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I might have convinced even some of his closest allies to back me in my takeover mission, but I’d be a fool to think he couldn’t buy their loyalty back just as easily.
Money talks. It’s how I’ve managed to achieve what I have so far. But I learned from the best, and unfortunately, he is the fucking best.
With a roar of irritation, I push from the counter, spin around and rip the fridge door open.
Standing around doing nothing isn’t going to help anyone.
We need food and rest, and then I’ll try and figure out my next move. In the meantime, all I can hope is that Aubrey gets me some intel.
A shudder rips through me as I think about what I’ve sent her in to do. It’s easy to forget that she’s just a normal person when she’s always in work mode. But seeing her in her hotel room with her messy bun and rumpled clothes, it was a harsh reminder that under it all, she’s a human. And I’m sending her into the most toxic of situations.
Yes, it might be her job, but still. I already have enough blood and guilt to deal with. I don’t need any more if this should all blow up in our faces.
* * *
With a tray loaded down with two plates of homemade waffles, scrambled eggs and bacon, and two steaming mugs of coffee, I make my way back upstairs.
Ezra has clearly given up on his cleaning mission and is dozing in a chair that is usually covered in JD’s dirty clothes.
“I have food,” I say, making his eyes pop open.
“Love you, Bro,” he says, his eyes widening at the sight of the amount of food I hold in front of him.
“Funny, you only ever say that when I have food.”
“Coincidental,” he mutters, grabbing the plate and immediately stuffing a piece of bacon into his mouth.
“Jerk,” I hiss, resting my ass back against J’s dresser, my eyes on him as I eat.
I barely taste it; I might as well be eating sand for how much I enjoy it. And I’ve barely made a dent in the massive portion before I give up and abandon it.
Placing it on the desk beside me, my eyes catch on the bloodstained notebook page that’s covered in his messy scrawl.
I have to do a double-take at the words at the top of the page.
Dear diary…
A frown creases my brow as I stare at those two words.
I’m about to read more when my cell buzzes in my pocket.
Pulling it free, my blood runs cold at the name staring back at me.
Victor Harris.
Rolling my lips between my teeth, I blow out a slow, calming breath before straightening my spine and preparing for the worst.
Swiping the screen, I open the message and discover that I wasn’t prepared at all for it.
Well-played.
But rest assured, the next round of hide and seek will be a much bigger challenge.
And if I thought that was bad, the photo that follows sends my world into a tailspin.
17
ALANA
