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“I’m independent, like I said. It was a hit. You complete it. You get paid. That’s it.”
Fuck.“Fine. And your reference to Eleanor?”
“I really did attend high school with her,” he insists, but at my narrowed gaze, he continues, “She was mentioned in the hit, and your girl looks a lot like her.”
There is a strong resemblance.
“How did you know she was here?” I prod, flicking my knife open and shut while Larry’s eyes follow the movement.
“Coincidence. I swear. I was here with a buddy. When I saw her, I asked where she was from. She wouldn’t tell me anything, but when her friend blurted out Ohio, I took a chance.”
“That checks out,” Axel adds, face in a scowl, probably due to his sister’s slipup.
“Amount for the hit?” I bark.
“Fifteen million,” he says, his color draining.
That’s more than I last heard. They’re growing more desperate, realizing how close she is to taking what’s hers. Motherfuckers.
“Andwhois offering the money for the hit?” I ask, hope coursing through me that we can get to the root of this once and for all. But I know deep down, my Little Storm will always be battling fatal squalls.
“Someone named Mordred,” he divulges, nearly passing out. “That’s all I know.”
Believing his final statement, I keep good on my promise, and instead of cutting the zip tie so he bleeds out, I pull out my Nighthawk Custom 1911 pistol and shoot him between the eyes.
Gage doesn’t wait for an order, knowing full well I’ll have my work cut out for me, digging into this. He slides his chair back with a screech and stands. “I’ll take care of disposal.”
Ryker slaps him on the back. “I’ll go with.”
“Good,” I say, striding to the table and downing the finger’s worth of scotch left in my glass. “Liam, you’re with me until you relieve Ty in the morning.”
“Mordred?” Axel asks, to which Liam and Gage arch their brows, wondering how much I’ll volunteer. Not much. But I need his ears open to certain organizations. One thing the Noire brothers have access to are secrets. Things shared in the shadows.
I nod. “He’s connected to KORT.”
IVY
My head pounds through my third cup of coffee. I’m not sure what happened last night. I don’t remember drinking much, but I remember feeling drunk.
Images of kissing and touching and being held by Wells flit through my mind, hovering just out of reach.
Wishes in the wind.
Waking up in Wells’s bed, wearing his T-shirt and boxers—which smelled of citrus and fresh-cut wood—should have been a clear enough sign. But it was muddied because he was nowhere to be found, and Ty was sprawled out in the leather chair, watching something on his phone.
Ty hasn’t said anything about what happened or where anyone else is. He asked how I was feeling, gave me some medicine with a veggie omelet, hash browns, and toast but told me I should talk to Wells when he returns. I would nag Ty about it, but he seems stressed and exhausted.
It’s not that I expected this to be a romantic, stay-in-bed-all-day, can’t-get-enough-of-each-other experience. This marriage wasn’t supposed to be real—not in the way of sex and feelings. Hope has no jurisdiction here.
But that wedding kiss.Sweet Jesus.
He had to feel something, right? This spark can’t be one-sided. But he wouldn’t have left if he had, so that’s my answer.
Liam swaggers into the suite, winks at me, and saunters to his room, adding new thoughts to my downward spiral. Looks like all the guys stayed out all night, except Ty. Maybe that’s why he’s upset. They stuck him on babysitting duty while they partied.
Rena mentioned a secret club downstairs that she’s not allowed in, called Magie Noire, which means black magic. Sounds like a sex club to me. Maybe that’s where they all were. That thought has this chicory coffee singeing my throat like battery acid.
A shirtless Liam struts back out, jeans low on his hips, drying his hair with a towel. He’s sopretty—golden skin and corded muscles. Tattoos lining his taut upper chest, arms, and back. He catches my gaze and smiles before walking over to Ty and smacking his shoulder. “Go shower, bro. Get an hour of shut-eye too. I’ve got Ivy.”
