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I’m grateful as hell for his offer—both for the fact that the Kings want to have my back, and that he knows I wouldn’t want the little boy left alone in the house.
We head for the door and make our way out of the club, getting back in the car as Gage arranges for someone to keep an eye on Cody, then calls the other men to tell them what’s going on. They say they’ll head out as soon as the impromptu babysitter shows up and meet us at the docks.
“Knox says that Harley will help watch Cody too,” Gage tells me when he hangs up, rolling his eyes. “We’ll try to make this quick.”
We’re both silent as Gage drives us to the spot where Agent Carter told us to meet him. I chew on my lip as I stare out the window, unable to stop my mind from racing. I can’t even guess what this could be about, and that makes me nervous.
I’d hoped that my conversation with Carter in the park would be the last time I ever saw him. He was useful for what we needed to accomplish at the time, but the last thing I want is to get tangled up with some fed.
Knox, Ash, and Priest arrive at the docks at almost the exact same time we do, since they had a shorter drive than we did.
“What the fuck is going on?” Knox asks, sliding his gun smoothly out of his holster and glancing around warily.
“We don’t know,” Gage says shortly. “That’s what we’re here to find out.
Sticking close together, we leave our cars behind and walk out onto the wooden dock. There are two long, wide walkways that jut out over the river, connected by another walkway at the end so that the whole thing forms a rough U shape over the water. Little waves lap against the dark wood, gleaming in the dim, distant light from the street lamps back near the road.
Agent Carter is waiting for us at the end of the dock where one walkway meets the intersecting one, his broad shoulders squared and his arms crossed.
He doesn’t have a weapon drawn, so that’s good, I guess. The Kings are all armed and alert, and I can practically feel the tension vibrating like a live wire among our little group. It’s clear none of us feel comfortable with whatever is going on.
Carter evenlooksdifferent when I see him. Usually, he’s all about a professional presentation—tucked in shirt, neatly put together hair, shiny shoes. Now he looks like he’s been through something rough and has barely come out the other side in one piece. There are bags under his eyes, and his hair is a mess. His shirt is stained and only half tucked in, and his eyes dart around as we approach him.
He uncrosses his arms, agitation written in every line of his body, and it doesn’t go away as we come to a stop in front of him.
“Alright, we’re here. Just like you asked. What the fuck is going on?” I demand, not wasting any time on pleasantries.
“Have you ever wondered who put Ivan St. James’s body on display like that at the gala all those weeks ago?” he asks, blurting the words out in a strained voice.
My brows pull together in a frown.
It’s not an answer to my question at all, and I don’t understand what he’s getting at. I also didn’t think Agent Carter knew who did it, since he came by the house asking us questions about the incident after it happened. That was the first time we met him, actually.
Unless he figured it out between then and now.
“Yeah, of course I wondered,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes. “But we had other pressing shit to deal with, so we never figured it out. Why? Do you know who it was? What does this have to do with us meeting tonight?”
Carter’s fingers clench and unclench, forming fists before straightening out. He still seems agitated, even though he’s come to a standstill a few feet away from us, no longer pacing.
“Maybe it would have been better if you’d found out who it was,” he says. “Or maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference. I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “He’s been watching you. He saw what you did to Julian.”
My stomach tightens at that. “Who are you talking about?” I ask, not even bothering at this point to deny that I did anything to Julian.
Carter takes a breath, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Have you ever heard of the Kyrio Society?”
It almost seems like a nonsensical question, and I shake my head because I don’t know what else to do at this point. “No. I don’t know what that is.”
“Right. That’s because you’re not supposed to,” he says. “No one but a very few people even know it exists.”
None of this is making any sense, but the longer he speaks, the more worried and weirded out I get.
“What the hell are you talking about, Carter?” I demand, sick of his rambling half-answers.
“The Kyrio Society controls a lot of what happens in this city. They operate behind the scenes, the people behind the major players. Criminals, big and small, do their thing in Detroit. Selling drugs, smuggling illegal goods, getting into turf wars, fighting for territory. But behind it all, unbeknownst to most of them, the society members are pulling the strings.” He takes another deep breath and lets it out. “Ivan St. James was in the society, one of the most powerful people in all of Detroit. There are seven members, and his death left an opening. Julian Maduro wanted in.”
Julian wanted to join a secret society?
I knew he was trying to work his way into the upper echelons of the Detroit elite, but I had no idea he was also trying to join some powerful, clandestine criminal organization.
