Page 90 of Property of Legend

“I told you I’d always love you,” I say.“That don’t change.”

I lick the cake from my fingers.“This is some damn good cake,” I say to the crowd.Trying to lighten the mood a bit.

And then I walk out.

Leave that whole fuckin’ room with their fancy clothes and their fake-ass smiles behind.Let ’em whisper.Let ’em call me a monster.

They’re half right.

But I only bite when pushed.And that son of a bitch just begged for teeth.

Chapter 50

Legend

The map's spread out over the pool table like the goddamn battlefield it is.

Blue pushpins where the Kings hold territory covered the bluegrass.Red ones where the Sinners have been stirrin’ shit, Lexington.Winchester.Mount Sterling.One of our bars burned to ash just last week.We’re in it deep, neck-deep in a turf war we didn’t ask for but sure as hell are gonna finish.

I’m in the back of the club, boots planted, cigarette burnin’ down to the filter, marker in hand, drawin’ out lines like we’re back in boot camp.Oaks leans over the table beside me, scowlin’.Derby paces near the door, chewing a toothpick like it personally insulted his mama.

“They want Lexington bad,” I mutter, stabbing the marker into the map.“Think it’s theirs.Ain’t even subtle about it anymore.”

“They got three new patches up there now,” Oaks adds.“One’s a sniper.Took out a guy on our payroll just last night.”

“Yeah?Then we take ’em out first,” I say.Cold.Final.No discussion.“We got a sniper, too.”

Rye grunts, cracks his knuckles.“Say the word.”

And I’m about to, about to lay out the whole goddamn ambush plan, when my burner buzzes on the table.Private line.No name.Just a number I don’t recognize.

I answer anyway.

“Yeah?”My voice is thick, already irritated.

But the second I hear who it is, my whole body locks up.

“Legend, it’s Montgomery.”Sophie’s daddy.

My blood goes ice cold.

“Say that again?”

“Got this number by a feller that works for me by the name of Cornbread.”He exhales hard, and I hear it, the panic he’s tryin’ real damn hard to keep outta his voice.“It’s Sophie.She’s gone.”

I blink, like maybe I heard him wrong.“Gone how?”

“She disappeared from her room last night,” he says, voice crackin’ just a little.“Door was locked.Window open.No note.No signs of a struggle.She’s just… gone.”

I’m already grabbin’ my cut off the chair, barkin’ orders without even thinkin’.“You call the cops?”

He laughs, cold and bitter.“They think she ran.Think she’s heartbroken over the broken engagement.”

“Wait.What?”

“She called it off,” he says, softer now.“Right after that party.After you showed up.”

I stop moving.My heart’s hammerin’, but I stay quiet.Let him talk.

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