Page 2

I know you’re here. We need to talk.

“I guess you aren’t the only one who knows I’m back,” Cassius turned his phone so that it was facing Mars.

“I guess the rebuild starts now,” Mars stood and shook his head. “You ready?”

“Fuck no. But I’ma handle shit like only I know how anyway.”

The two pushed out the doors together; however, Cassius stopped short upon seeing a woman leaning against his car, her arms folded. She was tall, with a confident posture that suggested she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Her curls were pulled back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and the sharp lines of her face caught the pale winter light, making her look almost carved from stone. Her eyes, deep and unblinking, followed him with a quiet intensity that set warning bells ringing.

A long, dark coat framed her lean, athletic build, shifting subtly as she pushed off the car and stepped forward just enough to close the distance without saying a word. She hadn’t said a word, but she didn’t have to for Cassius to realize she was a threat—a potentially dangerous one at that.

“Detective Calloway,” Mars said, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “To what do we owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

“Mr. Hampton,” her voice was as cold as steel when she spoke.

Cassius studied her as the wind cut across the street, tugging at his coat and stinging his cheeks. “Can I help you?” he inquired bluntly. “Assuming I’m the one you want, since you were up against my car.”

“What can I say? I heard the infamous Cassius Farina was back in town and had to see for myself if the rumors were true.”

“And I’d love to know how a rumor about me spread like wildfire when I’ve been here less than an hour.”

She didn’t respond immediately, just let him sit in that silence, letting the wind whistle between them. Cassius matched her calculating, patient, unshaken energy until she finally answered, “I have my sources.”

“I’m sure you do. Is there a point to this conversation, or are you just wasting my time? I’m freezing my nuts off, and unless you plan to help warm them up later…”

“I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” she sneered. “And you’re more than free to go. I just wanted a look at the smug, arrogant asshole before he turns into a defeated, cowering rat.”

As far as he knew, they’d never crossed paths, so he had no idea what the woman’s problem was with him, but Cassius was done entertaining her.

“Enjoy your night, sweetheart,” he grinned, moving past her with Mars following suit.

“Put your phone in your car, then meet me at mine so we can take a ride. I’ll bring you back to pick your whip up later,” Cassius instructed. He didn’t want to risk their conversation being overheard, and with Mars living in Whiskey Creek, there was no telling whether his car or phone was bugged.

“Bet.”

Cassius waited until they were inside and he was well down the road before speaking again.

“Who the fuck was that?”

“Iris Calloway. A detective the department hired a couple of years ago. She’s had a hard-on for each of the families ever since, but she hasn’t made any headway.”

“Where did she come from?”

“She lived in some small town called North Carrollton before moving here. Outside of that, her background is spotty. She’s had a couple of different addresses and grew up in foster care. I haven’t dug any deeper than that because she wasn’t making any noise.”

“Well, she is now. We need to find out who she is and what her beef is.”

“Bet. Consider it done.”

“But the first thing on the agenda is having Sinsation swept for bugs and reviewing the staff. She wasn’t there by accident, which means someone in that club is in her pocket.”

Neither of them spoke again, and the silence in the car held the weight of what was coming, the unspoken promise that nothing and no one would be left unchecked.

The winter night stretched before them, quiet, cold, and full of danger.

And for Cassius, that was exactly how he liked it.

After returning Mars to his car as promised, Cassius decided to deal with the inevitable head-on and meet his father at their family home. As he approached, Whitehall Crest loomed ahead like a monument. The wrought-iron gates opened in silent deference as Cassius glided up the long, curved drive. Grounds crews had cleared most of the path, but thin layers of snow clung stubbornly to the edges of the pavement and the trimmed hedges lining the approach. The three fountains at the front of the property were still running, though ice had begun to form along the rims, water spilling beneath thin sheets of frost.