Page 83 of Blood Owed (Blood Mafia 1)
I shove the door to my office open hard enough to cause the wood to splinter. Colt raises his eyebrow in a silent question. He takes in my rumpled appearance and shoots Grayson a look.
They always do that, communicate with looks they think I don’t understand. Are they both too dumb to realize I learned their secret language years ago?
“Boss,” Grayson says, kicking his ankle over his knee. “Everything okay?”
I give them a withering stare, walking around the large mahogany desk, jerking my leather chair out, and sitting down. “Why do you assume something is wrong?” My voice is edged with anger.
They exchange another look.
“Do you have something to say, Colt?”
My number one presses off the wall and walks over to the desk, standing across from me. His eyebrows pull down, the one with the scar dipping slightly lower. “Demi?”
I grunt and take the cap off my pen. “What about her?”
“What did she do?” Colt asks, leaning his hands on the desk. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you this worked up.”
Is he implying I’m emotional? A spark of anger flickers to life low in my belly, and I register the feeling with growing unease. I am being emotional. I’ve taken careful measures to keep a cap on my feelings, and now they’re manifesting hard enough that my men can tell.
“Nothing,” I say roughly, looking over one of the contracts on my desk. I read through it, sensing the two of them sharing yet another look.
Grayson clears his throat. “If we could see her, we might be able to help.”
“No, I told you to leave her alone.”
Colt lets out a low sound of frustration, and I flick my cold gaze to his, hiding all of my emotions behind a façade of calculated killer.
He senses the shift in my demeanor and steps back, shoving his hands into his slacks.
Grayson’s eyes are pinched in frustration, but he nods. “New York sent a present to us.”
I clench my pen in my fist. “What kind of present?”
Colt shifts but doesn’t look away. He’s my first for a reason. He doesn’t tremble in fear in my presence, and he’s almost as powerful as I am. Almost.
Grayson flips open the folder on the desk, pulls out a few photos, and spreads them in front of me. I stare at the carnage. There are so many dead humans, enough to rile up the media.
“Where was this?”
“Over by Haight and Ashbury,” Colt says.
I sigh. “They killed the hippies?”
Grayson grimaces and nods. “A few kids too.”
“And the shipment?”
Colt shakes his head. “Gone.”
The pen snaps in my hand. I chuck it into the bin, letting out a string of curses. The hippies selling Blood Mafia heroin and weed make up a large chunk of our profits. The profit margin on drugs isn’t as high as guns, but they sell a lot faster.
“Sisco’s gone too far this time,” I say, mulling over how many lives I’ve lost. I don’t like to be tested, and Sisco’s going to be on the receiving end of my full wrath.
“Should we send him a message back?”
I glare at Grayson, though he isn’t the focus of my anger. “I think I have an idea for retaliation, but it’ll take a few days to get the plans set.”
Grayson leans forward, a wicked smile flashing across his face. He loves a good battle.
