Something about the words prodded at Dorian’s memories, but the harder he tried to grasp them, the faster they slipped away.
He drained the last of his coffee, then rose from his chair, more than ready to make his escape. “We’re in agreement about Manhattan. As far as the Mother of Lost Souls, I haven’t been able to locate it.”
“I am not the only one looking,” he said, almost grudgingly, as if it pained him to reveal it.
The news that others may be seeking the sculpture—as well as Chernikov’s obvious discomfort about that fact—set Dorian’s teeth on edge.
Why was everyone so interested in a bloody Scandinavian fertility statue? One that was almost certainly buried on Dorian’s property?
“If I find a reference to it among my father’s belongings,” Dorian said, “you’ll be the first to know.”
“See that I am, bloodsucker. You may not like me very much, but I promise you—I make better friend than enemy.”
Dorian leaned across the table, so close he could see his reflection in the demon’s beady eyes. “And I make a better king than assassin, but one never knows when he might have cause to learn a new trade.”
With that, he helped himself to another bottle of Chernikov’s vodka, turned on his heel, and marched out of the café, only marginally confident the demon wouldn’t incinerate him before he reached the parking lot.
* * *
Safely back in the truck, he tossed the bottle to Cole, who caught it and let out a low whistle of appreciation.
“Consider it a down payment,” Dorian said.
“On?”
“We’ve got some shoveling to do.”
Cole set the bottle on the seat and pulled the truck out onto the road, flicking on the wipers as the first drops of rain splattered against the windshield. “I always say it’s a true friend who helps bury the bodies, no questions asked.”
“Yes, only this time, we’re not burying the bodies.” Dorian retrieved his phone from the center console and texted Gabriel, instructing him to bring Charlotte and her sister to Ravenswood. “We’re digging them up.”
Chapter Five
Sitting at the dining room table, Charley tried to sip her coffee, but her hands trembled so badly, she spilled half of it onto her bathrobe.
She and Sasha hardly ever ate in the dining room, always preferring the closeness of the breakfast bar. But today, Rudy had it all set up—the good dishes, the placemats, cloth napkins, taper candles flickering in brass holders. If Charley didn’t know better, she’d say this was a celebration.
Instead, it felt like the last meal before an execution.
“Eat.” He settled in across from her, waving the gun at her plate of runny eggs and charred bacon. “I didn’t spend all morning cooking so you could turn your nose up like you just found a cockroach.”
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“What’s that?”
“I’m sorry.” She grabbed her fork and sliced off a piece of egg, forcing it between her lips. The slimy texture made her gag, but she hid it well, chasing it with another gulp of coffee.
Seemingly satisfied, Rudy nodded and set the gun next to the juice carafe, so achingly close she could smell the sharp metal. All she’d have to do was reach for it… and hope like hell she was faster than her uncle.
That’s what he wanted—for Charley to make a move. A mistake. A reason for him to take her out of the equation, once and for all.
She wouldn’t dare give it to him.
Anger crept across her chest, heating her skin.Screwfamily ties. There was a time when she’d loved her uncle, but that time was dead, just like her father. Now, she hated everything about the man. His malicious eyes. The slurping sounds he made as he shoveled in his breakfast. The glint of candlelight on his tacky gold watch.
No matter how hard she’d tried to play the good little thief, she could never get the upper hand with him. He always had another trick up his sleeve, another manipulation, another curveball to throw her completely off-balance.
“So help me understand something,” Rudy said. “Last weekend, did you not waltz into my apartment and make a big speech about how badly you wanted to be involved in this? How badly Travis and Ineededyou to be involved?”
