by Fox, Logan
“Fuck,” he mumbled. “You have a train to catch or something?”
Lars held out his phone, but the screen was black. “Shit just got real,” he said, leaving the door open as he stepped inside. Finn glanced past him and saw Cora headed for the manor’s front steps. He was glad to see she wasn’t running around like she was practicing for a marathon.
“What?” Finn asked, making for the stairs.
“Where’s Bailey?”
“Dunno.” Finn almost grabbed the railing, but thought better of it when he caught sight of his greasy hand. “I’ll be down now.”
“Bailey!” Lars yelled, although when Finn glanced over his shoulder, it looked as if he was dialing the man’s number already.
Finn’s skin prickled. He stopped mid step, his gaze flashing to the door when Cora stepped inside.
Her face was pale. Her eyes too wide, glassy.
“What happened?” Finn took the stairs again, grabbing Lars’s arm when the man didn’t answer.
Lars yanked his arm free. “We have a problem.” Lars glanced around, and headed for the manor’s kitchen. “I need a fucking drink.”
Finn caught Cora’s eye as she made to follow Lars, but she evaded him when he reached out to grab a hold of her.
What the fuck was wrong with them?
He trailed them into the kitchen and poured dish soap over his hands so he could wash them in the sink. The fact that Cora didn’t chastise him made his stomach grow cold.
“Jesus, finally,” Lars barked into his phone. “Kitchen. Now.” He ended the call with a stab of his thumb.
“Lars.”
Green eyes caught sight of him, narrowed. “Here.” Lars pressed something on his cellphone’s screen, put the phone on the granite counter top, and slid it over to Finn.
He caught it before it could fall over the edge and turned the screen to face him.
A video began playing.
Bailey arrived a few seconds after the Irish narrator began talking.
“Hey, what’s up?” Bailey sounded out of breath. He’d probably been playing basketball — his shirt hung from his belt, his tattooed skin gleaming with sweat. “Sounded urgent.”
“’Cos it fucking is,” Lars grumbled, throwing open the fridge and taking out a bottle of tequila.
Bailey came to stand beside Finn, leaning in a little to watch the video.
“Fuck,” he murmured, when Kane’s face came into view. He and Finn watched the rest of the video in silence.
Finn looked up and met Lars’s insistent stare. In that moment, a flood of information flickered between them; Lars’s reluctance to give him the news, their concern for Cora, and the certain knowledge that whatever brief hiatus they’d had was now over.
Their sickeningly sweet life had been shattered.
“He’s nothing to us,” Finn said, but the words rang hollow.
“He saved Lars,” Cora said in a thick voice.
“He drugged Lars,” Finn said, turning to her. “He was ready to arrest—”
“But he didn’t,” she cut in, shifting forward and grabbing Finn’s wrists. “And now they have him. Because of me.”
“You could just walk away from this, you know that.” Finn’s eyes glowed a deep azure when he looked up again.
She stared at him for the longest time as if she was trying to read something from him.
“What do you think they want to meet about?” Bailey asked.
Lars dry washed his face with his hands. “Probably the drugs Javier agreed to give them.”
“That?” Cora blinked as if she’d completely forgotten about that meeting at the Red Oak Hotel. Finn couldn’t blame her if she had; she’d been kidnapped and almost blown to pieces in the interim, gotten herself pregnant… shit like that made for horrible short-term memory.
“Yeah, that.”
Cora began, “I have to—”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Finn put the phone down again, grabbed the top of her arm, and began herding her out of the kitchen.
“This is cartel business,” Cora said in a voice tight with fury. “I can’t—”
“A cartel you left behind,” Finn reminded her.
“He’s there because of me.” Golden eyes searched his, her voice shaking now.
“No, he’s not.” Finn tightened his grip until Cora winced. “He’s there because he’s a fucking pig. He’d have arrested you, if we hadn’t given him Neo. If you hadn’t agreed to disband ECV.”
“Then why did they send the video to me?”
“They didn’t,” came Lars voice. Finn glanced at him. Lars had slumped onto a stool, the measure of tequila in front of him untouched. “They didn’t send it to you,” he repeated softly. “They sent it to me.”
“It was meant for me,” Cora bit back.
Lars and Cora stared at each other for long seconds. Lady moved a few feet away to go and lie on a nearby rug.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Lars murmured. “They sent it to me, Cora. They found you through me.”
Her mouth opened a little, but she didn’t seem to know what to say.
“It doesn’t matter how they found us,” Finn said, hoping to break the stare between Lars and Cora. “This doesn’t mean anything. Nothing changes, you hear me?”
Cora spun to him. “We can’t leave him—”
“So, you’re going to contact them?” Finn interrupted. “You’re willing to reveal yourself for the likes of Kane?”
“He saved Lars’s life,” she whispered, incredulity writ large in her eyes. “How could you—?”
“Fine, La Sombra.” Finn released Cora, and went around her. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised — putting yourself in danger is what you’re good at.”
“Finn!” she called, but he was already halfway out the room.
His skin felt too tight for his body, and warm as a result. He touched one of his burn scars—an irregular shape on the base of his wrist—and winced. It felt more sensitive than the rest of his skin, but only by a fraction.
Probably more imagination than anything else.
“They don’t know where we are,” Lars said behind him. “I mean, my profile doesn’t have a location. He can’t find us here.”
Finn spoke right over him. “When has anything ever been that simple?” He stopped halfway up the stairs, glancing back at Lars.
Cora and Bailey stepped out from the kitchen, both turning to look up at Finn.
“Whenever someone wants Cora, you know they won’t stop until they have her.” Finn shrugged. “Or until they’re dead.”
* * *
“Did you manage to eat something?” Bailey asked quietly behind her.
Cora gave her head a small shake, tearing her eyes away from Finn as he and Lars headed for the master bedroom — no doubt to continue discussing the issue of Kane somewhere she couldn’t get involved.
She looked at Bailey, but couldn’t for the life of her remember what he’d asked. “What?”
“Food.” Bailey looked a little distressed that he had to repeat himself. He stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Have you eaten?”
She stared wordlessly at him a slow, sullen fury oozed into her. “Somewhere out there—” she threw her arm to the side “—someone’s torturing Kane, and all you can think about is if I’ve eaten today?”
“Cora, I just—”
“I’m not a fucking child!” Cora dipped her shoulder to get away from Bailey’s touch. “Somehow, every man in this house has forgotten that.” She put a hand on her belly — it felt enormous, although she knew she was barely showing yet — and glared at him. “Just because I’m having a baby, doesn’t mean I’m suddenly incapable of eating, or riding, or making a goddamn decision about my own life!”
“I never—” Bailey began, gray eyes wide and a deep crease between his eyebrows.
But she turned away before he could finish. Better that than slapping him, like she felt such an intense urge to. This fuck
ing pregnancy was turning her into a drama queen.
She stomped through the manor, heading for the patio. A light drizzle fell outside, and she hesitated for a second before grabbing a coat from the rack beside the door. More for the cold than for the rain, of course.
And it had nothing to do with Finn’s voice in the back of her head, telling her to keep dry. Like she was a box of cookies or something.
The day had turned dark with sunlight incapable of penetrating the leaden blanket of clouds that pressed suffocatingly low to the earth.
Footsteps sounded behind her. Had Bailey followed her? She didn’t turn to see. If she did, he’d see the tears filling her eyes.
Damn hormones. Furious one second, downright blubbering the next.
Bailey perhaps decided he shouldn’t interrupt her because, after a pause, his footsteps retreated.
She stepped out from under the patio’s roof, lifting her head to the sky. Rain pattered on her skin, mingling with the tears she let streak down her face.
It had been so unexpected. Nothing could have prepared her for that video, nearly a month after she’d last seen Kane.
She’d thought that would be the end of whatever strange pull the man had on her. An attraction she’d never admit to Finn or Lars or Bailey, something she thought had developed because of the events surrounding her birthday last year.
But that clip kept repeating in her mind. His eyes, flashing murder at whoever held the camera. A face that should have been filled with pain, but instead showed only rage.
They were right, of course — her men. But not for the reasons they thought. She couldn’t rescue Kane because that meant coming in contact with him. And that would be the end of her. She’d snapped free of whatever spell he’d cast on her, but if she saw him in person again…
She blinked hard, forcing rain and tears from her eyes. When she brought her head down, a dark blur made her turn. There, partly hidden in the midnight shadow beneath a trellis overflowing with jasmine, stood Santa Muerte.
Cora’s lips thinned. “Go away!” she yelled, hugging herself hard.
The robed skeleton watched her impassively, dark cloak blending with the shadows.
How much did Cora owe her by now? How many times had the saint saved her life or that of her men?
Santa Muerte always collected her price, but she had nothing to give.
Cora forced her eyes away from the waiting shadows, shivering for a moment before she hurried back inside.
3
Mad Guap
Bailey parked his Ducati outside Aroma Therapy, a cozy bistro in downtown Phoenix. He unbuckled his helmet, glancing around as he took it off, and swiped a hand through his hair.
What car did Shayla drive? Was she here already? He eased his phone from the pocket of his jeans.
No messages.
No missed calls.
No one at Swan Manor had noticed he was gone.
He inhaled a deep, steadying breath, and pushed inside the small bistro. The aroma of ground coffee beans filled the air as did a low hum of conversation. It was busy— surprising for a random weekday afternoon — but he found who he was looking for a moment later.
Shayla Doyle sat at the long bar counter, an empty stool beside her. She faced him as if she’d watched him enter.
Bailey lightly cleared his throat as he stepped closer. He had no fucking clue why his stomach was all twisted and shit. It could have been because he hadn’t told Cora and the guys about this meeting, or because it had been so long since he’d last seen Shayla in person.
“Hey, kid,” Shayla said, her mouth spreading in a wide smile as she slid off her stool. She spread her arms, enveloping him in a hug before he could step and avoid her touch.
Perfume reminiscent of cotton candy and lilies rose from her. Bailey hurriedly ended the hug, sitting on the stool and setting his helmet on the counter.
Shayla’s liquid brown eyes studied him for a moment before she hopped onto her seat. She put her chin on her palm, her smile wide enough to show teeth.
“You’re looking mad good,” she said, a Brooklyn accent lingering over her words. “Coffee, or something a little stronger?”
“Coffee’s fine.” Bailey cleared his throat again because his words came out too tight and mangled into incomprehension.
Shayla snapped her fingers at the barista behind the bar and rattled off an order.
She still remembered how he liked his coffee.
Bangles clattered as she lifted a hand, twisting her wrist to take in his brand name jeans, leather jacket, and signature shirt. He’d never paid attention to what Cora had paid for his threads, but Shayla had.
“Looks like you fell right into the guap, son. You win the lottery or something?”
“Or something,” Bailey murmured. “Thanks for meeting me. I know it was last minute—”
“For you, babe, anything.” Shayla grinned at him again and turned to accept her latte from the barista. “You’re paying though,” she said, running a critical eye over his clothes again.
“Sure,” he said, fishing a note out of his wallet and handing it to the barista. “Keep the change,” he said. He caught the slightest narrowing of Shayla’s eyes as he faced her again, but it was gone before he could be sure.
“So, I’m guessing this isn’t a catch up sesh. What you need?”
Bailey touched his cup, but the coffee was too hot to drink. He toyed with his spoon for a moment before catching Shayla’s eyes again.
“Remember that guy I asked you to look up last year?”
“Yeah,” Shayla said with a nod as she blew on the surface of her latte. He got a whiff of hazelnut as he shuffled closer to her so he didn’t have to raise his voice.
“Did you ever find out anything?”
“Not really.” Shayla shrugged. “But I also never heard from you again, so I didn’t think you needed the info that bad anymore.”
“I need it, Shay. Bad.”
Shayla chuckled. She’d always loved tormenting him by turning every second phrase of his into something dirty or provocative.
“Easy there. I’ll get you what you want. I’ll see my guy this weekend maybe, ask him—”
“I need it sooner than that.”
Shayla turned away from him, something in the coffee shop maybe catching her eye. Bailey grabbed her wrist, got a handful of bangles, and tugged her until she was staring at him again.
“I need it today.”
“Today?” Shayla frowned at him. She twisted her hand, holding him instead. “It’s past two. I can’t—”
“Please, Shay. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death.”
Shayla’s dark eyes widened as she put down her latte. “Bailey… did something happen? Tell me.”
That familiar concern in her voice flashed through him like nostalgic whiplash. He held her hand, and that felt familiar too. But then he jerked away, shoving his hands between his legs and swallowing hard.
“I just need the info, Shay. Do you still have everything I gave you?”
“Yeah. His name and description. That badge number you gave me was a fake. But I told you that, right?”
Despite the warmth inside the coffee shop, icy air slid over Bailey’s face and neck. He rubbed the back of his neck, mind scrambling.
“You didn’t… I never…”
“Didn’t I call you?” Shayla looked away again, and he resisted the urge to touch her to get her attention back to him. “I could have sworn—”
“What do you mean, it’s a fake?”
“It doesn’t exist. It’s a fake badge.”
“He’s not DEA?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“But…” Bailey’s voice faltered. “I need to know who the fuck he is, Shay.”
“Why? Who is he to you?”
“Does it matter?”
“I remember anything that could get you in a tizzy like this.”
Bailey glanced away, steeling himself. Shayla had been h
is confidant as much as he’d been hers back when they were on the streets together. With a single look, they could convey pages of information to each other.
“He’s… a friend of mine,” Bailey said grudgingly. “Someone… he’s gotten himself into some big trouble.”
“A friend you’re keeping tabs on?” Shayla asked, letting out a derisive snort. “Some friend.”
“Okay, a friend of a friend. I won’t lie, I don’t like the guy one bit.”
“Now that’s the Bailey I know.” Shayla rubbed her hands together conspiratorially with a clatter of bangles. “What kind of trouble?”
Bailey let out a soft sigh, rubbing his eyelids. “He got himself kidnapped by the Irish mafia.”
“The—” Shayla cut off with a strangled sound. She took a hurried sip of her latte before speaking again. “Fucking hell. What they want him for?”
“They’re… using him as leverage.” Bailey swiped his tongue over his lips. “Look, I just need to know how he fits into all of this. He said he was DEA, and it turns out he’s not. If he’s lying about that, I need to know what else he’s lying about. My friend’s life might be at stake.”
Shayla was quiet for a moment, those brown eyes of hers studying him for the longest time. She began to nod.
“I’ll do my best,” she said. “Hey… uh… my place is a few minutes’ drive from here. If you want, we could—”
“I’m seeing someone, Shay,” Bailey cut in. The words were harder to say than he’d thought. He made to stand. “I should go.”
“So that’s it?” she said through a bitter laugh. “It’s been five fucking years, and you don’t even have the decency to sit for ten minutes and have a cuppa coffee with me?” Her accent came on stronger, and she seemed irritated by the fact, jangling her bangles as she looked away from him.
Shame rolled through Bailey in a thick, cloying wave. The shock on Shayla’s face was real enough, although he knew she could affect a lot of emotions through will alone. She loved manipulating people, but that didn’t make any easier to avoid her carefully spun traps.
“I’m sorry. Things are… Things are a bit fucked up right now,” Bailey said, hesitating before perching on the edge of the seat again. He hadn’t even touched his coffee. Surely, he could have one cup and then go?