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“And it’s downtown?” she presses on. “Is that, um, does that territory belong to The Six?”
This time, Dante’s the one who laughs. “All of Halston belongs to The Six, princess. But for tonight, consider it neutral territory. Not ours. Not West Point’s. And not anywhere even McKenna would be stupid enough to start anything, no matter how this all goes down. Not right under the nose of The Six.”
“So, you’re saying it’s safe.”
Logan goes still in the seat next to me, and I meet Dante’s eyes in the rearview mirror again. I’ve got no doubt that they can hear the nerves in her voice just like I can… and that all three of us are having the same thought.
Dante’s the one who voices it.
“Uh,safeain’t a word I would use for tonight,” he says after a beat. “Or ever. Not when The Six are already pissed off like this. But—”
“But you’ll be safe, butterfly,” I cut in. “You’re under our protection. We’ll make sure of it.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, finally going silent. There’s really not much to say, nothing else we can prepare for until we find out what they want with us.
Once we arrive at the club, we pass through a large, luxurious space that reminds me a bit of pictures I’ve seen of upscale speakeasies from the twenties. It’s massive, with a dining area and bar, a lounge, and what looks like smaller private rooms spread around the space. Cocktail waitresses in form-hugging dresses serve a clientele that pretends not to see us as we’re led down a corridor to a large room in the back, and once we enter, I’ve got no doubt at all who I’m looking at. We may not run in the same circles as The Six, but even with the way they work to stay behind the scenes when it comes to running Halston’s criminal underground, each one of them has a reputation.
I nod in greeting, keeping Riley behind me as Dante and Logan spread out to either side. The Six are seated behind a long, ornate table on a raised dais, and it’s not lost on me that there are no other chairs available. I don’t give a shit about their power plays, though. I only care about their actual power.
And what the fuck it is that they plan on doing with it right now.
The well-dressed attendant who led us to the room backs out of it silently, but my attention is focused on the group ahead of me. No one knows enough about them to get an edge, but what I do know is that they own this city.
None of them say a word, all six of them giving us assessing looks, like they’re taking our measure. Or else waiting for us to break.
I narrow my eyes. They’re gonna be waiting a long damn time if that’s what they’re after. They called us here. They’ll tell us why when they’re ready. Until then, I settle in, giving them the same treatment right back.
The dark-haired woman with the laser-sharp blue eyes has got to be Ayla Fairchild. That would be clear even without the sleek prosthetic peeking out of her right sleeve. Marcus Constantine has the dual-tone eyes, one as brown and deep as Riley’s, the other a mix between brown and light blue.
Ryland Bennett is dark and brooding and fucking jacked, covered in more ink than even Dante, but it’s Theo Harrington who reminds me most of my laid-back brother from another mother. Theo has lighter hair and eyes, but they both share a certain charm that probably masks their deadlier side.
The fourth man is the most mysterious of The Six, the one I know the least about, and the other woman, with a stunning face, auburn hair, and a demeanor as cold as ice, has got to be Victoria Tatum.
Each of them is deadly in their own right from everything I’ve heard… but if any one of them threatens what’s mine, I don’t give a shit how much power they wield in this city, I’ll do my best to take them down.
“Reapers,” Marcus says in greeting, dipping his chin in a nod.
Another door opens before I can reply, spitting out McKenna, Sienna, and a half dozen low-rent goons flashing gold WPG rings across their knuckles. Without missing a beat, Marcus adds smoothly, “And the West Point Gang. Thank you both for coming.”
“I always wanted to see the inside of this place,” McKenna says, his eyes hooded and greedy as he looks around at the simple but obviously high-end furnishings.
Marcus’s face drops the facade of warmth. “And now you have,” he says crisply. He turns his attention back to me. “Anything from you before we begin, Gray?”
I hear him, but I can’t respond. I can’t tear my gaze away from McKenna, not while something cold and furious is busy slithering down my spine, like the memory of Payton’s last breath just grabbed a hold of it with icy fingers now that I’m in the same room with the fucker who caused her death.
When McKenna flicks his eyes toward me with an oily smirk, I clench my jaw, hit hard with a sudden, visceral need to return that particular favor.
“Maddoc Gray?” Marcus prompts, his voice muffled by the blood rushing through my ears.
My hands slowly curl into fists as I stare McKenna down, and for the first time in my life, I’m not sure if I can hold my shit together when I need to. And maybe I couldn’t if I was alone… but I’m not.
As if they sense my rage—and how fucking close I am to doing something about it—Dante and Logan each move in toward my sides, closing ranks, and Riley rests a soft hand on my back, grounding me. It drains some of the fury away, reminding me why I’m here.
“Thank you for inviting us,” I answer Marcus’s question calmly, back in control again.
“I can’t say it’s a pleasure,” he replies baldly, “but now that everyone’s here, let me tell you why we asked you to come.”
I nod. Bring it. They may be The Six, the power behind the city, and McKenna may have shown up with more muscle than sense in a useless show of power, but I don’t need all that shit. Whatever it is that they’re about to throw at me, all I’ll ever need is my two brothers by my side to handle it.
