“Perhaps,” Lev drawls, dragging out the moment, savoring the power he holds. But I can tell he’s hooked, intrigued by the chaos we propose.
“Back us, and we’ll push the Diablo Cartel out of Jacksonville. Together.”
“Bold, Creed, very bold.” Lev’s voice drops an octave, a sign he’s in. “All right. You have my support.”
“Good.”
“This will be interesting.”
“Interesting enough to shake up the whole damn city,” Creed promises, clenching the phone.
“Very well,” Lev says, sealing the deal with two words.
“Talk soon, Lev.” Creed hangs up before he can reply.
We’ve just struck a deal with the devil himself.
And hell, if it isn’t exactly where the Royal Bastards thrive.
ChapterFifteen
Lyric
I’m slicing tomatoes when Dad bursts through the kitchen door like a storm. His face is tight, eyes hard with that look he gets when life’s gone sideways after an operation gone wrong.
“Gwen,” he pants, his voice edged with something that sounds like fear.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I ask, dropping the knife, my heart kicking up a notch.
He’s never this rattled. Dad is a plastic surgeon, and there’s not much he hasn’t seen.
His gaze sweeps the room, landing on me like a physical touch. “Those women…” he starts, and there’s a tremor in his hands that doesn’t belong, “… the ones yourfriendsbrought in.”
I swallow and wipe my hands on my jeans, feeling the weight of his stare. “Yes?” I prod, trying to keep my tone level.
“One’s just a kid, Gwen.” He’s at my side now. “Fifteen, maybe. She’s… God.” He is gripping the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him up. “She’s been…”
I don’t need him to finish. My stomach twists into a hard knot, and I feel the color drain from my face.
“Beaten? Raped?” The words taste like bile.
“Both,” he confirms, and the simple word is a punch to the gut.
“Jesus, Dad…” I reach out and touch his arm, trying to ground us both.
“Can’t let this stand,” he mutters, looking past me now toward the phone—toward calling in the cavalry that can’t come.
“Wait, Dad.” I catch his eye. “Trust me, okay? Just… trust me.”
He nods once, sharp and tight. But I see it in his eyes, the battle he’s fighting to do his job or to be my father. It’s tearing him up inside.
“All right,Lyric.” My club name sounds rough. “But you better have a damn good plan.”
I nod because I have to, but there’s no other choice, and when Highway trusts you with something, you don’t let it fall apart. Not if you can help it.
“Got it, Dad. We’ll fix this… somehow. You can’t call the police, Dad,” I say without preamble. “Please trust us, trust me.”
“Gwen, these women—” he starts, anxiety etching deeper lines into his face.
