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“And yet you have,” he informed her. “At a time when all we’ve got are problems.”
A fresh dread crept up her spine at his ominous tone. “What’s happened? Has there been anything more regarding Opus or the Order’s other missions?”
“Nothing in our favor,” he grumbled. “We’re still gathering intel. We only have Riordan in our sights now, when we need to unmask all of Opus’s members if we stand any chance of bringing down the organization.”
Mathias nodded. “Too bad Reginald Crowe didn’t leave behind anything solid to lead us to the rest of his associates.”
“Only a cold trail to a rumored lover who may or may not exist,” Chase said. “Gideon hacked into all of his business and personal accounts, but Crowe took precautions with his interests. Nothing to implicate anyone as a member of Opus. And if Crowe did have a mistress, he was careful to keep his relationship with her out of the spotlight. Which is saying something right there, based on Crowe’s lack of discretion in all the other areas of his life.”
Carys knew of Reginald Crowe, of course. Anyone alive in the past twenty years was familiar with the billionaire business magnate who was as famous for his numerous, progressively younger ex-wives as he was for his limitless ego. He’d put his name on everything he could, from high-rise hotels and casinos, to enormous grants for art and science institutions. Even Boston’s Museum of Fine Arts where Carys and Jordana worked had a large exhibit of masterworks on loan from Reginald Crowe personal collection.
As Carys listened to what the Order and her family had been dealing with in her absence, she felt guilty for the strife she’d caused in her need to spread her wings. She should have been helping her family and the Order however she could. Instead, she’d been preoccupied with Rune, and unintentionally causing everyone more problems and distress.
“I’m sorry,” Carys said, looking at her father. “I didn’t realize everything that was going on right now. It was selfish of me to leave the way I did.”
“You’re damn right it was.” He was still frowning, still terribly upset with her. “I’m just glad Nathan and Jordana were able to talk a little sense into you where no one else could. I’m glad someone was able to convince you that you belong at home right now, not running around with that fighter down at La Notte.”
Carys walked toward her blustering, bristling father. She didn’t stop until she was standing directly in front of him, close enough to see the tightly leashed fury glittering in the blue eyes that were the same shade as her own. He stared at her mutely, nostrils flaring.
He rarely showed this side of himself to his family: the explosive Breed male. The lethal warrior. Protector of the entire city of Boston for the past twenty turbulent years and then some.
Carys stared up at him for a long moment, seeing the concern of a devoted parent in his hard-held expression. She saw the bone-deep fear she’d been causing all of her family by distancing herself from them when the dangers surrounding the Order demanded that they keep the ones they cared about closer than ever.
“I love you too, Father.” She raised up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “And you should know that it wasn’t Jordana or Nathan who convinced me to move back home tonight. It was Rune.”
His face went slack, utterly stunned.
He didn’t say anything, just swung a silent, dumbfounded look toward his mate.
Tavia’s broad smile lit her face, amusement dancing in her gaze. “Well, isn’t this a night for surprises?”
Admittedly, Carys probably took a little too much satisfaction in her father’s rare descent into mute shock. He was a difficult man to rattle, but he seemed totally at a loss for words.
Smiling, Carys picked up her tote and murmured that she was going to get settled.
CHAPTER 7
Rune sat at the long bar in La Notte’s underground arena, reviewing the night’s receipts. The last of the club’s patrons had left more than an hour ago. Few of the Breed lingered in public past the city’s nightly feeding curfew, and the humans tended to stagger home once the band on the main floor upstairs packed up and the drinks stopped flowing.
From out of the back of the club where Rune worked now, a group of La Notte’s employees drifted through the arena, chattering as they headed for the exit. The men and women were humans—payrolled blood Hosts and sex workers from the BDSM dens.
Rune nodded to them and murmured goodnight as he continued to work on the books. The woman who fed him a short while ago gave him an inviting smile he hardly noticed. Although his Breed genetics demanded he drink fresh red cells from an open vein every other day at least, his hunger stopped there. For the past seven weeks, the rest of him had craved only one woman.
The one woman he would never be able to take between his teeth and fangs.
Not when bonding to her would mean letting her see the ugliness inside him, the stains on his soul. The shame and horror he’d left far behind him.
And which he damn well meant to keep banished there for good.
Rune cast the dark memories aside. He studied La Notte’s receipts, reconciling the digital reports to the cash and credits taken in tonight. With Cass and Syn dead, the day-to-day management of the club had settled onto him.
As he flipped to the liquor invoices and consumption accountings, Jagger and two other Breed fighters—Vallan and Slade—strolled into the bar area of the club. They were dressed in street clothes, their arena garb left behind in the dressing rooms out back. “You got time to talk now, Rune?”
He nodded and closed the ledgers to avoid curious eyes on La Notte’s business, then pivoted on his stool to give the men his full attention. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Jagger took the lead. “It’s the club, man. We’ve all been talking for the past few days. Any idea what’s gonna happen to it now that Cass is dead?”
Before Rune could say anything, Slade piped in. “One of the girls working the dens says the assholes who came in here the other night and killed Syn were asking about Cass’s daughter.”
