I slam my fist on the table. “Bullshit! Bull-fucking-shit. I would have come to you. You were all I fucking had, Mason.” I hit my chest. “I was alone.”
“You went to the Kings.”
“Good thing, because they became my family.”
“That’s what I wanted for you. I really thought I was dead, but when I woke up, I wanted to reach out, but I wasn’t allowed. When I turned eighteen, I decided to be an agent and—”
“And you decided to leave me alone anyway. The witness protection was an excuse, but after that? It’s been twenty years, Mason. Your excuses mean nothing to me now. You’ve been dead to me since I was fifteen, and you’re still dead to me now.”
I sit down, trying to calm my racing heart, and Tongue gives me a nod, a silent way to support me. I’m with my brothers. This is my home. My real home. I’m not with people that will abandon me. “And my name isn’t Thomas. It’s Knives,” I correct him. “What do you know about Mary’s father?”
“I’ve seen Mary—”
Before I can blink or inhale, I have a star in each hand, and I throw them.
Bam.
One in each shoulder.
“What the fuck!” he cries out.
Mercy gives me an annoyed, exasperated look and plucks the metal out of Mason’s shoulder.
“You knew her? You knew and you let that happen to her?”
“I didn’t know. I made sure she was safe and that she never made it to the underground auction house her father had.”
“And the other women? What the fuck took so long to get the information you needed?”
“His name was never anywhere. We needed evidence. We had suspicions. A ton of suspicions. But he never does anything himself.”
“Except when it comes to Mary,” I sneer.
“Yeah, it’s what led me here. I followed him, and the agency told me of a contact. I met Mercy, and they put Mercy on the case.”
“Okay, do you have any useful information?”
“He and Maximo have been working together for a while. Your ally is not your ally, Reaper.”
Reaper doesn’t seem surprised, but he also doesn’t seem like he believes it. He swings back and forth in his chair by keeping his legs on the ground and using the ground as leverage.
“Daphne,” Tongue’s voice is dark, demeaning, and holds a vow of murder. His knife stabs the table again, and this time he drags it down to the edge. His shoulders rise in rapid beats, and his tongue flicks out over his lip. He is practically vibrating in his chair to go downstairs and kill Maximo.
“Tongue, deep breaths,” Reaper says, giving Tool a warning glance to make sure we are prepared to stop Tongue from leaving.
Tongue doesn’t have the ability to control himself, not really, and not when it comes to Daphne. He is… obsessed with her. I would argue it’s borderline unhealthy. He watches her constantly, but when he isn’t near her, I notice she looks for him.
But he is always there in the darkness.
He loves her more than anything. More than this club, that I know for sure.
I understand. I feel that way—a healthy way—about Mary.
“He was going to take Daphne from me,” Tongue says. “No one takes Daphne.”
“Tongue, Daphne is safe, remember? She’s here. She’s in your bedroom, reading, probably. She’s always reading,” Reaper reminds him, trying to get through the haze that has glassed his eyes over.
When he remembers that Daphne is in his bedroom, he relaxes. “Daphne,” he repeats, then brings the knife to his nose and smells it, which turns him into a smiling fool.
Why would he smell it?
“Okay, you have Maximo here, right?” Mason asks me.
Me.
I don’t answer him, and Reaper gives me a warning glare. “We have him.”
“Fed Happy three of Maximo’s fingers. Happy wasn’t happy it wasn’t a tongue, but he’ll take any treats.”
“What the fuck is a Happy?” Mason asks.
“My swamp kitty,” Tongue says with a ‘duh’ tone.
Mason’s brows pinch when he tries to think about what a swamp kitty is, but he stares at Reaper for more clarification.
At least he isn’t staring at me.
“It’s an alligator.”
“You have an alligator here?” Mason straightens in his chair.
“Yep and if you try to do anything about it, I’ll feed you to him,” Tongue warns.
“Okay, we need a plan.”
“Mary is the plan,” Mason says. “She’s bait. Use her, get her father, boom. Done.”
I don’t remember getting up. I don’t remember walking to Mason.
All I know is right now, my hand is wrapped around his throat, and I slam the back of his head against the wall, kind of like how Mary hit her head last night. I lift Mason off the ground until his toes are barely touching the floor, and I hear a commotion behind me, but I’m too focused on Mason to give a damn. I tighten my grip, watching his face turn red, and the veins in his eyes pop. “I’m not that fucking kid anymore, Mason. I’m not weak, so let me be clear to you when I say using Mary in any way is not an option. If you try to use her, I will fucking rip your spine from your body. You might be used to running the show, but here, you don’t fucking matter.”
“Let go, Knives.”
I turn around to see Mary at the door, her beautiful dark hair in a big nest on top of her head. She’s sleepy. She’s wearing sweatpants, a simple white tank top, and a grey zip-up jacket that hugs her curves.
“Mary, I won’t risk you,” I inform her in case she doesn’t know.
“I’m offering.”
I let go of Mason’s throat, and the fucking silence in the room deafens me.
Do I like the plan? No.
Should I have heard the plan? Also, no. No woman is allowed in Church unless they are invited, but I invited myself when I realized the meeting was mostly about me. I have a right to know, and I openedthe door at the perfect time because Knives was choking his brother.
“You can’t be serious. You’re not thinking straight. You hit your head last night,” Knives says, trying to make excuses for why I want to go ahead with the plan. I understand he’s scared; I am too. My dad is a horrible man, and what if he does get his hands on me? What if the Ruthless Kings can’t find me and I’m lost forever?
It’s a chance I have to take. This isn’t only about me; it’s about all the women my father has sold, auctioning them off like they are pieces of antique furniture.
How long did he keep me prisoner, only to keep other women prisoner too? How can a man like my father get up every day pretending to preach faith, yet steal faith from others?
Mason is gasping for air, rubbing his throat, and staring at Knives with sorrow. He isn’t angry. He isn’t trying to attack; he just looks… sad. He has missed his brother.
“I wasn’t allowed to contact anyone from my past, Knives. Ever. You have to understand,” he explains through a raspy, strained voice. “I was done with my past.”
“And you’re still done with it,” Knives says to Mason, turning his head to his shoulder, but not looking behind him to stare at the person that used to be his best friend. Knives makes his way over to me, walking behind the men who are sitting in chairs, and Reaper’s eyes harden as he stares at me.