself. Commanding and fierce, ready to backstab anybody to get what he wanted.
Anthony bowed his head and was gone within seconds, leaving me alone with Miguel.
“Well,” Miguel spoke, eyeing me up, “I certainly didn’t think that would go off without a hitch.” He stepped in front of me, offering me his hand. “Miguel Santos.”
I did not take his hand, nor did I remain close to him. I gave him my back as I started to wander the room. My voice came out lower than it normally was, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Straight to business. I like that. I’m much the same.” Miguel went to the boudoir and bent to retrieve two glasses from the lower portion. “I don’t suppose you want anything?” My non-answer was indeed my answer, but he didn’t seem to mind. He pulled out a crystal decanter and filled one of the glasses.
How easy it would be to kill him. He had guards stationed outside and probably a gun on his figure, but I could still kill him. I could do it, save us all the trouble.
But that’s not what Giselle wanted to do. She wanted to end him, and I respected that.
“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” Miguel started, moving to sit on one of the couches facing where I was. His fingers held onto the glass, and he brought it to his lips to take a small sip. “I assume Anthony told you something to stop you from killing him when he set you free.”
“The Hand,” I growled out from behind the mask.
“Yes, the Hand. A thorn in both of our sides. You are looking at one of its newest members, actually.” Miguel lifted the glass, as if toasting me. “Wouldn’t have gotten here without your previous activities. Butchering Piper Lipman’s family made her give up her position.”
I gripped the back of the couch I stood near, glaring hard at Miguel. “What do you want?”
“Generally? I want the world, but in this instance, where you and I are concerned, I want Cypress. I want the Black Hand gone—save for myself, of course. I want them all dead, Tristan.” He took another sip from his glass, pausing as he studied me. “It is you under there, isn’t it?”
All I did was grip the couch harder.
“No matter. You can be the Cobra again. I need him more than I need Tristan Arrowwood. I want us to become partners. Help me with the Hand, and I will let you keep that precious sister of yours—provided you both leave Cypress. If I’m to rule in the Black Hand’s stead, she’ll have to be assumed dead.”
