Page 46 of Secrets

Last, there’s Alassane Cobb. The man who has been trying to get in contact with me for years to help him enhance his drugs, but has been unsuccessful due to Nikolai’s forbiddance. His smooth dark skin glimmers as it catches the sparkles from Selina’s rings while he polishes a gun mindlessly, staring at his own stack of papers in front of him. His eyes rove over the print as though he’s reading each line slowly and with purpose. It’s apparent he’s trying not to look in my direction, which only deepens my confusion as to what exactly is currently taking place.

All the heads of the Babin Family are present. The don, the enforcer, tech analyst, clubs’ overseer, and narcotic supplier. While I’m not one hundred percent sure how Alexi handles executions, I can’t imagine it would call for all these people, and most certainly not with them appearing as stressed as they are.

“Don’t just stand there, Ednes. Sit down.”

Ignoring his choice of name, my eyes flash back to the front of the table, finding Nikolai—the only person who can understand my befuddlement. Though I do a well enough job of smothering the emotion, the longer I don’t quite understand what’s going on, the angrier I become, impatience and frustration twirling in my stomach in tandem.

Nikolai’s lips draw down in the corner, before he pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head. “Alexi. She doesn’t know why she’s here. You told me you’d explained this already.”

Alexi’s brows pull together, but he doesn’t look up from the papers consuming him and instead throws his hair into a bun. “Do I really have to stop to spell out something that’s pretty fucking obvious?”

Again, I attempt to understand what the hell could possibly be happening, considering I was very much under the impression that I was walking to my funeral. But with how erratic and completely random Alexi is, I pause, trying again to piece the scene together objectively. This could all be one of his head games he’s notorious for, but also…

Everyone is here, so clearly something has happened. Something much more pressing than my death. Alexi is absorbed in work, not delegating as normal, which tells me this meeting is to brainstorm. Or perhaps to make a correction. Every person has what seems to be the same sized stack of paper in front of them, including the seat with the briefcase I assume is for Lucian, which meansallof them are truly here. Yet there is one more empty seat close to where I stand, but I have no idea who it belongs to.

My eyes run over the table again, stopping at Cobb.

And there it is. The second Alassane smirks, the edge of his deep brown eyes flicking to me like a cat that finally caught the mouse, I understand. I’m not here to die. I’m here for something else entirely.

My manicured hand latches on to the back of the empty chair, but before I pull it out, I ask the only question I have before deciding on what I know without a doubt will be a huge mistake.

“And the agent?”

Finally, Alexi peers up from his papers, an eyebrow lifted as if the answer, along with everything else here, should be obvious. “Oh, I’d forgotten about that. Well, if you haven’t killed her by now, find a way to keep her in your pocket. We may be able to use her later.”

“In my pocket?” I know the term, but not in what capacity he might mean.

Alexi understands my question. “Well, the theme around here seems to be fucking. So fuck her, or kidnap her—my preference, actually—and have her ready for when I need her, which…” he trails off, glancing down at the papers once more. “Could be very soon.”

I swallow, nodding once before sitting at the end of the table. I try to focus on how idiotic this is, how I’m going to regret this decision for the remainder of what is now likely to be my brief life. But I can’t. Instead, the center of my attention is the relief that skitters through me. A calm that not only is no one else going to be sent to kill Jessica, but thatIget to see her again. That I get to continue experiencing her charm, her goofy smile…those soft lips against mine.

Exhaling quietly through my lips, I gaze ahead as Alexi tugs his hair down and runs a hand through it again. His eyes, along with all the others at the table, meet me, and his signature malicious smile curves his lips.

“You’ve been promoted, Evangeline. Sit down.”

Ipromise I’m not irrational or crazy. Well, okay, that’s subjective. So I guess what I mean is, I’m not possessive. I’m not the type to flip out if I haven’t heard from someone in a while because, you know, life and naps definitely exist. But since I’m currently not the most beloved person by both a dangerous cartel gang and a deranged mafia family, my freak-out meter is inching closer to a red, crisis-level threat the more seconds tick by.

Elena, someone I talk to all damn day, every day, hasn’t responded to any of my messages since yesterday afternoon.Yesterday afternoon.

Sure, she could be swamped at work. She does have someone’s funeral she’s preparing arrangements for later this week, but come on. Not agood morning, agoodnight, or ahey, how you doing?It feels…wrong. And not in the way that implies she’s ghosting me—I am an expert in the subject, after all—but more so in a way that actually warrants genuine concern.

As if on cue, a clap of thunder rolls through my apartment, causing the frames in the hall to clatter against the wall. What feels like an ominous warning ripples through my bones.

My gaze flits to the stove for the millionth time today to see that only six minutes have passed since I last checked my phone, and in three more, it will mark twenty-four hours since I’ve heard from her. Again, I’m tempted to double-check that my volume is on, turned all the way up, and that I didn’t disconnect from Wifi or accidentally turn on airplane mode. But I’ve done all those things, like three times every hour, and each time, I discover nothing’s off. And yet, nothing.

Dragging my teeth over my lip, I debate looking at my phone again—even knowing I’ll end up disappointed—or making myself busy with something else. It’s painfully clear I’m obsessing and have to find a way to stop. I need to take a fucking breath and?—

My phone blares to life, the melody loud as it echoes through my kitchen.

I dart for it, hitting it on the tip of my nail, causing it to flip over the edge of the counter and onto the floor. Annoyed, I jump from the barstool and rush around the island, snatching it up only to be pissed off at the contact flashing across the screen.

Jenna’s resting bitch face fills the small display, and even though I’m frustrated it’s not Red, I answer, well aware I need to welcome the distraction. Doesn’t mean I successfully hide the melancholy from my voice though. “Hey.”

“Girl.” Jenna either doesn’t notice or care about my lack of reciprocated excitement. “Where the fuck were you last night? Berks was on fire and called you out. He was dying for a rematch. He’s still fuming from when you stole his girl.”

I grunt into the receiver, walking over and falling onto the couch. “First, the assholeofferedher to me. Second, she came willingly. And yeah, sorry. I meant to text, but I got caught up doing stretch and folds on my sourdough.”

My chest constricts. It’s a specialty loaf I made for Red after she mentioned wanting to try a s’mores variety. It came out perfect and now rests on my counter in a cake display mocking me with its uncut crumb.

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