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“Doesn’t seem to be your enemy, either, Jac.” I stop a waiter and order a double Hibiki. Jac gets another bourbon. “He likes to sell and buy women along with his guns. Next level merch. If you douchebags didn’t shoot me down at that meeting, I’d be sitting pretty.”
I offer him a nasty smile and take the seat across from him. “Jealous I’ve got Cat?”
“You’ve got shit, you boring fucker.” He downs the dregs of his drink that’s on the table sits back, hooking an arm over the seat next to him.
This bar is new and in high demand for anyone who plays in the world of dark and crime. It’s Quinate territory, Declan’s cut of land, and a place where we can talk freely.
Or fight.
And the beauty of this plan, with Jac and me, is we don’t like each other, so any fight is real. It oozes authenticity. And we need to be seen at each other’s throats.
It’s not unusual for us to be both surface civil and actively hostile below decks of a conversation.
“I’m thinking since you won’t hand over the Heart of Dark Desires, I’d like some of your territory,” he says.
My brows rise. “You’re delusional as well as a fucking corrupt moron.”
“No, I’m just wondering who you’re working with and what my cut should be to keep this from the others. I’ve heard rumors, dickwad.” He thanks the waiter when he returns, and the poor guy scuttles away as soon at the drinks touch the smooth marble of the table top. “Ones that say you’re trying to double cross the Quinate.”
“Feeling guilty?” I say, drinking my Hibiki.
Jac laughs. “I’m not corrupt.”
“You fucking are, I know you’re plotting against me. And the Quinate. Bring in a crony, take power.”
“I could kill you right now,” he snarls, “payback for my father.”
“You’re too weak—” I stop as both our phones buzz. “Shit.”
“Fuck,” he adds and looks at me. “Another emergency Quinate meeting?”
“This…this isn’t done,” I say as I throw money down, hoping like fuck the Kincaids in here along with whoever else is buying the distrust we’re selling. “Not by a long shot.”
Jac gets up, too. We head to the door when my phone buzzes again. It isn’t Quinate. It’s Cat. So I wait until we’re outside and getting into his limo before I read the text.
“We’ve got a problem,” I say, rereading the damn text.
Jac gives me a narrow-eyed look. “I’ll say, an emergency-emergency Quinate meeting.”
“Two problems.”
He taps on the partition and the car rumbles into life before pulling away from the curb. Jac considers me, and then he says, “What’s the other problem.”
“Magdalena. Seems she’s been given a special side mission.”
I hand him my phone.
“Fuck. Me.” Jac sucks in a breath. “She’s stealing from each of the Quinate? That’s madness.”
“No. That’s a fucking death wish.”
TWENTY-ONE
MAGDALENA
The ring’s even more stunning than I thought. And the break in to get it is a thrill.
I love sliding into a place, unseen, while the marks are home.
