“I really fucking hate cryptic people.”
Dax’s phone buzzed against his body.
Rhen’s name flashed across the screen.
He answered, but only static met him before the line went dead.
The brothers exchanged a long, grim look.
“Rhen?” Cole asked.
Dax’s jaw tightened as he tried to call back.
No answer.
Not surprising.
Malakai rose, wiping blood from his blade as rain hammered the building outside.
You think this was about him?
Cole looked toward the darkness leading deeper into the Quarter. Something had shifted beneath the city, ancient and patient, finally beginning to move.
“I think,” Cole said quietly, “that one of you is gonna need to do me a solid and stitch me the fuck up. I’m leaking all over the damn place here.”
Dax stepped closer to get a better look.
“Dibs. I’ll do it. That’s a tasty one, brother.”
Cole stared at him.
“You’re a deeply disturbed individual.”
“Thank you.”
Before they left, Dax sent a two-word message to the club’s night manager.
Rear corridor.
Bar X had survived this long because its people knew what needed to disappear before NOPD arrived.
Dax laughed as the three brothers dematerialized.
* * *
They rematerialized inside the compound’s medical wing in fragments of black smoke and shifting darkness, harsh amber light spilling across polished concrete floors. Warmth hit them after the damp rot of Bar X, carrying antiseptic beneath the familiar scents of leather, whiskey, and old stone.
Cole barely made it three steps before blood hit the floor again in a thick splash.
One of the clan’s civilian medics looked up from a workstation and visibly paled.
“Oh my God—”
“I’m fine,” Cole snapped instantly.
“You are literally leaking.”
“I said I’m fine.”
