Page 56 of Vega

“We have to kill him.”

“And we have to succeed at killing him,” Wise emphasized. “Roman has already sent men after the Bellamys over a lie. Once he realizes you took the only person who can expose him, he’ll come after all of us. Blood is going to spill all over this fucking city.”

“I know.”

“Our businesses.”

“I know.” I leaned forward. “Roman made his choice when he involved me in a lie and sent me to deliver an innocent woman to her death. I’m making mine now.”

Wise held my gaze. He wasn’t trying to scare me. He was making sure emotion hadn’t stopped me from understanding the consequences.

It hadn’t. Sonnet’s life had become a line I refused to let Roman cross.

Prodigy exhaled and glanced at Wise. “Well, shit. I guess we have to kill Roman.”

Wise looked at him. “That easy?”

Prodigy shrugged. “He wants the girl.”

“That isn’t a reason.”

“He doesn’t need a reason. He’s our brother.”

Cousins by blood, brothers by every measure that mattered.

My phone vibrated against the small table sitting in front of us. I looked down at the notification and recognized the number. If I didn’t recognize the number, I still would have recognized the attitude in the tone of the words as Dior: Proof of life, nigga!

I chuckled at the text, went to the live feed of Sonnet walking weakly out of the bathroom, took a screenshot, and then sent it to him.

Suddenly, a sharp voice rose over the music from one of the smaller stages. “Get your hands off me!”

All three of us looked over.

The drunk guy had grabbed the dancer in the red rhinestone set by her wrist and tried to pull her into his lap. She twisted away, but he reached for her again, this time catching a handful of her ass.

Wise stood before security could reach them. He crossed the floor without hurrying.

The patron released the dancer as soon as he saw him coming.

“My bad,” the man slurred. “I was just having fun.”

Wise stopped beside the table. “She told you not to touch her.”

“I said my bad,” he drunkenly laughed.

“Put your hand on the table.”

The man glanced toward the security guards gathering nearby. “For what?”

Wise glared at him and that was enough. The patron slowly placed his right hand flat against the table.

Wise removed a knife from beneath his pocket and drove the blade through the center of the man’s hand. His scream tore through the club. The dancers stopped moving, but the music continued playing while blood spread across the black tabletop beneath his palm.

Wise leaned close enough for the man to hear him over his own crying. “The women working in here sell dances. They don’t sell you the right to put your hands wherever the fuck you want.”

“I’m sorry,” the man gasped.

Wise pulled the knife free, earning another scream, then wiped the blade against the man’s shirt.