Prince of Killers: A Fog City Novel

by Layla Reyne

  “You think I’m the first person to pace this hallway?” He tried to wrench his arm free and failed. His sister’s hold was expertly positioned to exert more pressure the harder he tried to escape. He shot her an annoyed glare and tapped his toe on the linoleum. “Floor’s still here.”

  “Then take it easy on me. The circling is making me woozy.”

  He lowered his heel, and his ire, and studied his sister. She’d washed up after they’d arrived at the hospital, and with her makeup gone and damp hair in a bun, the week’s strain showed on her pale, dainty face. Dark circles under her eyes, a deep groove between her brows, freckles that stood out more prominently across the bridge of her nose. He’d neglected to ask after her too. “Fuck, Hena, how hard have you been going this week?”

  She let go of his arm and sank into the nearest bright-orange chair. “I’ve been working every contact I have on our shit, managing Brax, and also trying to move matters at work. I don’t want to leave any clients in the lurch if we have to scramble.”

  Helena’s legal work involved acquitting the wrongfully accused. If Helena ghosted on her clients, it could mean the difference between life and death. Hawes couldn’t begrudge them or her that, otherwise all his efforts to minimize collateral damage were for naught. No innocent lives lost, period.

  He lowered himself into the chair next to her and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I should have asked sooner.”

  “You’ve been going hard too. All of us have.”

  “And yet you still saved my ass today.” He kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for that.”

  “Thank Mr. Hair. He came up with that trap plan.”

  Hawes squeezed her tighter. “He wouldn’t have had to if I’d listened to him in the first place.”

  Wouldn’t have had to put himself in the path of the charging van or in the blast radius with the rest of them. Dante had been the first to reach them after too. He’d helped Avery out of their tipped car, and then the three of them had extracted an unconscious Rose and handed her over to Amelia to treat until the paramedics arrived. He and Dante had shared a single smoke-tinged kiss before fire trucks had come barreling down the alley. They’d only exchanged a few words and texts since, Dante staying on the scene while Hawes rode with Rose, Amelia, and Helena to the hospital. Where their grandmother now lay unconscious in a room across the hall.

  “I made the wrong call and put all of us at risk. Maybe I shouldn’t be in charge.”

  Helena drew back, litigator face on. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  But Hawes was on a roll, all the self-recriminations he’d banked tumbling out. “If I’d ceded power to you or Holt earlier, or hell, if I’d just stayed away today like Dante suggested, maybe there wouldn’t have been an attack. Maybe our grandmother wouldn’t be in there fighting for her life.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” Amelia stepped out of Rose’s room and closed the door behind her. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Is she awake yet?”

  Amelia nodded, and Hawes shot out of the chair.

  “Can I—”

  At Amelia’s quelling look, he shut up and sat back down.

  “The doctor is checking her vitals. You can go in, one at a time, when he’s done.”

  A baby’s wail cut through the hospital noises, and Amelia was in motion before Holt and Lily even rounded the corner. They reached each other, and Holt wrapped Amelia in his arms, Lily between them.

  Hawes forced down the wave of bile that stung his throat. “Fuck,” he cursed low. “I could have taken her from them too.”

  “But you didn’t,” Helena said. “And you kept Holt and Lily out of the line of fire.”

  That didn’t make Hawes feel much better. Neither did the dark look in Holt’s eyes.

  “Where’s your guard?” Hawes asked before his brother could speak.

  “At the crime scene doing his job.” Holt handed Lily to Amelia. “He’s on the warpath. Today could have been a lot worse.”

  Hawes expected no less from Kane. This was the very definition of tits-up. While they’d alerted him to a possible incident, the actual attack had been less contained and potentially more destructive than they’d anticipated. If that van had exploded near St. Patrick’s or on a busier street, the body count would be much higher than just the driver. Hawes pinched the bridge of his nose, as if that would miraculously ease the headache pounding at the base of his skull.

  “We need to talk.” Holt’s clipped voice was as dark as his eyes. “Someplace private.”

  “We can use an on-call room,” Amelia said. She popped her head back into Rose’s room, let the doctor know they’d return shortly, then led them into an unmarked room around the corner. It was a tight fit with the two sets of bunk beds and small vanity, but it worked for what it was lacking—no cameras and no listening devices.

  Holt and Amelia settled on one of the beds, Helena on the other, and Hawes leaned against the door. “How did you know?” he asked Holt. “About the car bomb.”

  “We sent an operative to move the explosives out of the warehouse, like we talked about, while all eyes were on the funeral.” Holt’s face drained of color. “Except there weren’t any explosives there to move.”

  “They’re gone?” It only took a second for Hawes to jump to the next logical, horrible conclusion. “They were going to kill us with our own bombs?”

  “Some of them. The rest… We don’t know where those are.”

  Not an inconsequential amount of firepower out there in God only knew whose hands. Fuck, this was the last thing they needed right now. “How was the building accessed without us knowing?”

  “Someone’s in my system. Alarms were deactivated, and there are multiple surveillance-footage gaps. I should have caught it sooner.” Holt hung his head, skimming both hands over it. “I don’t think it’s anyone in my shop. I’ve triple-checked, and there are zero red flags. It’s someone outside, but fuck if I can figure out who.”

  “How’d you link it to the van?” Helena asked.

  “I was monitoring your cars the entire trip. You hit Market, and the van darted out like a shot.” Holt hugged Amelia close. “Saw that too many times in the desert not to recognize it for what it was.”

  Hawes crossed to Holt’s other side and clasped his shoulder. “You did good today. Thank you.”

  “It’ll take Brax a few days to ID the driver by dental records,” Helena said. “Can we do it sooner? Traffic or ATM cams?”

  “Analyzing,” Holt said. “And I’m looking for ghosts of the missing warehouse footage.” He shifted his gaze to Hawes. “There’s something else.” That dark look had crept back into his eyes, and Hawes sensed he wasn’t going to like what came next. “I’m not sure we can trust Dante.”

  Hawes stepped back and folded his arms. “Did you miss the part where he helped save our lives today?”

  Amelia glared from her husband’s side. “Hawes.”

  Holt, though, had enough anger for both of them. “No, I didn’t miss that,” he bit back. “Not a single damn second of it while Dante had me on the SUV’s speaker as it was happening. He was the only one I could get through to.”

  Shit, Hawes hadn’t known he’d been listening. He’d thought Holt had been in touch via the group chat only. He forced his hackles back down. “I’m sorry. It’s just… He’s done nothing to jeopardize us.”

  “That we know of,” Helena said.

  Holt continued before Hawes could reply. “I don’t think he’s working with the person trying to pull off this coup, but he still hasn’t given us a good explanation for what he’s doing here.”

  Hawes couldn’t deny any of what Holt had said. He also couldn’t deny he needed Dante. Needed his steady presence as everything else continued to unravel. Needed him most in moments when he didn’t want to be the king. He couldn’t do it twenty-four seven and keep his humanity. “Does it matter, if he’s helping us flush out who that person is?”

  “What if they’re
manipulating him too?” Helena said. “What if it’s another way to weaken you?”

  “You sent him to me the other night.”

  It wasn’t a fair rejoinder. All bets had been off that night. She’d been trying to help him and had cautioned him again the next morning. He expected an icy response for his sharp retort, but she cast her gaze aside instead. Her shoulders slumped to match. “We all make mistakes.”

  “He thinks he’s after what happened to Isabelle,” Holt said, redirecting Hawes’s attention from Helena’s uncharacteristic concession. “That’s his mission. It’s stamped on his fucking card case.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “I saw it in the restaurant footage from Sunday. 23:01 is stamped on one side of his leather card case. Isabelle’s time of death.”

  “And you’re just now telling me this?” Hawes nearly shouted.

  Holt raised his hands, palms out. “Like I said, it’s his mission. He’s not hidden that from us, but I’m not sure who he’s helping or who he’s working for.”

  Hawes stiffened. “What else do you have?”

  Holt withdrew his arm from around Amelia and stood. His massive form, unfolded, made the small room seem even smaller. “Brax ran the bullet from the alley Sunday night.”

  “Dante said it couldn’t be traced.”

  “It was. To a federal evidence locker.”

  Hawes’s heart skipped a beat. “Stolen?”

  “Or accessed.”

  His heart skipped another beat, before his pulse kicked into overdrive. “You think he’s a fed?” If Hawes had compromised them, he’d never forgive himself.

  “There’s no evidence of that, that I can find,” Holt replied. “But how’d he get those bullets from a federal lockup? How did he get those investigation files? He’s tied in.”

  “He’s a PI, born and raised here,” Hawes countered, grasping at straws. “He’s bound to have connections.”

  “Or he’s not who he says he is.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? He’s not a PI? We have the licenses.”

  “I’m not sure if he’s Dante Perry at all.” Holt tapped at his phone a few times, then handed it to Hawes. It was the yearbook page they’d previously examined. “There’s something wrong with that picture.”

  Hawes squinted and tried to see something other than the dark eyes, long nose, and angled jaw he’d come to know the past week. It was a younger version, but it was the same man. “That’s definitely him. It’s all the same features. He’s not wearing any prosthetics to disguise them.”

  “I agree,” Holt said. “But I could swear it’s been altered. I’m having a hard copy of the yearbook sent to the house. I want to see it for myself.”

  Eyes closed, mind whirling, Hawes fell back against the door. He’d trusted Dante, more each day as this crazy week had gone on. Had he been wrong to do so? Was the future he’d begun to let himself hope for a figment of his imagination? Was Dante Perry?

  Dante was waiting for him out front when Hawes returned to the condo. He pushed up from the step, tucked a folder under his arm, and fell into step beside Hawes. “What’d I do to piss off the gatekeeper?”

  “Holt thinks you’re a fed.” No sense hiding the ball. Hawes had meant what he’d said earlier today. He was done with this shit, from all angles. “Or at the very least, that you’re not who you claim to be.”

  Dante ran a hand through his hair and shook it out. Strategically so the thick fall of strands hid his face from the security cameras. No one, Holt included, could read his lips or hear him say, voice low, “And I think he’s your traitor.”

  Hawes’s bluster vanished, as did his breath. He would’ve missed the next step if Dante hadn’t wound an arm around his waist.

  “Let’s get inside,” Dante said, “and I’ll explain.”

  But by the time they reached the second floor and Dante closed the condo door behind them, Hawes had wrangled his surprise and was flexing his anger. One safety net after another had been ripped out from under him, and now Dante wanted to rip away one of the few remaining, one of the most dependable. He stalked into the living room and rounded on Dante. “Before you accuse my brother, explain yourself. Who are you?”

  “Dante Perry. We’ve been through this. You’ve done the background checks. What did Holt find now to make you question me?” He tossed his folder on the dining table and straddled the bench.

  Lower than Hawes and out of his direct path. De-escalation 101. Unfortunately, Hawes was way past de-escalation, too wound up from the day’s events. “The bullet from the alley,” he snapped. “You were wrong. It was traced to a federal evidence locker.”

  “According to Holt.”

  “According to Kane.”

  “Did you ask Kane?”

  No, the chief had been too busy barking questions at him, but that wasn’t the point here. Dante’s deflection—his nonanswer—was. “Where’d the bullet come from?” he demanded.

  “Pawn shop. Same place I got my gun. Guy threw the ammo in for free. Guess now I know why.”

  A plausible enough answer, but not the only thing that required an explanation. “Holt also thinks your yearbook picture is doctored.”

  Groaning, Dante covered his face with his hands. “Please tell me you did not unearth that thing.”

  Hawes stopped right in front of him. “Something you don’t want me to find there?”

  Dante dropped his hands, letting them dangle between his knees. A bright blush streaked over his cheekbones. “The worst years of my life, memorialized in print forever, and apparently now also digitized.”

  Hawes dug out his phone and opened the screenshot Holt had sent him. He shoved the device under Dante’s nose. “That you?”

  He took one look and glanced up at Hawes. “Of course it’s me. Pinocchio nose and all. Right between the smoking-hot quarterback, Trey Palmer, and his girlfriend, head cheerleader Jenn Petrie. Let me tell you how awkward that was, passing their love notes back and forth in homeroom, sucking him off in the locker room after fifth period, then taking her to prom.”

  Hawes flipped the phone in his grip and slid the line of pictures left so he could read the names. He spread his fingers on the screen to zoom in. Richard Palmer III. Dante Perry. Jennifer Petrie. The names weren’t visible before; Dante hadn’t seen them. Hell, he’d barely even looked at the screen. Relief unknotted Hawes’s shoulders, and irony sent a brow climbing. “Jocks and cheerleaders?”

  Dante shrugged and gave him a half smile. “I was seventeen. They were hot.” He lifted an arm, curled a hand over Hawes’s hip, and tugged him between his spread knees. “Your brother is seeing ghosts. Or he’s trying to put doubts in your mind to distract you.”

  The relief dissipated. “From what?”

  Dante put his other hand on Hawes’s opposite hip. “From the fact that he wasn’t there today. That the explosives went missing on his watch.”

  Unsteady, Hawes clasped one of Dante’s forearms. “He warned us.”

  Dante drew him closer. “Scared you too, didn’t it? Maybe into thinking you should step down?”

  Hawes closed his eyes, recalling his conversation with Helena. That’s exactly what he’d been thinking.

  Dante gave him a gentle shake. “Look back at the past week. The botched deal with the explosives.”

  Holt had hesitated before the meeting, concerned about the hit to the family’s income.

  “The theft of the explosives by operatives Holt can’t track.”

  The first time Hawes had ever known his brother to be stumped.

  “Wiped electronic records, missing surveillance footage from the warehouse and the hotel in Big Sur, leaks about your grandfather’s health, and the flash drive sent to me. There was never an inside or outside hacker, Hawes. It was the best hacker you already have. Holt Madigan.”

  The tip to Hawes the night of Isabelle’s death.

  “No!” Hawes protested, as much to himself as to Dante. “He’s my twin. I know him better th
an anyone. I know how he thinks.”

  “Do you? Are you married, with a kid? Always the second? Never the prince, never the king?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “Your grandfather is dead. You are the king.”

  Hawes whirled away and laced his hands behind his head, pacing, as Dante carried on with the truth he didn’t want to hear. Holt couldn’t strategize how to win a card game. How the fuck could he do this?

  “Did you think this was going to go easy? Power transfers rarely do.”

  Hawes dropped his arms and slumped against the nearest pillar, caught between wanting to run from these terrible ideas and wanting to curl up in a ball on the floor. Except Holt had always been his protector when he’d succumbed to the latter, all the way back to the playground. His fiercest ally. “He’s never said anything…” Yes, he’d been worn down lately, maybe retreating a little, but Hawes had thought that was due to the very things Dante had mentioned. Lily. Amelia. Focusing on surveillance and digital assassination. “He’s supposed to be the one who stays off the criminal grid. Clean. So he can always be there for Lily.” The family’s escape route, God forbid they ever needed it.

  Dante stood, and approached slowly. “Did anyone ask Holt if that’s what he wanted?”

  No, but… “You’ve seen how he looks at Lily.”

  Eyes swirling with an emotion Hawes couldn’t place, Dante lifted a hand and cupped his cheek. “He looks at her like he wants to give her the world. Like any father would. Do you know how he does that?”

  Hawes turned his face into Dante’s palm, hiding from the truth.

  Didn’t stop Dante from voicing it. “By being in control, and you’ve made sure he isn’t a target for the cops. Not that he ever would be.”

  “Never,” Hawes whispered. Not as long as Braxton Kane was the chief of police.

  “There’s more.”

  Hawes opened his eyes and winced at Dante’s exponentially grimmer face. Like he’d been holding back the worst part. Hawes’s stomach sank, but he had to know. He curled his fingers around Dante’s wrist and drew his hand down. “Tell me.”