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“The associate we pulled from Augusta had ties to the old warehouse there, the one Murphy was in charge of. We’ve eliminated Finn Hanson as a subject because the timeline doesn’t add up to when he moved to King’s Trace; this shit was going on long before he showed up, and the Stonemore gang doesn’t have the financial backing or political reach to pull off something this large.” Boyd moves forward, pulling sheets from the folder and spreading them on the desk. He points to a grainy picture, one from the night I cornered Juliet in the alleyway, tapping on the figure lurking in the shadows. “This person,” he says, setting up a still pulled from the parking garage security footage the day my father was shot, “is present in nearly all the shots we have of you from around town. Both of you. The associate seems to believe the person behind the whole trade is a woman, andIthink this shadow’s stature and lithe movements point to them being a woman, as well.”
“What, you’re saying a woman shot me?” My father’s eyebrow quirks, disbelief coloring his weathered gaze.
“Now’s not the time to lean into your sexist prejudices,” I say, pulling a cloth bag from my hoodie pocket and sliding it across the table to him. “I’m saying someone’s watching us, and it’s awfully convenient that all this shit started happening around the same time. And who else would know aboutthisexcept the head of the whole operation, who Murphy tried to start his shake down with?”
He unties the sack, pulling out a single black flash drive.Theflash drive, the one that holds the secret of every soul in King’s Trace. Even our own.
I developed it as collateral, a way to convince Murphy to help me take down the sex trafficking ring and destroy the world of flesh sales as we knew it. I killed for the content on that drive, sold my soul to get it, and then buried it in an empty casket and spent the last two years digging up the gravesite, making sure no one had found it.
There aren’t a lot of people who know about its existence; Murphy didn’t get very far with his blackmail before succumbing to his drug addiction and deteriorating mental health. I wanted to destroy it, keep it from falling into worse hands than my own, but my father convinced me to keep it. To rule the underground, keep them in line with their own secrets.
Instead, I dumped it. Tried to keep it safe.
But the vandalism, the assault in the cemetery, tells mesomeoneknows what I did.
And they’re trying to collect.
Lucky for them, debts with the Devil arealwayspaid in full.
“You think you can find her?” my father asks, twirling the thumb drive between his fingers.
Boyd cracks a smile, the first I’ve seen in weeks, and my lips tug up, mirroring his. “I think she’ll come to us.”
* * *
I don’t invite Juliet to dinner until after her first week of classes is over; I want to give her space to settle into the routine, and I’m knee fucking deep in my plan with Boyd, my father, the Montaltos, and the trusted portion of Finn’s unit trying to figure out a way to indulge our little stalker. Make her come out to play.
Plus, since that day in the office, I’ve been on high alert around Fiona, sensing a storm brewing beneath her skin, and Juliet’s been busy with therapy and her growing family.
Her month-old nephew had been asleep on her chest when I climbed through her bedroom window last night; they were splayed out in the middle of the mattress, drooling, and although I’ve never in my life even considered bringing kids into this world, I couldn’t help but sit for a moment and imagine a version of myself where that’d be plausible.
The idea of Juliet’s strong, supple body blossoming with my seed was enough to crack something inside of me, make me ache with a need I’ve never known, and instead of depositing Noah somewhere safe, I’d snuggled in beside them, pretending it was something I did every night. Something we shared together.
It’s a nice dream, anyway. I know good and well the likelihood of me being able to keep my little bird isn’t great, especially considering I don’t have a clue where she stands in her feelings for me. Or if she even has them at all.
Or if she’ll even stay with me despite everything.
Today, though, she stopped by after her session, and I’d left her in the kitchen to take a quick shower—the smell of death isn’t one I can permanently wash from my skin, but I’d be sick to not even try to mask it.
When I return, she’s standing at the sink separating broccoli florets from their stems and placing them into two different bowls. Sheer black tights disappear beneath her dress, drawing me into the room. Fiona sits on the edge of the counter, switching between shoveling celery in her mouth and dropping it into a glass baking dish filled with butter and uncooked chicken breasts.
Sidling up to Juliet, I wrap my arms around her waist and tug her tight, plump little ass into my dick. She tenses for the briefest moment until I bury my face in her neck, then relaxes against my hold.
Fiona boos. “Jesus, we’re in thekitchen, Kieran.”
“So get the fuck out.” My teeth graze Juliet’s delicate throat, itching to sink down until she moans.
“Absolutely not. We were just talking about what kind of flowers you might have at your wedding.”
I freeze, pulling my head back to look at my sister, a cement weight settling in my chest. “Excuse me?”
A light pink blush stains Juliet’s cheeks. “We weren’t, really.”
“She’s just being modest.” Fiona smirks, tilting her head as she watches us. “You’ll probably have to wear a color that isn’t white, though, considering who you’re marrying. No one’s gonna believe you’re innocent or pure with him at the altar.”
“If he even makes it there,” Juliet giggles, pushing her ass into my crotch and making me suck in a breath of air. “Can you even step foot on holy ground?”
“You want to get married in a church?”
