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“That went well.” I take a long sip of my drink and lean back. “It’ll teach those motherfuckers to cross us.”
Tristan twists to face me, a few specks of dried blood caked on the side of his face. “Do you think it’ll be enough to make them heel?”
“It should, and if it isn’t, we put our second plan into motion.”
Tristan frowns and twists back, so he’s facing the front. “Anita is going to be pissed.”
“She’ll get over it.”
Since it was her idea to contact her half-brother, an uncle I’d never met who led the Blackthorne branch in Hong Kong, Anita now has to deal with the fallout. I will not apologize for how I handled things. Not if it means allowing all that hard work to go to waste.
Because of me, the Blackthorne empire will live to see another day, and I know that once Anita gets over her shock, she’ll understand.
She has to.
I fish my phone out of my pocket, switch it back on, and dial Isabella’s number. While I wait for her to pick up, I press the button to lift the partitions up. Enclosed in my own little bubble, I lean back and unfasten a few buttons on my shirt.
Isabella picks up on the last ring, sounding breathless. “Hi.”
I take another sip of my drink. “Enjoying yourself without me, dove?”
“I fell asleep,” Isabella replies with a yawn. “Is everything okay?”
“I’ll be home a little late. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”
“I’ll wait up for you,” Isabella replies after a brief pause. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Don’t go anywhere at all if you can.”
Isabella opens her mouth to protest, but I hang up, not wanting to hear the rest of her sentence. When I lean back against the chair, my glass is empty, and the tight feeling in my chest hasn’t abated. Although I’ve been looking forward to teaching my enemies a lesson, it doesn’t feel as good as I thought it would.
Once Ernesto screeches to a halt outside of Sing Sing prison, I button my shirt up all the way and wipe away the dried blood on my hands and face. Then I get out of the car, and Ernesto falls into step beside me. Inside, the guards recognize us and wave us through rows and rows of other visitors. We are led down a series of hallways with chipped paint and the faint underlying smell of sweat and urine.
At the end of the hallway, the prison guard with a bald head and a protruding belly removes a key from his belt loop. He pushes the door open with a creak, revealing former Mayor Frances in an orange jumpsuit, with his back pressed against a small bed. Frances doesn’t open his eyes or react when he hears us.
The guard nods in the direction of the camera and gives Ernesto a meaningful look.
“I was wondering when you’d be back.” Without opening his eyes, Frances rises to his feet. His hair is white now and thinning, but he’s got a determined set to his shoulders. “Come to finish what you started?”
I glance at Ernesto, who pulls the door shut and presses his back against the wall. When I look back at Frances, he has his arms folded over his chest and an unfamiliar gleam in his eyes. “Do you know what you are, Carter Blackthorne?”
I roll the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows. Then I take off my jacket and hand it to Ernesto, who drapes it over his arm. “You love hearing the sound of your own voice, don’t you?”
Frances’ eyes don’t leave my face. “Not as much as you do.”
I close the distance between us and punch Frances in the stomach. “It takes one to know one. Do you know why you would’ve been a shit mayor? Because you don’t have the guts to do what needs to be done.”
Frances winces but doesn’t respond.
I land another punch to his stomach, and Frances’ knees give out. He throws his head back to look up at me, and I hold his gaze for a few seconds. Abruptly, I land another punch, aiming for his jaw. Little pinpricks of pain dance up and down my arms, but I don’t care.
It feels good to have some control back, especially after the past couple of weeks.
While a part of me is worried about what I’m going to find when I go home to Isabella, I try to push that out of my mind. Not only do I have no semblance of control where her trauma is concerned, but I also know that if I dwell on it for too long, it’s going to drive me crazy.
For both our sakes, I need to remain calm and collected. My dove needs the smart and calculating man she first met. Not the version of me that’s been pacing the entire length of Anita’s house while red-hot rage burned through me.
That Carter isn’t of use to anyone.
