by S. Massery
“I believe you’d like to meet my associates,” Jackson says. “They’re outside.”
Someone sighs. “Fine. Be quick.”
Zach and Dalton open their doors. I slide out, sticking close to Dalton.
“Be strong,” he murmurs. “And let Jackson do the talking.”
I nod, and they both take up a position on either side of me. They open the double doors, and I take the lead.
They walk slightly behind me as we enter the church lobby, through the main doors and down the center aisle. Jackson is leaning against one of the pews, arms relaxed at his sides.
Parish St. Ives is an old man, with white hair and a surprisingly smooth face. There are two men with him, closer to Dalton’s age than his. They turn and look at me, and Parish St. Ives sucks in a breath.
“Sal’s kid,” Parish says. He walks toward me, stopping just out of reach. “You should know that you’re not welcome here.”
They told me not to talk, but they didn’t say what to do if he speaks directly to me. So I say, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have to be.”
“Let’s sit,” Jackson suggests.
“Let’s not.” Parish levels him with a glare that probably flattens cities. He seems more refined than Javier, but I suspect there’s a monster lurking under his skin nonetheless.
Mason told us that, as of about an hour ago, there was no word about Javier’s death. Somehow, the whole Argento family had gone into lockdown.
Preparation for battle.
Guessing what would come next was something that Jackson clearly thrived on.
My nerves have been shot.
So maybe that’s why I say, “Javier is gone.”
Parish’s eyes widen.
“I see you didn’t know that.” I shrug, ignoring the pull on my arm. “Marco had my father kill him, and he’s taken control. Now his eyes are set on all of Miami.”
“The power-hungry bastard,” Parish spits. “How do you know this?”
“We were in the room when it happened.”
One of the younger men growls, and suddenly Zach and Dalton are standing in front of me. I stare at their backs.
“I’d tell your sons to back down,” Jackson says mildly. “We just want to propose a solution.”
Parish sighs. “Let’s retire to my chambers.”
We follow him down the aisle, up past the altar and into a back room. There’s a whole apartment back here, dark and scented with incense. He gestures for us to sit around the table, sitting at the head of it. His two sons come in and claim the couch, sprawling on it.
Zach stands by the door.
I sit next to Jackson, and Dalton sits across from us.
“Tell me, Grace Jones, how did you come to be with these men?”
I exhale. I’m not supposed to be the one negotiating. And yet, I find him—and his sons—leaning in as I tell my story. The horrors with Marco as a child, the way I was almost sold as a sex slave (as much as I hate to admit its truth), the engagement against my will, and finally the coup.
“There’s a hit out on you,” he says, looking from Jackson to Dalton and then to me. “They want you alive, Grace, but your friends? The reward is equal for dead or alive.”
“You don’t know their names,” I start.
Parish raises his hand. “I’m just stating the facts. You’ve raised a good point—why else keep Javier Argento’s death a secret unless his son is planning something big? The fragile truce we had with Javier is dissolved upon his death. If we knew of a shift of power, we might have been prepared for whatever ambitions the son is planning. Marco has always been hungry.”
I nod.
“What are you planning?” he asks us.
“The family needs to be…” Jackson pauses.
“Eliminated,” I finish. “Wiped off the face of the earth.”
Parish St. Ives smiles at me. “I see you have some ambition of your own, girl. Are you saying you wouldn’t want to lead them?”
I recoil. “No. I’ve only ever wanted to be free of them.”
“And what happens once the family is gone? Marco Argento dead, your father dead or in jail, the rest of the family rotting away behind closed doors? I’m assuming the twin girls will be swept away into hiding once it’s only them. Do the McCoys think they can waltz in and take his territory after we’ve done the hard work?”
I do my best not to shift in my chair. I hadn’t thought of that.
“Neutral ground,” Jackson suggests.
“Evenly divided,” Dalton says.
“Why should what happens after be our concern? You’ve handled the McCoys for years.” I raise my eyebrows. “Unless you think they’re too much for you.”
Parish shakes his head, raising his hand to his mouth to hide his smile. I see it anyway.
I rise, and Jackson and Dalton stand, too. Parish is slower, but he eventually does, too.
“There’s one last thing,” I say.
“Oh?”
I slide a duplicate of my flash drive out of my pocket. Dalton gave it to me in the car, but I didn’t know why—until right now. “This contains evidence that can help put Marco in jail. If we fail, you have this to keep him in line—or put him away.”
He takes it, turning it in his fingers. “All right, girl. Call on us if you have need. And after, I hope our paths don’t cross.”
We leave. We walk down the aisle in silence, Zach behind me and Jackson in front. Dalton stays next to me, watching the rafters. Once we’re back in the car, speeding away from the church, Zach lets out a whoop.
“Excellent. Grace, you were amazing!”
“I didn’t know he’d be directing his questions at me,” I mumble.
Dalton reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing gently.
I look over at him, my eyes narrowed. “But you knew.”
“I knew they’d respect it more if you went.”
My gaze goes to the back of Jackson’s head, then to Zach. “And you manipulated me into telling you I was going?”
“Griffin’s idea,” Jackson mutters. “We couldn’t just tell you to march into enemy territory. What if you said no?”
I snort. “Evil men.”
Dalton leans over, pulling my face toward him. He kisses me and starts smiling before he’s had a chance to lean away. “Beautiful girl,” he says. “You’re brave and smart, and now we just have to do that one more time.”
I frown. “With the McCoys.”
“With the McCoys,” Dalton agrees.
30
DALTON
The club is open by the time we get back from the McCoy den. Amy, my club manager, rushes up and apologizes profusely about letting Sal Jones into the club. I pat her shoulder and try to tell her it’s okay, no true harm came of it, when I catch sight of him.
And suddenly, I realize she doesn’t mean a few nights ago. She means now.
The guys have already gone up. Grace is somewhere behind me, talking to one of the servers. They’re shocked that I let her back in after I threw her out, and I admit to myself that it wasn’t my finest hour.
Oh well.
I grab Amy’s arm. “Why is he here?”
“He came in with Luca,” she tells me. “Was I supposed to stop him?”
“Uh, yeah.” I don’t mention that Sal abducted me and tortured me. That would probably put a little too much on her conscience. “Did Luca say why?”
She scowls. “Luca doesn’t talk much these days.”
I hum. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” she says, stepping away. She hurries back behind the bar, slipping past the bartender.
Grace returns with a drink in her hand, smiling. “An Argento-free building and the whole night to ourselves,” she says. “What are we going to do?”
Her dad is on the stairs, climbing up. Maybe he’s looking for her—or maybe he’s looking for something else. I shoot a quick text to Mason, who’s upstairs in my apartment, and then take
the drink from her hand.
I take a sip, wincing at the Christmas-tree burn of gin.
She grins and takes it back, swallowing a mouthful.
“Dance with me,” I say in her ear.
She raises her eyebrows, surprised at my offer, but then she puts her hand in mine and lets me lead her onto the dance floor. She spins in a slow circle, running her hands up and down her body. I feel bad about her arm, which she doesn’t raise as high as her uninjured one, and pull her closer. The beat changes, pulsing in my chest, and it’s easy to pretend we’re just two people who met while trying to dance.
I slip my knee between her legs, and she grinds on my thigh. My body grows hotter, and I lean down to kiss her. She plasters herself to me as we move in time with the song. All around us, people are doing the same: dancing, laughing, kissing.
Colored lights flash over us, pops of white amidst the rainbow assault.
I guide us deeper into the crowd, toward the DJ platform, and she raises her eyebrow at me. She still has ahold of her drink, so I take it and hand it to a random guy. He raises it, a silent cheers, before downing it.
Guys don’t have the same worries as women. If a stranger hands them a drink, no warning sign flashes in their head that it might be roofied.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Mason: Luca is trying to get in.
I growl under my breath. “You have to promise me something,” I say in her ear. A drunk guy dancing by himself doesn’t notice as I lift his cap off his head. I put it on hers, obscuring her face. “Don’t leave the dance floor until I get back. And if you have to, find Amy.”
She purses her lips but says nothing. I hurry away, typing out a quick, On my way.
The cameras are connected to my phone, and I check both angles to make sure Luca is alone in the elevator.
My heart drops.
The elevator is empty, its doors stuck open on my floor.
I break into a run, flying up the stairs. Mason wasn’t alone—the other guys were with him. Not that I don’t doubt his prowess, since he was trained right alongside the rest of us. But it’s easy to be ambushed.
I type in my code and burst into the apartment, gun drawn and pointed at the floor. I try to regulate my breathing, remembering how we were taught to clear a house. One corner at a time. I make it through the whole apartment, upstairs and down.
Nothing.
No one.
“Looking for your friends?”
I spin around to find Sal leaning against the door I just came through. He must’ve been hiding a floor up, just to wait for me to put the code in.
I grimace. “Where are they?”
“Oh, never you mind that. You give me my daughter, and we can talk about them.”
Grace or my friends? That’s a question I never thought I’d have to answer.
“Give me a reason not to shoot you,” I argue.
“You’re bold,” Sal says, coming toward me. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s entirely too much at ease. “I can see why she likes you.”
“Come on, Jones. We’ve done this dance before. You know who wins.”
“I wonder if your friends would be comfortable with you betting on their lives. And their wives, too, hmm?”
My body is going numb. I stagger a step, and Sal tuts.
“Pity. I think the drug is reacting a little too well with your system.”
I stare at him, eyes wide. “You drugged your own daughter?”
He shrugs. “It’ll be easy enough to find her,” he says. “There are only so many places a girl can go when she can’t feel her legs.”
I look down, and it takes a second for my vision to catch up to the movement. Blinking takes effort. I go down on one knee and decide, fuck it, shoot him.
I pull the trigger, but there are two of him. Then three. Everything gets too fucking blurry, and my head hits the floor. I go out like a snuffed light.
A sharp slap brings me back to consciousness.
My body hurts, and it takes me a few seconds to evaluate my state. I’m tied to a chair, my hands bound behind me. My shoulders are screaming, but my ribs are on fire. Who knows how long I was out?
I open my eyes.
Marco leans in my face, smirking at me. “I must say, you look great all trussed up.”
My shirt is gone, the bandages cut away. My torso is a kaleidoscope of blue, black, green, and yellow. The neat stitching around the stab wound, that’s been healing so nicely, has pulled a bit.
And then I see Marco’s face. He has two black eyes and tape on his nose. My handiwork.
“You’re looking pretty great yourself. What’s the plan?” My vision keeps swimming, and I wonder how long it’ll take for the drugs to leave my system.
Jackson was captured by Delia’s family once. She rode in on a bike and killed her own for him. I don’t want that for Grace. I don’t want her to ride in and be the hero, sacrificing her soul for me. My heart gives a painful thump. We’re alone in the room, Marco and me. I wish I could say I was afraid, but I’m just… angry.
He reminds me of a spoiled brat who gets everything he wants. If I wasn’t restrained—zip ties and duct tape, I’m guessing from the feel of my wrists behind me—I’d get my hands around his throat right now.
“I was afraid you’d never ask.” He coughs out a laugh. “I’m not an idiot. I think I’ll keep the whole thing to myself, thanks. But let’s just say: you’re only the beginning.”
“Your family not taking you seriously?” I ask. I wonder where he put everyone else.
Marco just grunts. “They need a little convincing,” he says. “And your death will be the one to sell them on my leadership.”
“Seems like you might be compensating for something.”
He smiles, but it’s brittle. “It was Grace’s idea, you know.”
I did know.
“She told me that you’d be the key to taking my father’s empire in my fist.”
I roll my eyes. “She put a lot of faith in me.”
He digs his fingers into my side, ripping open the wound Sal gave me. Stars burst in front of my eyes as blood runs down my stomach.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” I growl through the pain.
He steps back, wiping his hand off on my pants. “You’re a legend,” he tells me. “But even legends die. Usually in the most tragic way possible.”
“Where’s Grace?”
“Suffering in silence.” He goes to the door, pausing to glance back at me. “You didn’t ask about your friends.”
I fake a yawn, leaning back in the chair. “I dunno, Marco. You haven’t done much to convince me that they’re even here.”
He shrugs. “I guess you’ll believe me when their blood is on my hands.”
The door slams shut behind him, and I contemplate yelling. Everything is taking a more hopeless turn. He has Grace. He has my crew. He’s not going to let anyone come between him and her again.
But I will. Even if it kills me.
31
GRACE
My body aches like I ran a marathon. I wake up in stages: my sense of awareness first. There’s someone moving in the room I’m in, pacing. Sighing.
It smells like fear and cologne.
I take a deep breath and open my eyes, blinking at the dim light.
Delia is the one pacing.
Hadley sits in the corner, her arms wrapped around her legs.
“She’s awake,” Hadley says.
It takes me a second to realize she means me.
I’m awake. More like, I’m alive. A headache comes to life as I start to sit up, and I grip my head with both hands. One minute, I was dancing with Dalton. And now I’m here. “What happened?”
Delia comes over and sits beside me, smoothing the hair back from my face. She touches a spot on my temple.
I wince.
She tuts. “You’re going to have quite the egg.”
“It matches the headache,” I mutter. “Where are we?�
�
“Best guess? Somewhere outside of Miami.” Delia crosses her arms over her chest. “We didn’t expect to get scooped up in your mess.”
“Delia,” Hadley snaps.
“I’m just saying.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “I’m sorry. I thought of all places, Dalton’s apartment would be… impenetrable. Who took you?”
“It was a guy who Mason said was a friend of Dalton’s. Lucas?”
“Luca,” I mumble. “He’s Caden’s brother.” At their confused looks, I add, “Caden was Dalton’s business partner who died in the plane crash.”
“Ah,” Hadley says. “He never spoke about him by name.”
We all sit in silence for a minute. There’s no sound beyond our room.
“How’d they grab you?” I ask. “Did you get drugged, too?”
Hadley unwinds from her position and hands me a bottle of water.
Delia shifts, leaning back against the wall. “No. Luca came in and pulled a gun on Hadley. Griffin and Mason couldn’t do shit about it. They surrendered.”
“And Jackson? Zach?”
“Zach had already left. I don’t know if they got him, because he was downstairs by the time this all happened.”
I wait, wondering how they managed to grab her and Jackson. From what I’ve seen, he’d fight tooth and nail to protect her and their child.
Delia sighs, closing her eyes. “Luca said he would cut down Hadley and taser me until the baby died.”
“The bastard,” I whisper. “He was once friends with Dalton. They’re partners…”
“And he’s a hired hand for the Argentos,” Hadley spits. “Not to be trusted.”
A commotion in the hallway silences us, and then the door creaks open.
“Speak of the devil,” I say, staring at the betrayer himself. Not that I could’ve expected any more or less from him. I flash back to him in the alley, staring at my ring like I was one twisted girl. Or maybe he was projecting.
“Ladies,” Luca greets us. “Everyone feeling okay?”
We glare at him.
“Yeah, figured you might have that attitude. Listen, I’m on your side.”
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
