Page 12 of Hell In A Handbasket
“Archer?”
“Timothy,” she growls. “I asked for the doctors. I made allowances for the cops. Now I have Timothy Malone the Third hitching a ride—uninvited—which is why things are a helluva lot more complicated, especially since word has already spread underground. If you have a protocol in place for this sort of thing, I suggest you employ it.”
“Protocols for what?” I snarl. “What, Sophia?”
“The heir to the New York throne is traveling with two other Malone brothers! I don’t entirely agree with the British in basicallyanythingthey do, but there’s a reason they don’t let successors travel together. So explain to me, please, why the hell Cato is on that flight, too? With Tim. And Archer.”
“Cato, too?” Horrified, I search Christabelle’s widening eyes. “Why?”
“The day I pretend to understand how a Malone thinks is the day I should probably be put out to pasture. If your jet is already fueled up and ready to go, I suggest you use the damn thing and sweep as many of them off my crime scene as quickly and quietly as you can. I’m putting my men in cars now, but driving is gonna take a lot longer than flying, so if you can get there before us, that might be best.”
“Send me the coordinates of your nearest airstrip,” Micah orders. “We’ll be wheels up in twenty minutes, and we’ll collect you on the way.”
Stunned, she noisily inhales. “You’ll pick us up, too?”
“Yeah. That way, if we arrive in a fucking war zone, and my brothers are harmed, I’ll already have you within arm’s reach.” He kills the call and glares into my eyes. “I told you! I fucking told you, Lix. Bad shit is coming.”
Hissing, Christabelle drops her hands to her belly and snaps her teeth shut. Her face burns red, but her lips glow white. She’s in pain and way too fucking close to full term for this shit.
“Fuck!” My brain tears itself in two. My heart. My entire fucking soul. “Christabelle… I can’t… I don’t…” I press my hand to her belly and feel it. The hardening of her skin. The tightening of her stomach. “I don’t like leaving you here alone…”
“I’m coming with you.” She leans on me, breathing heavily and puffing her cheeks wide. “I’ll pack a bag and be downstairs in two minutes.”
“You can’t come with me!” I push her back just far enough to look into her eyes. “Darling, you can’t fly when you’re this pregnant, and you sure as fuck aren’t invited to this bullshit Sophia has created. I won’t allow it.”
She licks her lips and slows her breathing, calming the sprint of her heart. “Cato’s there.”
“Christabelle—”
“My entire family will be there.” She swallows and steps around me, pulling her towel tight and dragging wet hair over her shoulder. “I assure you, I’m going wherever my family is.” She waddles across the patio tiles and stops at the back door of the house. “Harrison?”
“Christabelle! I said no.”
“Harrison?”
A man not all that different in age compared to me and my brothers steps out of the shadows, dropping his chin and ensuring he looks nowhere but at her feet. “Yes, ma’am? Can I help you with something?”
“I need assistance packing a bag for a couple of days away.”
“A-a bag, ma’am?” His surprised eyes flicker to mine. “Would you like me to call Mary?”
“Guns.” She grabs the lapel of his shirt. “Not clothes. Let’s go.”
SOPHIA
“It’s done.” I tap the piece in my ear and end my call with the New York Malones. Sitting back at my desk, I grin and meet the stares of my team, who watch and wait as I weave my magic.
Smirking, Jay tosses gummy worms onto his tongue and shakes his head. Kane does the same… minus the smile.
“You’re playing with fire, Boss.” Jen sits on the edge of Troy’s desk, her butt on the top and her feet on the chair, while my baby sister mirrors her pose, her elbows on her knees and a soft frown marring her brow. “You don’t get to make the world your puppets all for a bit of fun.”
“This isn’t fun to me. It rarely ever is.” I move to my feet and stride around my desk, snagging a heavily padded briefcase from the far wall made of titanium and reinforced with impenetrable steel. I flip the locks on the case I had specially made for this mission and lift the lid to get a peek inside. “Malones are gonna swing by and get us, which is a shit ton faster than going by road, don’t you think?”
“The others left yesterday.” Jay turns and digs his hands into his pockets. “We could’ve left with them and joined the convoy.”
“I prefer my way.” I close the case again and check the pistol strapped to my thigh. I drop the magazine and pop the chambered round. Muscle memory, even for a woman whose most dangerous weapon tends to be electronic and connected to the internet.
It’s ironic, really, how swiftly a few strokes of my fingertips can destroy lives. Or enrich them.
