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He shook his head. Blindsided, like me. “They’ve both been worked over a few times judging by the damage—looks like Mejia’s work. That’d explain the three amigos outside getting baked.”
My eyes cut to Liam. “What happened in New York?”
He shrugged. “Dunno. Boss didn’t think he needed me at his side, and he didn’t say a fucking word about any of it at the hotel or on the drive back either. Every bleedin’ day, I took him where he wanted to go, waited for him in the car, ate a fuck lot of pizza, and got a few average blowies from a hot waitress.”
I jutted my chin at Keegan.
“No pizza or blowies for me since I saw you this afternoon,” he replied to my silent question.
My jaw flexed.
Keegan held his hands up. “Easy, Lucifer. Just trying to lighten the mood. I have a feeling this night’s gonna be dark as fuck.”
“Where’s my brother now?” I asked Liam. I tried to ignore the sense that Keegan’s prediction had a ring of truth to it.
“I dropped him off at home about two hours ago.”
Home. Willa. Images of her curled up in her bed sleeping like an adorable nymph after our morning training session floated to the front of my mind.
Keegan and I had received a group text from Liam telling us that Raphael wanted to meet here at nine o’clock sharp.
That was the first clue that something wasn’t right. I couldn’t recall the last time Raphael had visited our warehouse in the industrial park.
The second clue?
The three shady motherfuckers—members of the Mejia Cartel—loitering outside next to a black SUV with limo tint, sharing a joint.
Keegan glanced down at his phone. “It’s almost nine. Raph should—”
The warehouse door opened, and the chill of the Boston Harbor rushed in.
Raphael’s profile filled the entrance. He paused, eyes scanning, and then he stepped forward, his twisted grin already intact.
He glanced over his shoulder just as the night air was sealed off. A significantly smaller figure appeared on his right.
Willa.
Every muscle in my body pulled taut. A cloud of suspicion and trepidation settled over me.
She doesn’t belong here.
Willa’s gaze remained fixated on the floor as Raphael looped his arm through hers. He guided her closer. The staccato of their footsteps ricocheted off the wall.
It made me think of a funeral march—but for whom?
I’d read the room the moment Raphael and Willa stepped in; Tariq Zoto wasn’t the only one Raphael had beef with tonight. This situation had been orchestrated at my brother’s behest.
Raphael didn’t stop until they were nearly within arm’s reach.
I recognized the oversize mink coat that weighed down Willa’s slight frame—it was my mother’s.
Willa raised her head slightly, the blonde veil shifted, and one sapphire eye full of angst and warning found me for a heartbeat.
My blood simmered with contempt as I swung my gaze to Raphael.
He grinned. “What’s got you in such a foul mood, brother? I expected a warmer welcome from you after being gone for a week ... especially considering I brought you back a present. Well, not me personally. I may have picked it out, but our good friends over at the Mejia Cartel were in charge of the wrapping and delivery.”
Raphael stepped up to Zoto, whose head drooped like a dead flower. My brother spun around to face me and hiked a thumb over his shoulder. “He’s right here. My gift to you. See? I’ve saved you and Keegan all the trouble of running around Boston searching for the kryetar.”
