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“How is she?” I asked, unable to help myself.
“Fine, I guess. Sleeping.” He paused. “She’s welcome to stay here with us if you need—”
“No!” I took a breath. “I mean, she’s free to do what she wants, but if it’s up to me, I just need her home safe with me.” I paused, looking up at the sky as I realized what I’d said, but it was too late to take it back. Faith had become home to me. If I was honest, she’d always been my home.
Mateo let a beat pass on that one, and I could almost hear his thoughts. “Well... I guess we’ll see what Faith decides to do then.”
I straddled my bike. “I guess we will.”
He was quiet as I slid my key into the ignition.
“So, listen,” I said. “I also wanted to tell you I’ve got another run to New Orleans today.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And if word on the street is right, Cyrus will be there to oversee pickup today, so you’ll want to make sure your surveillance guys have had their donuts and coffee this morning.”
“I’ll let them know. Thanks.”
“No problem.”
We hung up and I glanced down as my phone buzzed with a text.
Faith:I’m fine.
I shook my head and tucked my phone away. That woman would be the literal death of me. Like by heart attack from stress.
I roared my bike to a start and headed toward the warehouse. As I drove, I shoved all thoughts of Faith and my life from my mind. Just like while in prison, I couldn’t afford to have any vulnerabilities where I was going.
This time, the guard with the gun let me pass with a wave of his hand and I parked between the Caddy and a brand-new black Escalade with secret service tint and vanity plates that read “PWR HGRY.”
“Pompous prick,” I mumbled under my breath as I made my way through the side entrance.
Inside, there was another guard by the door, and Bastien stood with Cyrus Pittman and a handful of others near a far table that was covered in neatly wrapped packages of product.
Cyrus was impeccable as always. Pressed navy-blue suit. Slicked back hair. Shiny shoes. He looked expensive... and dangerous.
His hawkish eyes slowly took me in as I approached. “Adam Bishop,” he said in his cultured voice. “It’s good to see a familiar face. How have you been, son?”
Son.
I forced a smile even though my skin crawled in disgust. “Pretty good. Managing.”
His smile grew but didn’t quite meet his eyes. “Yes, yes. Prison can be difficult. But it builds character, no?”
“That’s one way to put it.” I shoved my hands in my front pockets.
His gaze never faltered. Like he was examining my soul. “I want you to know how much I appreciate your loyalty, Adam. That is a very rare trait these days. One I only enjoy with a rare few in my organization.”
I nodded my acknowledgment, my eyes flicking to the table.
“Bastien tells me I have you to thank for returning some of the money the good reverend owed.”
My eyes shot back to him as I sensed the test in those words. “No thanks necessary. He owed it. I was able to get it back to its rightful owner.” I shrugged. “Like you said, loyalty, right?”
He tilted his head. “And what’s your loyalty to the reverend’s pretty little daughter?”
“What do you mean?” I suffocated any and all emotional reaction to his words. No vulnerability.
