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“Tagged?”

“Yes.”

His jaw tightens.

“His garage is over in Blackridge. It's not like any of us have ever tried to hide that we're related.”

Roman's expression changes.

I stop. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely something.”

“How long has he owned it?”

“A few years. Why?”

“Because Mercer has been spending time in Blackridge.”

My stomach drops.

The man who taught me how to ride a motorcycle. The guy who punched a boy who got too handsy with me in school because the school didn’t do shit about it, so he did.

The overprotective asshole who drives Violet and me insane because somewhere along the way, he decided keeping us safe was his responsibility.

And now a man suspected of killing at least six people is looking for him.

“How long?”

“At least since I started watching him.”

“And you knew he was looking for Smoke?”

“I knew he was looking for someone who went by Smoke.”

“But you didn't know it was my cousin.”

His jaw tightens. “No.”

Suddenly, this isn't about some dangerous man Roman has been watching. It's about my family.

“I need to call him.”

“No.”

I stare at Roman. So much for emotionally constipated progress.

“Excuse me?”

“You can't call him.”

“You just told me a murderer is looking for my cousin.”

“Which is exactly why you can't call him. If Mercer's watching him, I don't want you suddenly changing your normal pattern with Smoke. Not until we know what Mercer knows.”

I hate that this makes sense. I hate even more that Roman can apparently tell.