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Lady Sonja makes a disparaging noise we both ignore, though Roman looks on curiously.
There’s a talk we need to have, and soon. Though I’m not entirely sure I’m the right person to hold it.
I squeeze her hip tight. “What little monster have I made of you?”
Willow leans up to press her lips against my ear. “Your personal sort, Rafe.”
My cock swells in my pants and I use the next hour to will my blood to flow in the right direction, though Willow seems intent on teasing the ever-loving shit out of me, rubbing her backside encased in silk pants into my groin each time I assist her.
“Do you flirt with Sonja like this too?” I grouse, getting her ready for her last throw of the day.
Willow turns her head and beams at me, all stunning and sweet and full off sass. “Yes, Rafe. And her dick is bigger than yours.”
She hurls the knife without looking, taking a page out of my book, and decimates her detective noir looking target with a brutal efficiency I crave.
I growl obscenities under my breath, every word aimed at my wife, as Roman applauds again, throwing his remaining knives with decent strength though not with the flawless accuracy my wife possesses. Shaking out his wrists, he strides right into my space and opens one arm for a hug.
I hesitate, looking at Willow out of the corner of my eye. She nods slowly, a thoughtful look decorating her face as Roman engulfs me. The boy is stouter than I remember, but not just from decent food during the last months, and possibly for the first time in a handful of years as his uncle seemed to starve him, intent on keeping him weak.
Bulk presses into my shoulder as he embraces me, and I wonder at the choice of sending him to school, though the action was stolen from me by Sonja. I’m not certain if I want to thank her for taking on the arduous task or gut her. Either way, Roman’s time apart has made a difference. His muscle mass has increased and he’s well on his way to becoming a fine young man with the physique suited to our line of work, but incomplete students with any sort of disability, obvious or invisible, are often shunned in a world of born heroes and villains with the purse to suit their cruel needs and bribe away their biases and insults.
But the boy—I know I’ll never think of him as more—is so naive in other ways. Perhaps I needed to have a birds-and-bees talk with him, or a glance sideways assures me that maybe Sonja will one day oblige and take on that mantle on my behalf.
Or I could pussy my way out of it and get Willow to do the thing in a more proper fashion. My mind made up, I turn to my wife, already congratulating myself on weaseling my way out of an uncomfortable situation as the first of many bullets pierce the windows above us, raining deadly shards and hell over the people I care about most.
Willow crouches over Roman, moving faster than I gave her credit for, and glares across the space at me. “I swear I’m never leaving the house again, Rafe!” she shouts, reaching back to grab at the half-empty knife roll.
Sonja tosses her a handful of the remaining blades in tense silence and disappears into the shadows as my wife splits the difference with her brother, speaking in an undertone I can’t decipher. A flicker of movement to one far wall shows the leather-clad assassin scaling the cement exoskeleton of the warehouse like a wraith.
Equipped with no such magical powers, I grip my pistols, send up a prayer, and curse Dom for not being here when I need him most in the same breath, and rain hell on the fools who entered my territory.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Trade In
Willow
I am wholly and fully over this bullshit. We need to make a goddamned list of all the people who want to kill us and start our own retaliation massacre campaign. In my heart, I believe this isn’t Konnor’s doing but I can’t be sure.
It could be anyone, for all I know. Rafe has enemies from before I joined the family and I am currently fighting off my own. Then there are the people who claim to be loyal to us but we can’t prove. The FBI. Konnor. Kirrill fucking Singleton.
Jesus, this is a long list.
The bullets continue to rip through the building as Roman and I cower behind a freshly overturned table. I have my knife in hand as I scan the area, cursing myself for leaving my gun at home. The car is parked outside so we are cut off from that avenue of escape. My mind is whirling a mile a minute as the gunfire dies down and silence envelops us.
“Get in there,” a voice says from outside. “I want to see the bodies with my own eyes.”
It’s not a voice I can place but by the rigid form of my husband’s posture, he does. I hear him curse as he faces the doorway. The moment the man enters, Rafe puts him down, not giving him an opportunity to retreat.
“If you want me dead, Enzo, you know you’ll have to walk in here and do it your damn self,” Rafe shouts. “Or are you still afraid to challenge your big brother?”
“Fuck you, Raphael!”
Rafe shakes his head as he focuses on the door. I wait with bated breath to see what fresh hell this is going to be. I didn’t know that Rafe and Regina had another sibling, so this is clearly some form of family drama.
“How did you know where to find us?” Rafe asks.
“It’s easy to track a man when he isn’t focused,” comes the reply. “You’ve been so busy chasing your wife and trying to stop your empire from crumbling that you didn’t even register me on your radar.”
