Page 105 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
It’s not magic; I’m not psychic. I’m just someone who’s grown up watching bad things happen over and over again; there’s a pattern to the way events unfold. A pressure in the air that you can feel. I knew it the day of the wedding, didn’t I? Well, I know it now.
This storm will bring nothing but pain to everyone that’s caught within it.
My father leads me over to the base of a tree. Not the same one I spoke to Crown beneath, but a different one. It’s a cottonwood, I think. A garbage tree to most people, but I like it because it spreads everywhere and grows big fast.
I feel a prickle on the back of my neck like I’m being watched, and the sensation soothes me. They’re here, even if I can’t see them. Cat might be able to quickdraw a weapon, but I trust the boys to save my ass.
I move up beside my father, mimicking his pose by crossing my arms under my breasts. They are sore; Nellie was right. Damn her for that.
“Where are you getting your information?” he asks, and he must be confident that we’re alone—he’ll know his officers are watching, I’m sure, but we’re safe from other Daybreakers—or else he wouldn’t be talking like this. Cat turns rust-red eyes down to mine, and I glance his way, our gazes crashing together.
“Are you going to kill me?” I ask, and he snorts, turning back to look at the tree. There’s something in his face that I’ve never really seen before. Either because he didn’t allow me to see it or because the burden of grief has just grown so heavy that he can’t possibly deny it anymore—not to me, not even to himself.
“If I wanted you dead,” he starts, still staring at me, but with that odd sort of regretful darkness etched into his features, “you wouldn’t have the chance to ask. You’d just be gone. But you know that already, don’t you? You’re a smart girl.” He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up as he stares at the tree. “This is your brother’s grave,” he tells me, and the blood drains from my face.
I turn back to the tree and try not to think bad thoughts about Gaz. He was a horrible man who did horrible things. He killed a prostitute to keep her quiet. He was more than willing to kill me, his baby sister. His only remaining sister.
I drop my hands to my sides as I struggle to keep my anger from showing so obviously. Cat can read body language like he’s got a doctorate in it. He’ll know every emotion I’m feeling the moment I feel it.
“Where are you getting your information from?” he repeats, referring to last night. Because I was there. Because I knew there was a surprise assassination attempt on the books. It was a pretty good one, too, I’ll admit. Sending in a bunch of hitmen, guns blazing, would never work on Cat. But a weepy, slightly overweight middle-aged woman inside a police station? Having her pop out of the women’s restroom like that was brilliant, too.
Whoever planned that was meticulous.
The only thing they didn’t plan on was that I was smart enough to figure it out. I might not have, if I hadn’t seen Ms. Briggs enter the station. That was pure luck. Or, maybe, more of that strange dark intuition of mine.
“Grey Wolfe,” I reply, because I can’t pretend it’s anyone else. Cat will know if I’m lying. Besides, he already saw that photo. It’s out there, the truth of the situation. “He wants to take over the mafia and end this war; it makes sense, if you think about it.”
“I’m supposed to believe that shit?” Cat snorts, and then he shakes his head, moving forward and pointing at the disturbed earth beneath his feet. “Your brother is dead beneath my boots, Gidget. Do you know what he was doing?”
I’m not sure if it’s a hypothetical question or not.
“He was giving packages to a hooker by the name of Rhea Bundy,” I continue, trying not to get too excited that I’m finally able to share my story. What I did last night, saving my father’s life—maybe, or maybe Beast would’ve done it for me anyway—has granted me the tiniest little scrap of goodwill. It won’t last. And if I don’t give answers that Cat likes, I’ll run through it even more quickly. “She was leaving those packages at an old church—Santuario di Santa Gemma Galgani. We figured that out, but we didn’t know why he was having her do that, what the point of it was.”
I scratch at the side of my face, staring at the ground and trying not to imagine the grim reality of my brother’s body decomposing down there. It’s just not something I want to let my imagination dig into.
