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I arch a brow and cut him a glare. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You really think they’d do that?”
“No. Yes. I don’t fucking know. That's why I'm talking to you about it.” He cuts me a glare with an arched brow.
“Yeah, well, I’m telling you to drop it until you can talk to them and fucking drive us to our girl.”
A muscle in his jaw flexes, but the silence feels like hell on my nerves. Not quite the calmness I was anticipating.
A ring pierces the weighted silence, the touch-screen on the dashboard brightening up, showing Rafe’s number.
Matteo answers on the second ring. “We’re running late, but we’ll be there—”
“I don’t care what speed Dante has to go, you fucking get here now. Our brother’s life depends on it.” Rafe hangs up before Matteo or I say a word.
Matteo slams on the gas, expertly maneuvering around other cars on the highway as I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Rafe. He doesn’t answer, and I don’t leave a voicemail.
“What are you thinking?”
Matteo never takes his eyes from the road. “I don’t know what to think. We need more information.”
I nod as a thick sweep of foreboding churns in my gut. Whatever it is, we can handle it. “Maybe Leo pissed off the wrong congressman or something.”
Matteo doesn’t answer me, and I can practically see the gears turning inside his head. The car lurches forward with another press of the gas pedal, and we fly down the highway.
