Page 16 of Knuckles & Knives
“Because your father was planning to retire. He wanted to legitimize his operations and leave the criminal world behind.” Marcus reaches across to touch my hand, the contact surprisingly warm. “ Jacek had spent twenty years building his position in Vincent’s organization. He wasn’t about to watch it all disappear because his boss developed a conscience.”
The pieces click into place with horrible clarity. My father’s increasing distance in the months before his death. The long conversations behind closed doors. The way he’d look at me sometimes, like he was memorizing my face for a future where he might not see it again.
He’d been planning to get out for me.
Mom died almost two years to the day before my father had been murdered. A heart attack in her sleep. So peaceful.
I wonder if her death is why he thought about changing things. He seemed so content before then, happy even.
“There’s more,” Marcus says quietly, “but that’s enough truth for one night. The rest will come when you’re ready to hear it.”
Fuck it. I drain my whiskey in one burning gulp, using the fire in my throat to anchor myself against the emotional tsunami threatening to sweep me away. “What exactly are you proposing?”
Marcus hesitates just long enough to make me wonder if the perfect strategist isn’t as immune to risk as he wants me to believe. “An alliance. You get access to our intelligence network, our resources, our protection when necessary. In exchange, you help us navigate the chaos that’s about to unfold when word spreads that Vincent Blackwood’s daughter is very much alive and very much seeking answers.”
“And the trust you mentioned?”
“Will develop naturally as we work together. Or it won’t, and we’ll find other arrangements.” His smile is sharp but not unkind. “I’m a patient man, Raven. I can wait for what I want.”
The offer is tempting, more tempting than I want to admit. I need to get into the inner circle. I can’t just slink around in the shadows and go directly after my father’s killer.
Especially since it seems like my knowledge about my father’s murder might not be complete as it is.
Navigating the labyrinth of betrayal and violence that claimed my father is going to require some trust, yes, but I’ll sleep with one eye open.
This isn’t about trust. This is about positioning myself close enough to Marcus that, when he slips up—or when I need him—I’ll be ready.
But all I say is, “I need time to think about this.”
“Of course. Take all the time you need. For now… if you wish to stay close and keep your eye on the ground… might I line up some more fights for Sally Upton?”
“Certainly.” I grin.
He nods and rises gracefully, moving to open a wall panel that reveals a hidden elevator. “This will take you directly to the parking garage. Discrete exit, no witnesses.”
“And if I decide not to accept your offer?”
“Then you walk away, and we pretend this conversation never happened.” His expression grows serious. “But, Raven, if you’re truly committed to destroying the people responsible for your father’s death, you’re going to need allies. The kind of enemies you’re making don’t fall easily, and they certainly don’t fall alone.”
I stand, noting the way he maintains distance while still projecting protective awareness of my every move. “You said Jacek Kowalski was responsible for providing the intelligence. Who actually pulled the trigger?”
“Now that,” Marcus says with a smile that promises dark revelations, “is information that requires a much deeper level of trust. When you’re ready to hear it, I’ll be here.”
I step into the hidden elevator but pause before the doors close. “Why are you really doing this, Marcus? What do you get out of helping me?”
His expression shifts, becoming something more personal, more honest than anything I’ve seen from him tonight. “Because Vincent Blackwood was a good man trying to do right by his daughter and because the people who killed him deserve everything that’s coming to them.”
The doors slide shut, and I’m growing all the more certain that I’m about to make a deal that will change everything.
The devil, it seems, wears expensive suits and offers exactly what you need to hear.
The question is whether I’m desperate enough to shake hands with him.
CHAPTER 6
The gym beneath the Obsidian fight club smells like sweat, leather, and the kind of determination that leaves blood on the canvas. It’s five in the morning, and the space is mine alone.
Or so I thought until I hear the distinctive sound of knuckles meeting heavy bag from the far corner.
