Page 53 of Devil’s Promise

I am the head of this family. I give the orders, not the other way around.

In the conference room is a buffet of liquor. We always keep a few bottles in there, but it had been stocked for the makeshift bachelor party.

Pouring myself a stiff bourbon, I swig it back in one swallow.

I hear my brothers file in, but I don’t turn around as I refill the drink and toss a second back.

“Where is Axel?” I ask, now knowing that his absence is significant.

“He said that he needed to know more and left,” Rock answers.

“More about what?”

“Didn’t say,” Knox picks up the conversation, sitting on the tabletop. “But I’m sure he’s trying to find a way out of the shitstorm that’s about to hit us.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“We were behind you on the Vigo front.” Gunner gives me a hard stare. “But this plan of yours to beat out Vincent for top seat is going to get all of us killed.”

“You say it like beating Vincent is a bad idea. We do not want to answer to that guy or pay him for the privilege of running our business.”

They all grimace. Gunner runs his hand through his hair. “Axel told us what you agreed to do. About Promise.”

Rock makes a guttural noise deep in his throat. I turn to him, looking for a fight. “Don’t grunt like you agree. Yesterday you tried to burn her.”

Rock takes a step toward me, squaring off. “Yeah. That’s the same as agreeing to kill your wife.”

“Keep your fucking voice down. And I didn’t agree to anything. Not yet.”

“You took her. That’s a contract in and of itself, because you knew the terms,” Knox answers. “And the alternative is screwing over New York’s next governor. You don’t have enough power to fight that shit, Angel. Not even close.”

Fuck. He’s right.

I roll my head, cracking my neck. Because while I haven’t signed anything, I did shake Don’s hand, and then I kept his daughter.

Not that I owe anything to that piece of shit, but when I haven’t had anything in this world, I’ve had my word, and it means something. “What is it you want me to do?”

“Send her back.”

“No,” Gunner spits. “We’re not doing that.”

“That is my answer to give,” I snarl. “You got eyes for Promise?”

Gunner steps up to me, bumping his chest again mine. “Fuck off, Angel. Don’t get pissy because I’m drawing a line you should have.”

I push him. Hard. Which feels fantastic.

He flies back, only stopping when he hits the table. But before he can recover, I’m on top of him, my fist coming down toward his face.

He jerks his head to the left, my knuckles hitting the table with enough force that the wood groans, my knuckles splitting open.

I dimly register the pain as Gunner pushes me off. I stumble before I crash to the floor. He lunges for me, but I recover and roll, his own weight hitting the cement floor with enough force that I hear his shoulder crack.

Knox and Rock jump in then, Rock getting in front of me as Knox holds Gunner down. Both Rock and Knox are fighters, and Gunner and I aren’t beating them to then face off with each other.

I don’t even try.

A few punches and my brain is clearing. I wipe my mouth as Gunner tries to throw Knox off. But he’s yelling at me.