Page 5 of Knuckles & Knives
He’s testing me. I refuse to meet his gaze as I counter with, “And if you don’t?”
“Then you’re probably about to make some very expensive mistakes.”
I turn to face him fully, noting how he’s positioned himself between me and the door. Not blocking my exit, exactly, but making his presence impossible to ignore. “Sounds like you have something specific in mind.”
Marcus takes a measured sip of his whiskey, never breaking eye contact. “Raven Blackwood was eighteen when she disappeared. Officially, she died in the same attack that claimed her father’s life. Unfortunately, bodies were never recovered.”
My pulse spikes, but I force myself to remain calm. “Tragic story. I’m sure her family mourned her loss.”
“I’m sure they did. Especially Dominic Vega, who blamed himself for failing to protect Vincent’s little girl.” He sets his glass down with deliberate precision. “He’s never quite gotten over the guilt.”
Dom’s guilt. Something sharp twists in my chest, but I push the feeling away and focus on the game Marcus is playing. “Why are you telling me this? And why do you think?—”
“Because dead girls don’t usually fight like they’ve been training with military contractors for five years. Dead girls don’t carry custom switchblades or move through crowds like they’re cataloging every exit and potential weapon.” His smile turns predatory. “And dead girls definitely don’t have amber eyes that change color when they’re angry.”
Shit.I know he called me by name already, but I hoped to convince him he had been mistake, but no. I’ve been made, completely and thoroughly. My eyes are an unusual color, but they tend to be too dry for me to wear colored contact lenses, especially when I’m fighting. Can’t take the risk.
For the most part, though, instead of panic, I feel relief. Playing pretend was exhausting anyway.
“So what happens now?” I ask, setting my untouched whiskey on his desk. “Do you call security? Turn me over to the Sterlings for the bounty I’m sure they’ve placed on my head?”
“That would be the smart play,” Marcus agrees. “Vincent’s daughter returning from the dead is the kind of news that could destabilize the entire power structure we’ve spent five years building.”
“But?”
“But I’ve always found chaos more profitable than stability.” He moves close enough that I can smell his expensive cologne and see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. “The question is… what do you want, Raven Blackwood?”
His smooth voice saying my real name sends a shiver down my spine that has nothing to do with fear. This close, I can see that Marcus Quintana is more dangerous than his refined exterior suggests. There’s something predatory in the way hewatches me, like he’s solving a complex equation and I’m the variable he can’t quite pin down.
“I want what was stolen from me,” I say simply.
“Your father’s empire.”
“Everything.” I almost spit out the word. “Every territory, every business, every connection. I want it all back.”
Marcus nods slowly, as if my declaration makes perfect sense. “Ambitious. Also nearly impossible. The Sterlings and Kowalskis have divided your father’s holdings between them. They’re not going to simply hand everything back because Vincent’s daughter asks nicely.”
My grin is all teeth. “Who said anything about asking nicely?”
Something flickers in his expression—approval, maybe, or recognition of a kindred spirit. “War, then. Against two of the most powerful crime families in the city.”
I shrug one shoulder. “If that’s what it takes.”
“It is.” He reaches past me to adjust something on his desk, and the movement brings him close enough that I can feel his body heat. “But you’ll need allies. Resources. Information.”
I lift my chin. “Are you offering?”
“I’m considering it.” His fingers brush against mine as he straightens, the contact electric and brief. “What are you willing to offer in return?”
Before I can answer, the office door bursts open and Dom storms in like an approaching thunderstorm. His dark eyes take in the intimate distance between Marcus and me, and his jaw tightens with barely controlled violence.
“Time’s up,” he growls, moving toward us with predatory intent. “Sally, we’re leaving. Now.”
Interesting. He has to know that Marcus recognizes me, yet Dom’s using my fake name. He won’t risk blowing my cover. He’s watching over me even now. Not that I need him to, ofcourse, but his loyalties haven’t changed, which I most certainly appreciate.
“I don’t think the lady was finished with our conversation,” Marcus says mildly, but I notice he doesn’t back away from Dom’s intimidating approach.
“The lady can speak for herself,” I interject before Dom can respond. The testosterone in the room is thick enough to cut with a knife, and I’m not in the mood to play mediator between two alpha males marking territory.
