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Every fiber of Rafe’s being screamed for him to bolt from the booth and call Philippe to tell him everything. To rush straight to Arsenault Manor and barricade them all inside so no one else could be weeded out. To slam his fist into Nolan’s face and keep punching until there was nothing left but bloody pulp and fangs.
But he did none of those things.
He lifted his drink to his lips and took only a moderate sip, praying he could somehow wash the acidic taste of Nolan’s words from his body.
It was only when all his swirling emotions were under tight control that he finally spoke.
“That is critical information to know. But why tell me? You’ve already admitted to speaking with Marcus on several occasions. Even with Aiden present, he’s clearly the one who handles such messy details as alliances.”
“True, but you’re the one who’s been seen the most with the clan leader.” Nolan gestured with his glass, moving it toward Rafe. “I’d wager Marcus would seek your opinion on the Arsenaults before making a decision.”
Rafe clinked his glass against Nolan’s. “And you’d win that wager.”
“I wonder why Philippe has chosen to work with you over Marcus,” Nolan murmured.
“Maybe he thought I’d be more accessible than Marcus since most of his nights are spent dealing with the Ministry. Or maybe he thought I’d be easier to manipulate.” And despite his love for Philippe, Rafe was sure both were very viable reasons when Philippe first thought about reaching out to Rafe and the Variks.
“Possibly.”
“Not a mistake you’d make, huh?” Rafe said with a smile and a playful wink.
Nolan’s answering smile seemed to catch for a split second, but it was just long enough to give him away.
Rafe’s own smile never wavered. He relaxed against the booth and slowly sipped his drink as if he had all the time in the world, while trying to not count the seconds that ticked by before he could warn Philippe. Nolan was in no fucking hurry to leave. He clearly liked the scenery and Rafe’s booze. They drank and talked about a lot of nothing. Hell, Rafe was beginning to worry that Nolan was starting to see him as his new bestie.
Never. Gonna. Happen.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.
The phone rang for the second time as Rafe raced from Blush to his penthouse. Was Philippe ignoring his calls, or was there trouble at Arsenault Manor? There wasn’t a single damn weapon at Blush. If he was going to storm Philippe’s place or defend it against a MacPherson attack, then he needed something.
It had taken forever for Nolan to finally slide out of the booth and mosey out of Blush, full of Rafe’s delicious whisky. He’d waited until the clan leader disappeared out of the club before rushing to his car, his hands trembling and sweaty.
The voice mail message droned on through the speakers, and Rafe growled.
“Philippe, I’ve just had a long, disturbing chat with the MacPherson clan leader. We need to talk. You’re in danger. If you don’t call me in the next five minutes, I’m coming over there with every weapon I can grab and my clan.” Rafe stopped and nearly groaned at himself as he replayed his words in his head. He sounded insane. “Please, Philippe. I know you are still angry because I failed you, but you need to listen to me. You’re in danger. All of your clan is in danger.”
Rafe ended the call as he turned into the private garage for his building. Philippe wasn’t going to call him, not that Rafe entirely blamed him. He had failed him, and Philippe’s first priority was watching out for his people. Didn’t matter. Rafe was going to march over there and make him listen.
After he grabbed what he needed, he was calling all his brothers. They were going over there in force. They were going to make a stand. And if they refused, fuck it. He’d go alone.
Rafe’s body was practically vibrating as he rode the elevator up to his place. He needed to change clothes, something he could more effectively fight in. Grab the sword from its hiding place. A few smaller knives. He needed more, though. The MacPherson clan was huge. How many would Nolan send to “weed out” the Arsenault clan? Philippe had said there were nine of them. Maybe ten. If Nolan kept Philippe, Jullien, and Ezra alive, then that left six or seven that had to be slaughtered.
The doors slid open and Rafe raced into the apartment, already ripping off his suit jacket. He needed something that didn’t restrict his movements. He needed—
The growing list halted sharply in his brain as Philippe stood up from where he’d been sitting on the sofa.
Philippe was there.
Philippe with his golden hair, soft green eyes, and tentative smile was standing right there.
