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What. The. Fuck.
I held Diesel’s stony gaze, trying and failing to read what was going on in that twisted head of his. Noticed how fucking pale he was. No doubt thanks to my blade work.
Before I could form the beginning of a laundry list of every curse word in the dictionary and then some, the floorboards inside the warehouse creaked again and the Crows stepped out behind their father.
My pulse skittered before pushing back to a strong, steady rhythm as tangling tendrils of guilt, fear, and murderous intent wreaked havoc on my nervous system.
Diesel stopped clapping, but it was the Crows I couldn’t take my eyes off no matter how much I wished I could. Jumping from the pier myself began to sound like a pretty damn good idea. I liked my chances.
My eyes darted to the lake, judging the distance.
“Don’t,” Corvus said.
My teeth clenched.
He had no right to look so damned betrayed. None of them did.
They started this shit. They roped me in. Pushed me into a corner. What did they expect?
But still, the hurt in their stares stabbed into me like knives, making it harder to breathe.
“I have to admit,” Diesel said, a flicker of his concealed rage crossing his face. “This wasn’t how I anticipated things going down.”
“We had a deal,” Rook growled, his hulking form vibrating beneath his leather jacket.
Diesel’s upper lip curled into a snarl before he spoke again. “So we did.”
The man hobbled forward, and I worked hard to stand my ground, bottle at the ready, checking him over for anything that looked even remotely like a concealed weapon.
He lifted a hand, his face back to an unreadable mask.
One I’d like to peel from his skull with the broken edge of the bottle in my hand for what he did.
“Welcome to the Saints, Ava Jade.”
I looked at his outstretched hand. At his sons watching the exchange like they could force me to take it through sheer force of their will.
The bottle clattered to the decking at my feet, breaking.
I turned and walked away.
