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Royce wasn’t responsible. I put the whole syndicate on the line to prove that, but the damage was done. I haven’t talked to Damien in six years, and I’ve done everything I could to keep us apart.
Until now.
Until he used one of my guys against me to steal mywife.
The message made that clear. Damien Libellula has Ava on his turf, but he’s willing to give her back if I meet with him in an hour’s time on neutral territory. He assured Burns that she was perfectly safe and sound and would stay that way so long as I agreed to the meet.
Then, to show that he had good intentions, he gave Burns the name of the Sinner who sold me out, willing to abduct Ava and carry her off to the East End of Springfield for a thousand bucks and the promise that he could become a Dragonfly.
Robert Cullens, better known as Bobby—and the Sinner I trusted to watch over my wife before she disappeared earlier this afternoon.
I should’ve known better, but now that I do, I’m going to take care of it.
I have to meet Damien Libellula in—I check my phone—forty-three minutes. With my personal driver behind the wheel, I can make it to the meeting point in fifteen, maybe ten.
If Royce did what I asked him, too, I’ll have more than enough time to make the meet and take care of some business.
* * *
I enterthe Playground through the back, moving at a quick clip to reach one of the empty offices set along the same stretch of hallway as the conference room. When I see Royce leaning up against the door, his back to it, ankles crossed in front of him, some of the red dimming my vision fades a little.
The promise of revenge does a lot to help a bastard like me see a little clearer.
My second nods at me. “All set, boss. Just like you thought. Dumbasses were celebrating at the Playground, acting like they didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They?”
“Yup. I got Bobby and his girl in the room, as requested.”
My lips curve into a wicked grin. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. “Thanks.”
“You want me to stick around?”
I glance at my phone again. I haven’t put it down since Burns’s first call almost eight hours ago, and even after his second, the edge of the device is a furrow against my palm. No way in fucking hell will I miss a single ring if I get an update on my wife.
I’m down to thirty-two minutes. I gotta make this quick. “Yeah. I’ll need clean-up.”
“Rolls” Royce is the best gambler in the syndicate, my trusted second, and a pretty damn good fixer. Of all his skills, though, I put him on clean-up duty because he likes it, and if that’s another way he deals with his demons, who am I to judge?
“I’ll be waiting.”
I clap him on the soldier, then reach for the doorknob.
Inside the office, Bobby is standing with his arms crossed, eyes darting toward the entryway when I fill out. I can see the sweat beading on his brow from across the room and know instantly how this is going to go.
His girl—Heidi Fox, thirty-three, and formerly a waitress at the Playground until she abruptly quite four nights ago—is sitting in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. The top one is bouncing. Her nails are tapping the tabletop, though she doesn’t look at me as I stride into the room, tugging the door closed behind me.
Nervous. Both of them are nervous.
Good.
I don’t have time to ease them into telling me what I want to know. They’ll lie, they’ll deny it, they’ll try to tell me I get it wrong… and I’m on a deadline here. I’m not dealing with that bullshit.
I point at Bobby. “You. Roll up your sleeve. Show me your mark.”
“Devil—”
“I didn’t ask for any commentary. I said roll up your sleeve. So roll up your fucking sleeve, okay? Now.”
