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My brothers… and Riley.
24
RILEY
On the drive over,when Maddoc had referred to this group as Halston’s underground “royalty,” I figured he was just using the word for effect. Now I’m not so sure. There’s definitely something regal and commanding about the four men and two women arrayed behind the deep mahogany table, and while they aren’t actively doing anything threatening, the potential for danger is unmistakable. The air practically crackles with it.
It’s all the more reason to keep my mouth closed and my eyes open until I can get a read on the situation.
“I’m Marcus Constantine,” says the man who’s done all the talking so far, his uniquely colored eyes resting heavily on first Maddoc, then on Austin McKenna, as he introduces himself. “And I’m sure you each know why you’re here.”
It’s not a question, but Maddoc gives a single nod anyway.
Austin juts his chin out imperiously. “Yeah, we do. Your man said it was about the way the Reapers attacked us yesterday.”
The asshole crosses his arms over his chest, his goons all smirking around him like they’re actually stupid enough to think it’s smart to bring that kind of attitude in front of people like this.
Maddoc doesn’t react to Austin’s attempt to shift the blame, but one of the women at the table—the one with dark hair and a prosthetic arm—sits up a little straighter, her blue eyes boring into the West Point leader.
“It sounds like you misheard,” she tells him with a cold smile.
Austin makes a rude sound under his breath, and the body language of the men at the table is subtle but telling. They’re protective of her, and three of the four react in a way that makes me wonder if she’s playing them off each other.
“What Ayla means,” Marcus says icily before Austin can get a word out, “is that we don’t care which one of you attacked the other, or what it is you were fighting over. What we do care about is the attention you attracted.”
“And your carelessness,” one of the other men, the heavily inked one, adds. “You took your shit public and put the issue on the cops’ radar.”
“That’s their fault,” Austin snaps, flinging a hand and a death-like glare at us.
Maddoc keeps his cool and doesn’t try to defend his actions, and I know instinctively that it’s the right move. The other woman at the table, the stunning-looking one whose expression could have been carved from ice, confirms that instinct when she leans forward, staring at Austin McKenna like he’s something she accidentally stepped in and needs to scrape off her shoe.
Austin’s face turns red, but this time, he holds his tongue.
I don’t care how intimidating the woman looks, I decide I like her.
“Did we ask whose fault it was?” she finally asks Austin.
No one waits for him to answer.
“Just because we don’t usually get involved in street gang level shit,” Marcus says, “it doesn’t mean we’re not keeping tabs on what happens. If you both want to keep operating your organizations here in our city, you’ll need to start settling your disagreements more quietly.”
“Understood,” Maddoc says.
Austin scoffs, and six pairs of eyes zero in on him.
“I’m sure we can all agree that it would be bad for everyone if we have to get more involved than we have been, can’t we?” Marcus asks with a smile that’s a clear threat.
“You both need to keep better fucking control of your people,” adds another of The Six.
Austin glares. “That Reaper bitch we took out came to Cliffton. Toourterritory. We had every right to go after her.”
I didn’t even like Payton, but I see red, my hands balling into fists so fast and hard that my nails carve bloody crescents into my palms. Before I can do something stupid, the first woman—Ayla—cuts Austin down with a single look. “We didn’t bring you here to listen to your whining, and we don’t care how you solve your differences.”
She doesn’t lean forward or raise her voice, but she utterly commands the room. She truly does look like a queen, and I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to have your shit together the way she so obviously does.
“What we do care about is that you’ve now got Halston’s finest crawling all over parts of the city that they don’t need to be looking so closely at,” she goes on, calmly eviscerating Austin’s excuses and actually managing to shut the man up while I watch and learn. Or at least, I try to.
I’m no more inclined to take anyone’s shit than Ayla is, but in contrast to her strong, regal bearing, my version of strength has always been more of the whatever-it-takes-to-get-by variety. I’ve always done what I had to do, but that generally means I’m operating minute by minute, always scrambling to carve out a place in the world for me and Chloe and constantly doing whatever I have to do to stay one step ahead of all the things that threaten to tear it down. Things like Austin McKenna.
