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I shake my head. “Trust me, it’s better that you don’t know.” I finally make it to the street, disoriented for only a second before remembering where I parked. “I need to go.”
“Don’t get killed.”
“Don’t fuck up your vows. Seriously, women hold onto that shit forever.”
Weary and worn and nearly an hour later, I finally make it home. The house is bathed in silence, and as exhausted as I am, my hand still wraps around my Glock.
I peer into the guest room and find Sofia and Lili snuggled together in front of the fire, with Truffles at their feet.
I don’t know what it is about the warm glow of flickering flames and everyone cuddled under blankets, but it tugs at heartstrings I didn’t even know I had. The sense of satisfaction and peace that comes over me is eerie as fuck.
Shit. Is this what it’s like to be tamed and domesticated like a fucking house cat? Oblivious to the world and happy for it?
Maybe there’s a pill for this.
Or some miracle cure like electroshock therapy.
From the corner of the room, a floorboard creaks. I’m already zeroing the barrel of my gun at Dory’s head before I realize it’s her.
She’s in a recliner, fast asleep, with her glasses still perched on her nose and a copy of Matilda resting on her lap, open to the part where the evil hag is scouring the house for the precocious child. What’s her name? Punchbowl?
Now, Miss Honey—that’s a name I remember. The woman with the pretty face and light brown hair was the only highlight of my reading this book to Trinity. All eighteen million times.
My lips twitch into a smile, picturing Dory leaving the girls on a cliffhanger before bed. Who knew she had a dark side?
She rustles slightly, and I pocket my gun before carefully removing her glasses and setting the book aside. Then I drape a blanket over her.
There’s something endearing about her serene expression, though I know the crick in her neck will be a bitch in the morning.
By the time I reach Bella’s room, my phone buzzes again. I know I should ignore it, but what if it’s Smoke or Dante? What if something’s wrong?
I glance at the screen and read the text. He spells out the date, along with a message.
Debt Due
8:00 p.m.
D’Angelo Estate
In his own special way, my uncle is letting me know he’s aware of my every move. The thinly veiled threat is evident: Either I hand my Bella over, or we turn Smoke’s wedding into a bloodbath.
And considering the bride’s family is as bloodthirsty as we are, it should make for an interesting reception.
“Sure, Uncle Andre. I’ll hand Kennedy right over to you. How about tied up and naked on a silver platter,” I scoff, shaking my head. Anger fuels my long, deliberate strides from the hall to the nearest guest room. “Over my dead fucking body.”
I need to see Kennedy so badly, my body thrums with a deep, aching pain. A live wire sparking just beneath my skin.
But I can’t. Not yet.
First, I need to shower in a firehose of bleach and clear my head. I’m too edgy and riled up, and if I fuck her when I’m this emotionally charged, the girl’s vagina will combust.
Then, I need to text Smoke.
I detour to the nearest guest room, stripping off my clothes and vowing to burn them. With one step into the shower, I meditate beneath a cascade of scalding hot water that nearly melts my skin off. The heat sears away the grime and tension, but not the anger.
My uncle wants a war? He’s got one.
I dry off and shoot Smoke a text.
