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“My mom.”
“What kind of mom makes you promise that?”
Her face tightened. “Forget it. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, I want to know.”
“Drop it, Kral.”
I frowned. Clearly her mom was a sore point. But I shrugged and let it go for now.
She slanted me a look. Sighed. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
Something about her tone—matter-of-fact but cautious—made me straighten my spine. “What?”
“Your brother Gabriel was attacked. In his penthouse.”
My stomach lurched. “What?”
“He was attacked. By a slayer.”
“He’s okay?”
“Yeah. From what I heard, he didn’t get hurt. Or if he did, it wasn’t enough to take him down.”
“One of your people?”
“Yeah. She’s dead.” Her tone remained matter-of-fact, but the snick-snicks sped up.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“Last night.” A red-hot fury stole my voice. I sucked an inhale through my teeth. “What the fuck, Reaper? We had a deal. My brothers aren’t to be touched.”
“I know.”
“Then why did a slayer attack Gabriel?”
Snicksnicksnicksnick. “It was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” I threw a look at the switchblade, tempted to rip it out of her hand. “You lied to me. You fucking lied to me.”
Her eyes narrowed like an angry cat’s. “No, I didn’t.”
Her tone was fierce—and convincing. But I was too pissed off to back down. “Then Moreau did, and you went along with it.”
“No. That’s not how it happened. I was told the same thing as you—that if you did your part, then you and your brothers would be left alone.”
“Then what happened?”
Snick, snick. “I was told she didn’t get the message to stand down.”
“You were told,” I repeated. “So you think they didn’t tell her? Or do you think they sent a message and she didn’t get it?”
“Yes. No.”
“Make up your mind, damn it.”
