by Addison Fox
“You catch him on Quinn’s equipment?”
Drake couldn’t have stopped the heat from creeping up his neck if he’d tried. “I was up in the observatory. Saw it from there.”
It didn’t take millennia of knowing each other for Grey to smell blood in the water. “And what, pray tell, were you doing up in the observatory?”
“Relaxing.”
“Sure you were. So tell me, was she naked? I’ll cut your lovesick ass some slack if you tell me she was naked.”
The heat flushed again and Drake fought the urge to roll down the window. Shit, the way Grey made it sound, he came off like a fucking pervert. “Why’d you think that?”
“Come on, Drake. Where the hell have you been all these years? It’s no secret our neighbors like to go naked under the moon. They have for generations.”
“Somehow, I’d missed that bit of news.”
“Sucks for you.”
“So you going to tell me anything else I need to know about tonight’s adventure? Any reason we haven’t already ported in instead of taking the limo?”
“Nice deflection, Fish. I’ll take that as a yes. You’re also off the hook since we’re about three blocks from the meet. The limo’s a practical choice. We go porting in there and we may fall into something we’d rather observe.”
“And that would be awkward.”
While their gift of teleportation was one of their most useful assets, they needed to know where they were going to do it successfully. Landing on an unsuspecting enemy or straight into the middle of a wall had a funny way of ruining a stealthy op.
At Grey’s direction, the limo dropped them off about three piers down from the one they wanted so they could approach at their own pace.
“You want me in the water?”
“Not yet. Let’s see what we can find out up here.”
Drake pointed out a couple of thugs standing guard as they got nearer their destination. “Eight o’clock. See them?”
“Yeah. See any more?”
“Nope.”
“Probably not trying to draw more attention out here than they need to. Besides, things have escalated so far, they’re risking their people if they put too many of them out here and make them targets.”
Drake stopped, opening his senses to see if he could catch any other noises. No matter how long he worked for Themis, the things he’d learned in battle so long ago for Alexander still served him well.
And taking a quick moment of calm to assess and prepare properly was invaluable.
“How do you want to handle them?”
“Quietly,” Drake said.
“You take all the fun out of it.”
“Let’s rock and roll.”
Grey’s eyes sparked with mischief. “Before we do, tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“She was naked, wasn’t she?”
On a sigh, Drake nodded. “As the day she was born.”
Emerson snatched the whistling teapot off the stove and poured steaming water into two mugs. The tisane she’d prepared a few days earlier to sleep seemed like a good choice to calm the nerves she couldn’t shake.
When it had become obvious Magnus wasn’t going to lose his mood to pick a fight, Drake had kindly excused himself from their burgeoning family drama. She had thought it would make things easier with her brother, but so far, their conversation had only gotten more uncomfortable.
Setting both mugs on the table, she took a seat opposite Magnus and studied his face. Fine lines bracketed his eyes and mouth. They were faint, but visible. It wasn’t the lines, though, that had her taking a second look.
It was the hard, unyielding set of his brown eyes that had her nerves jangling again.
What had happened to him?
The large, tough body. The readiness to battle Drake that wouldn’t seem to calm. And then the eyes.
He looked like a warrior.
The thought caught her off guard, but as she considered it further, it seemed like the exact right word. She’d lived with a gang of Warriors next door—had even been on a mission with them—and she knew the look.
How had her brother come by the very same?
He’d taken their mother’s disappearance hard. They all had, the lack of knowing an unimaginable pain. But it was the resulting changes in him that were unsettling. And it wasn’t simply because she hadn’t seen him in four years. Realistically, she could acknowledge that time had aged them all.
But this…hardness? It wasn’t Magnus.
She clenched her fingers in the material of Drake’s T-shirt where it pooled over her thighs. She’d added shorts but couldn’t bring herself to change into another shirt. The smell of him—like the fresh tang of the grass at midnight in August—was a source of comfort as she searched for the right words to deal with her brother.
“Who was that guy, Em? And why the hell did he think he could put his hands all over you?”
“He’s a…friend.”
“You let all your friends touch you while you’re naked?”
“Stay out of it, Magnus. It’s none of your business.”
“You’re my sister. That makes it my business.”
She refrained from beating her head on the table and took a sip of her tea instead. “What’s brought you back?”
“It was time to come home.”
“Time? It’s been time for four years.”
“Not for me. Why can’t you understand that?” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Or at least try to.”
She didn’t miss the underlying insult. He’d said something similar years ago in the midst of them all dealing with their grief. The moment hit her so swiftly, she could only be grateful she was sitting down.
“She’s gone, Em. So don’t act like you can replace her.”
The blow carried a fierce sting, like a battle-ax to her grief. She’d never even think of trying to replace their mother. No one could.
“Magnus! I’m trying to understand you. You’ve been gone for three days and the rumors are running hot that you’re somehow involved in that mess in the park. Tell me you weren’t there. Tell me you didn’t have anything to do with the vandalism and the drugs and that homeless man who lost his life.”
“If that’s what you want to hear, then fine, I wasn’t involved.”
Oh sweet Hecate, was it possible he actually had been involved? That her fears hadn’t been misplaced?
“What has gotten into you?”
“I’m a grown man. I can make my own decisions and go where I want to go.”
“You’re my brother. My family. I have a right to know if you’re involved in things you shouldn’t be. Please tell me you’re not that stupid.”
“Leave it alone, Em. Why do you assume you can fix everything?”
A deep well opened in her stomach. She’d recently dubbed it the “pit of despair” since it had manifested itself the day the police showed up informing them of her mother’s disappearance. Not only hadn’t it closed; her brother’s increasing forays into trouble had only made it wider.
Deeper.
“It’s not trying to fix things to care about your family. To want to see them on the right path in life.”
As she stared across the table at her brother, she couldn’t help but wonder about the path he’d taken.
“The last we heard from you, you were in Europe. Is that where you’ve been the whole time?”
“Pretty much.” Magnus stared down at his tea, then stood and headed for a cabinet on the far side of the kitchen. Before she could blink, he had a large bottle of whiskey out on the counter. Mere moments later, he had fresh ice clinking in a glass and his whiskey poured.
“Looks like you haven’t forgotten everything.”
“You have a problem with my having a drink?”
“No.”
Magnus resumed his seat, but not before downing half the glass of liquor he’d poured.
On a sip of her tea, Emerson tried for a different tact.
“I’m glad you’re home.”
“Not much has changed.”
She followed his gaze as it traveled around the kitchen. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Magnus drained the rest of his glass on a sneer. “There you go, putting words in my mouth again.”
“Well, how would you have me take your comments?” Emerson tried to hold her tongue. Knew she’d get nowhere pointing out to him what an asshole he was being, but damn it all if she could stay silent. “Need I remind you once more? You’ve lost the right to comment.”
“I have every right to comment. What the hell is this place? A museum? Life changes, Em. People change. Times change. And if you don’t change with it, you’re nothing but a dinosaur.”
And just like that, she was a teenager again, desperate to be understood and especially hurt because her siblings couldn’t understand her. Or couldn’t be bothered to.
“Just because I haven’t chosen to go gallivanting around the world doesn’t mean my life is stale. This is freaking New York City. I could live here my whole life and still not see everything there is to see on this island.”
“It’s more than that. Don’t you want more?”
“More of what?”
“Just more. More out of life. More out of your talent?”
What was this?
That same sense of unease that had gripped her so many moons ago when she’d worried if he was involved in the park incident nipped at her with iron teeth. “I use my talents every day, Magnus.”
“For what? So you can go out in the yard at night, dance a few rituals and draw a bit of fire in your hands? You’re better than that, Em.” He leaned forward, his large body pressing on the edge of the table and his eyes alight with a vivid, evangelical fire. “So much better than that.”
“It’s a gift, Magnus. It should be treated as such.”
“Damn it, Em. Why won’t you use it?”
The teeth clamped harder, a vise she couldn’t escape. “Use it how?”
“For yourself. For gain, Em. Don’t tell me you’re so bound up in all that white witch bullshit you can’t see you’re entitled to some benefits.”
The mug shook in her hands and she laid it down on the table before she cracked the handle. “Bullshit? Is that how you see my life? Grandmother’s life? Your heritage?”
“And there you go blowing it all out of proportion. Look, why don’t I just turn in? There’ll be enough time to catch up in the morning.”
“Emerson?” Her grandmother’s voice carried down the hall as she walked toward the kitchen. “Who are you talking to?”
Emerson wanted to argue and demand answers from Magnus, but the sight of her grandmother’s face had her holding her tongue.
“Magnus?” Hippolyta’s voice exhaled on a rush as she caught sight of her grandson. “Is it really you?”
Magnus laid his glass of clinking ice cubes on the table and stood, turning bright, welcoming eyes to his grandmother. “Grandma!”
Emerson watched as he swept their grandmother up in a fierce hug, the large lines of his body dwarfing her withered frame. The hardness she’d witnessed earlier vanished as if it had never been as Magnus hugged their grandmother.
Could he really turn it off so easily?
Or were there some people you couldn’t resist, no matter how hard you tried?
In a moment of frightening clarity, Emerson thought back to her evening with Drake a few nights before. He’d asked her to stay and she’d not only ignored the offer, but she’d cut him off at the knees. Despite doing the same for nearly a year now, he’d not grown tired of her or her attitude.
Why was she so intent on pushing him away? Or, more to the point, so afraid of letting him get close?
Mom.
The thought whispered across her senses, that ever-present pain swelling like high tide. She could usually keep it at bay. Could usually let it simmer as a dull ache in the background of her mind.
But no matter where the memory lived, it held her back. Taunted her with the knowledge her mother had abandoned her. Had abandoned all of them.
The pit of despair opened once again and threatened to swallow her whole.
Chapter Four
Drake heard the low whistle and saw Grey motion for him on the opposite end of the warehouse they staked out. With a quick port, he arrived next to the Aries. “You find something?”
“There’s a good-sized storage closet on the far side of the warehouse. I saw it when I went around the back. Door’s closed and it looks empty from what I can see. Lucky for us, they likely checked it when they entered and would never assume anyone could get past them to get inside.”
“And you think the apple’s definitely here at the meet?”
“No doubt about it.” Grey gave a short nod toward the building. “What I got from Legs, as you’ve dubbed her, is that the crime boss we want has been sporting a new lapel pin as of late.”
“Let me guess. It’s in the shape of an apple?”
“You got it. The godfather of the Gavelli family looks like he’s a huge supporter of New York, but we both know otherwise.”
“Is the godfather inside?”
“Yep. Surrounded by his men, but at least he’s here.”
“Just as we’d hoped.” Adrenaline spiked as Drake mapped their plan of attack out in his head.
They’d worked out their strategy on their walk from the car. The apple was the goal, but they needed to keep the peace long enough to get what they came for.
Drake kept his gaze focused on the far end of the dock. By his calculation, the few guards the thugs had posted were scanning the area every ten minutes, so he and Grey had a bit of breathing room.
“You still want us to each take one of the bosses?”
“Yep. Get them outside. Whoever’s got the pin, snag it and we port out.”
“And the inevitable cameras that will capture our sudden arrival in the room?”
Grey shoved his phone back into his pocket after a quick scan. “Quinn’s already done some prep work and erased some previous feeds so he knows he can do it. Their high-tech system wasn’t any match for him and he’s watching from his office.”
“Let’s do this.”
The ram nodded his agreement. “In and out.”
Drake followed Grey around the far side of the dock to get visual on the storage room. The grimy window didn’t offer much in the way of a view, but he got enough of a hazy outline to know where he was going and avoid falling over anything. With an ease that defied his preference for water, he pushed himself into the port.
After materializing in the storage closet, he moved toward the door to listen to the activities going down in the main warehouse. The phone on his belt started buzzing with a text, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on what was going down in the main room as Grey’s form took shape behind him.
Drake cracked the door slightly as a burst of shouts erupted inside the warehouse. A muttered “Oh shit” from the ram had Drake shifting his attention. “What?”
Grey held his phone aloft, his face ashen and his mouth a grim line. “They’ve got Finley.”
“How?”
“Quinn just texted me. He saw it all on the cameras.”
Drake reached for his phone but already knew what the text would say.
THEY’VE GOT GREY’S LAWYER. TREAD CAREFULLY.
Well fuck, Drake thought with no small measure of disgust.
There went in and out.
Now you’ve done it, Finley Jane. You’ve officially ended both your career and your life by acting like a Lifetime Movie of the Week victim.
Blood pumped through Finley McCrae’s body in heavy, leaden waves, the sensation amplified by the pounding in her ears. She was oddly aware of all her senses.
The feel of expensive silk under her chin where the large asshole with the gun held her in place.
The garlicky smell of his breath.
Even the dark hues of the back end of the warehou
se shimmered in heavy blacks and grays, the absence of color a stark reminder of the people who operated in the shadowy recesses of human depravity.
They were going to kill her.
Refusing to give in to the wellspring of despair that waited in the wings of her mind, she focused again on the information she’d learned earlier from her colleague Melanie.
A meeting had been planned for over a week between two of the city’s biggest crime families, with their respective bosses most assuredly in attendance. Her gaze drifted around the room, confirming the information had been one hundred percent accurate.
Some sort of secret deal was in the works to amass more power between them. Again, she processed what she’d managed to hear before she’d been caught in the basement, just underneath where she now stood captive. Melanie’s information had been spot on.
So how had the thug currently holding her and his partner found her, hidden away in a dark corner behind a row of moldering boxes?
Wincing as Garlic Breath tightened his grip on her neck, she fought to keep her calm.
Fought to use the rational mind she prided herself on to figure it out.
Was it a bad tip?
She’d always been obsessively diligent in checking tips, no matter the source. Even the most trusted adviser could give bad information or be set up to give bad information. Worse, she knew even those with the best motivations could be lured with the temptation of something more rewarding.
But Melanie?
Any way she looked at it, Finley couldn’t make the facts add up. Melanie was a trust fund baby who had a passion for the law and the justice she and her fellow attorneys brought to the city. She was Ivy League and magna cum laude all the way.
It just didn’t add up.
Which means, if it wasn’t Melanie, who set her up?
The grip on her neck tightened once more, the lack of air instantly pulling her from her thoughts to the pressing matter of her life.
Cold, lifeless hazel eyes bored into hers as one of the mobsters stood over her. “Ms. McCrae, I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me what you were doing in the basement of this building.”
Right. Like she’d tell them. The last time she checked, crime investigation wasn’t in her job description. And while she usually avoided overt behavior that screamed she was too stupid to keep her job—or live, for that matter—she hadn’t been able to resist investigating this tip.