Kratos stands near the window of Carmine’s office in the home we grew up in, looking like he’s one wrong answer away from shoving someone through it.
That’s not a figure of speech. His knuckles are still scabbed and bruised from the last “lead” he got regarding what almost happened to Bianca.
Carmine sits at his desk, rubbing his jaw with one hand and drumming the fingers of the other on the wood. I’m leaning against the edge of that same desk, silent, jaw tight.
We’re about to meet with a very promising lead about the car bomb. Angelo, the owner of the shop that did most of the restoration on the Chevelle, is a good guy. He’s old-school Italian from the Lower East Side and has known our family for years. Hell, it’s one of the reasons we went to him for the resto-job. He and Vito go way back, and he was psyched to work on the project for Dad’s birthday.
We’ve obviously already done our due diligence on the shop itself. Angelo’s loyalty to our family is iron-clad, but he himself insisted, just in case.
We never found anything, but earlier today he reached out to Kratos and said something might have turned up. And since we have no idea how far the Obsidian’s Syndicate’s reach is, we opted for a face-to-face meeting here at the house, not one over the phone.
There’s a knock at the door, interrupting my thoughts. John, one of our guards, steps in.
“Mr. Barone.” He dips his head to Carmine, almost like a bow. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “Angelo’s here.”
Carmine nods. “Send him in.”
We all stand as Angelo Russo walks in, looking a little nervous. Carmine shakes his hand firmly, followed by me and then Kratos.
Carmine gestures to the seat across from him. Angelo clears his throat as he sits. “Thanks for seeing me,” he says. “It’s about one of my guys.”
Kratos’ jaw grinds.
“You all know I always vet my crew,” Angelo says. “I’ve worked with most of these guys for years—their fathers, too, some of them, back in the day. You’ve been in my shop—”
“No one’s questioning you, Angelo,” Carmine says quietly.
The mechanic nods, jaw tight. “But I’ve got this new guy, only been with me a year or so. Eddie. Quiet, keeps his head down, always just scraping by, you know? He looks down. “But lately, Eddie’s started getting flashy.”
I frown. “Flashy?”
“New clothes, new phone. Buying the whole garage lunch.” Angelo sighs. “The other day, I saw his mother driving a brand-new Range Rover. She claims it’s from a cousin, but…” He shrugs. “My gut says something stinks.”
Kratos growls low in his throat. “And you think he was involved in the bomb.”
Angelo was understandably pretty shaken after the bombing. He and Dad go far back enough that he’s known Bianca since she was a kid. Also, whoever rigged up that explosive did so while the car was under Eddie’s own roof.
He frowns. “I don’t know. I hope I’m wrong—truly. But I’m old enough to know that when you smell smoke, there’s usually fire, you know?”
Carmine’s eyes go cold. “You okay with what this might mean for him if he’s involved?”
Angelo’s face hardens. “I got nothing but respect for your family. Your father. Loyalty means a lot to him, and to me.” His eyes darken. “So does disloyalty.”
“Where is Eddie now?” I ask.
Angelo exhales. “Maybe a strip club called Fantasy over in Queens. He goes there a lot on his days off.”
Kratos is already moving for the door. I start to follow, and Carmine stands. When he does, I turn and shake my head.
“The king doesn’t do this kind of work,” I growl quietly.
His mouth twists sourly. I can see the darkness in him that lusts for violence and darkness surging up. But then he wrestles it back down.
He knows I’m right.
“Tell me what you find out,” he growls.
Fantasy is exactly what you’d imagine: grimy neon lights, loud, shitty music through shittier speakers, overpriced drinks, and desperation dressed in glitter.
The place smells like shame and cum.
Kratos and I step through the front door, eyeing the place. There are two dancers on stage, a few lonely-looking regulars at the bar, and lots of purple neon.
And for fuck’s sake, that jizz smell is everywhere.
One of the girls working the floor spots us and immediately strides over like a shark smelling blood in the water: tall, leggy, all fake lashes and tits. She smacks her chewing gum as she stops in front of us, trying to look coy and seductive.
“We’re not here for a dance,” I say before she can even open her mouth.
Kratos steps forward. “We’re looking for a guy named Eddie. Heard he might be here.”
Her eyes dart between us. The “seductive” look drops and is immediately replaced by a far more genuine one of nervousness.
“We’re not here to cause trouble for you or any of the girls,” I say. “Just Eddie. Do you know him?”
I slide her three hundred from my wallet. She folds the cash up and slips it into her skimpy top, still cracking her gum.
“Yeah, I know him.”
“Don’t suppose he’s here now?” Kratos rumbles.
She nods, pointing across the club to a hallway.
“He’s in one of the private rooms. Number…four.” She hesitates again. “You gonna hurt him?”
“That a problem?” Kratos growls.
Her head shakes vigorously. “He’s been throwing a lot more cash around than usual these days. But he’s still a total piece of shit to the girls. Not a fan of the word no, if you get what I mean.”
“Loud and fucking clear,” Kratos rumbles, cracking his knuckles.
The hallway is narrow and lit with that same purple neon.
Same jizz scent, too.
I mean, fuck.
We pass two other private rooms before Kratos shoulders open the door to number four without knocking.
Eddie is mid-laugh, sprawled on a shabby velvet couch with a drink in each hand and two dancers draped over him.
He pales the second he sees us. The girls bolt. One doesn’t even grab her heels.
“Woah!” he blurts. “Fellas, this is a private party—”
He chokes as Kratos grabs him by the shirt and slams him back against the couch, spilling his drinks all over him.
“Dude, what the fuck is your—”
“Know who I am?” Kratos hisses.
Eddie scowls. “I’m gonna go with…no?”
“I’m the guy whose wife you almost blew up with that Chevelle.”
The color drains from Eddie’s face so fast you’d swear he’d just been shot through the neck.
“Oh fuck,” he wheezes, his breath suddenly coming in short, ragged bursts. “Look, man, I didn’t know, okay?!”
Kratos’ massive fist slams into Eddie so hard that his head snaps to the side, blood spraying across the couch and wall.
“My wife,” Kratos seethes. He aims for Eddie’s mouth this time, splitting a lip and knocking out a tooth as the guy screams, tumbling back on the couch.
“I just wired it!!” Eddie bleats. “I didn’t know what they were gonna do with it! I didn’t know it was gonna be used on a woman!”
Oh, Eddie.
You stupid, stupid motherfucker.
I’m mad. Beyond mad, actually. I mean, we’re talking about my fucking sister.
But Kratos looks like the Devil himself, risen from Hell.
“You planted the fucking bomb?!” he roars. Eddie screams and gurgles blood as Kratos starts to lay into him, smashing him in the face, cracking a rib or two, then picking Eddie up by the throat and hurling him across the room.
“It wasn’t me!” Eddie sobs, crumpled against the wall. “I mean—yeah, I did it, but the order came from the Obsidian Syndicate! I was just following instructions!”
Kratos rears back for another hit—
“Th-they’ve got ways of keeping people in line!” Eddie blurts.
Kratos freezes for half a second.
Eddie seizes it. “Drugs! Blackmail! Sex tapes! Like that thing with the politician!”
Kratos isn’t even listening anymore. He just wants to break something. He looks like he’s about to hit Eddie so hard that he literally knocks his head off, when I stop him with a hand on his shoulder.
Kratos whirls with a snarl, a wild animal surprised while about to make a kill.
“Give me a minute. Just one,” I growl. “Then he’s all yours.”
He reluctantly steps back.
“One minute,” he snaps.
Eddie’s sobbing when the door shuts behind Kratos. His mouth is gushing blood, and one of his eyes is already starting to swell shut.
I step forward slowly, kneeling in front of him.
“You’ve got sixty seconds,” I say. “What the fuck were you just saying? About a politician and a sex tape?”
He whispers. “Please—”
“I’ll kill you myself right now if you don’t start talking.”
He nods quickly. “Okay! Okay! So, there was this politician, and he was trying to get out of a deal he made with the Obsidian Syndicate or something. Well, the Syndicate…” He shivers. “They don’t fuck around, man. And they wanted to get this guy in line.” He swallows. “So they filmed—”
“A porn,” I snarl out viciously. “Yes, I’m aware.”
Rage erupts inside me along with something green and venomous, cold and brutal in its need for blood.
It’s the same feeling I’ve felt every single fucking time I’ve thought about that goddamn video.
Naomi and two men—fucking them. Sucking them off. Being touched by them.
I see pure red, my hands curling to fists so tightly that my forearms bulge.
“A porn?” Eddie makes a confused face. “I wouldn’t exactly call it that, man, unless you’re into some seriously sick shit.”
My eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“That girl they filmed? The politician’s daughter?” He wrinkles his nose. “She was all drugged up when they raped or…whatever. I haven’t seen it.”
I go utterly still, so much that I swear my heart stops beating for a second.
“From what I heard,” Eddie continues, “they were gonna send it to that politician. Like, leverage or whatever. But I think it got destroyed when one of their buildings got raided or something.”
My eyes slowly pull to slits.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I rasp.
“One of the buildings they operate out of got raided or—”
“Before that,” I snarl. “About the girl.”
He makes a face. “Oh, dude, that was fucked. They drugged this bitch up and raped her or something.”
The world stops turning as something vicious, cold and jagged rips into my chest.
Holy fucking hell.
That fucking tape isn’t a goddamn porn.
It’s her getting raped. Assaulted.
And I held it over her head.
I’m numb as I turn for the door.
“Please, man!” Eddie sobs. He lunges for me, still on his knees, grabbing the cuff of my jacket sleeve. “That big guy out there, the husband of the girl from the car bomb… He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me!”
I look him dead in the eye.
“And I’m her fucking brother. Think about how badly I want you dead,” I whisper.
Then I open the door.
“Do whatever you want,” I growl to Kratos.
He smiles darkly as he cracks his knuckles and steps back into the room.
The weight in my chest as I walk out of the back hallway and onto the main club floor isn’t fury—it’s something worse.
Guilt.
This whole thing with Naomi started with me thinking she’d done something bad or stupid, and I was going to hold her to the fire for it to get what I wanted.
I used it to manipulate her. Made her feel dirty about it.
And finding out that that thing was in fact a fucking video of her own assault is…
Horrifying.
Monstrous.
A knife to my heart that I want to rip out and then drive right back in again.
I’m walking blindly back to the front door, my entire body numb, when something catches my eye. I frown when I see the guy standing by the bar, talking to one of the strippers and passing her a wad of cash.
Vaughn.
What the fuck is that asshole doing here?
“Vaughn,” I call out.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. He just stops talking to the girl in the stilettos and bikini and slowly turns his back to me.
“Vaughn,” I say again, louder.
His shoulders tense.
Then, he bolts.
I’m frozen for a second, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on as he runs through the club and down the hallway where I left Eddie and Kratos.
I mean, it’s strange enough that he’s here right now, and not at rehearsal. But why the fuck is he being so weird?
I give chase, bolting back down the hallway myself.
The door at the far end of it is swinging shut by the time I slam into it. I tumble out of the back of the strip club and into an alley just in time to see Vaughn dodging traffic as he crosses a busy street, then jump behind the wheel of a black pickup and roar off.
I come a skidding stop at the curb, panting as I watch the truck’s taillights fade.
I don’t know what the hell I just saw. But fuck it.
I know where I need to go next.
