16. Grey

16

GREY

M y wolf's caught between wanting to drive Lexi as far as this car will take us and tearing chunks out of Franco until he's nothing more than blood and bones beside Anthony's body.

Mia must sense my dilemma because she grabs my arm the moment Lexi's ducked inside the car.

"She's the priority," she says firmly. "Do you hear me?"

I don't answer. Adrenaline and rage clog my throat. Vengeance and despair course through me like they're strands of my DNA.

"Grey," Mia snaps.

I scowl at her. "What?"

"Take her to my house. I'll be there soon."

"No." She should go home where I can hold her. Where I can convince her not to run away screaming from this life—from me and everything I am.

"I can call the others," she says. "We'll debrief together so we can figure out what this means for us. And Lexi will do better with company right now."

I sigh. She's right. We need to get in front of this before my father can organize some kind of rash response. I'm not going to let this city get caught in a war. "Fine. But I need to make a stop first."

"Don't be long." Mia hurries to her waiting car.

I give Elio instructions about our destination before joining Lexi in the car. She's slid all the way to the far side of the seat and her arms are wrapped around herself. But she's dry-eyed, and she's stopped shaking.

That's a good sign.

The moment the door shuts, I pour her a glass of orange juice from the car's stocked mini fridge and hold it out to her. "Here. The sugar will help your nerves."

She takes it and sips.

I nod at her to do it again.

She empties the glass and hands it back to me. "I'm not going to fall apart." She must see something in my expression because she adds, "Again."

Despite everything, my lips twitch. But my amusement fades quickly. "I'm sorry," I tell her. "I never should've brought you to that meeting."

"You couldn't have known."

"I knew he'd do something dramatic," I say. "After my attack on the restaurant and our public engagement, he had to hit back somehow."

"But Anthony had nothing to do with any of that. Why didn't he go after you directly?"

My head begins to ache. "It's part of the game."

"That makes no freaking sense," she says, frustration leaking out.

I exhale heavily. "Come here."

Before she can move an inch, I scoop her into my arms and settle her on my lap. Part of me wonders if she'll push me away, but she slides her arms around my shoulders and buries her face in my neck.

Her skin against mine feels so damn good.

And even though she's not straddling me—and her body is a lot more covered—I think of that lap dance. The night we met. The way she seduced me. The way I fell for her the moment she told me to sit on that fucking couch and keep my hands to myself.

This time, I break that rule greedily.

With my arms wrapped around her, I rub slow, soothing circles over her back. My palm slides across the fabric of her dress then over the zipper, which I reluctantly leave intact. Sex would only help one of us right now. She needs comfort. And more than anything, I want to be what she needs.

I wind my fingers into her silky hair, gathering fistfuls of it then letting it go again. My chest presses against hers, my skin warming beneath the fabric of my shirt.

Being close to her, smelling her, touching her—it calms my wolf's blood thirst in a way nothing else ever has.

"I'm sorry I screamed," she says finally.

"Don't apologize." I draw her away so I can look into her eyes. "Seriously. You reacted like a normal person who hasn't been desensitized by prolonged exposure to violence. The people who didn't scream are the ones who should be sorry."

She nods then lays her head on my shoulder again, snuggling in against my neck.

I hold her just like that for the duration of the drive, willing to admit this comforts me just as much as it does her.

And I need that comfort now. I thought we'd have more time, but Franco just ruined that idea. We need to move quickly. To become a pack—to strengthen my alpha power enough that I can take on both my father and Franco himself.

There's only one thing I can do.

We pull up outside my apartment, and I ease Lexi off my lap and onto the seat beside me.

"Come on, we need to go." I tug her hand, and we climb out of the car into the sunlight. My apartment building rises in front of us, but I turn away from it to address Elio. "We're on our own from here."

"Sir?"

"I'll take the car. You have the day off."

"I'm not sure the alpha?—"

"Feel free to report me. But you're no longer needed." My voice is firm with only the barest hint of alpha power in it.

Elio blinks then nods. "Yes, sir." He steps away from the door and strides off toward the parking garage.

I look back at Lexi. "Want to ride up front this time?"

"Sure."

I round the car and hold the passenger door open for her. Then I slide into the driver's seat. The engine's still running, so I don't waste any time before easing back into traffic. Elio will have told the other guards I ordered him to let us leave alone, but that doesn't mean they won't try to follow us anyway, especially if they're loyal to my father.

I drive strategically for almost half an hour to make sure we've lost any tails before heading to our destination. Lexi is quiet and contemplative. I try to read her mood, but I can't sense anything more than low anxiety humming off her.

When she finally looks up and notes where we are, her expression turns wary. "What are we doing here?"

"I need to grab something before we head over to meet the others," I tell her. "You want to come inside with me?"

Through the car window, she studies the warehouse. I know she must be thinking about the first time I brought her here. A visit that ended in me killing Trucker, an informant for Franco. After what she just went through, I hate asking her to come into a place that holds nothing but bad memories, but I also have no intention of leaving her out here alone.

"Promise you're not going to kill anyone in there?" she jokes.

I laugh, though it's not funny. "I promise. Come on."

She takes my hand and lets me lead her through the side door we used last time. I flip a switch on the wall to get the lights blinking on overhead. The place looks the same as always. Dusty concrete walls, aging and empty. Forgotten. The perfect off-grid place for our various needs.

The warehouse belongs to Vincenzo Diavolo, but even he's forgotten it.

I stop in front of a narrow door at the end of the passageway. Inside, I find a mop and bucket along with a few random cleaning supplies left over from another era. The bottles of disinfectant shove aside easily, and I feel for the catch along the wall beneath the empty aluminum shelving.

Click.

I pull open the compartment and grab the hard case from its hiding place in the wall. There's a duffel bag behind it, but I don't take that with me. No need to. Yet.

"Nice hiding spot," Lexi says.

I grab her hand, squeezing for emphasis. "If something happens to me, take this bag and follow the instructions inside."

"What?" Her amusement turns to worry.

"The duffel," I say, pointing at it before closing the compartment again. "See this spot here." I grab her hand and position it over the catch along the wall. "This will open the compartment. Got it?"

I shake my head. "Grey, you're being ridiculous. Nothing's going to happen to you."

"But if it does," I insist.

She studies me, clearly noting my seriousness. "What's in the bag?"

"Instructions," I say again.

"How would I get through the wards?" she asks.

"The less you know, the better. For now. Don't look inside until you're ready to use it, okay?"

She doesn't look convinced, but she says, "Okay."

Shaking off my darkening thoughts, I push the compartment back into place until it clicks shut. Then I step back and close the closet door. "Ready?"

She nods and falls into step with me.

"What's in the box?" she asks.

"The weapon that will finally finish this," I tell her as we exit the warehouse and climb back into the car. "It's time to move on to the next phase of this war."

D owntown is crowded with a lunchtime rush hour that's busier than usual. I have no doubt word of Anthony's death has already spread through the city. They'll want to gather and gossip and speculate about whether my father will retaliate and how bad the fallout will be. I wish I knew. By the time we pull to a stop in front of Mia's building, I've already gotten texts from both her and Dutch asking where the hell we are.

"I thought we were going to Mia's," Lexi says once we're out of the car.

I glance at the city block of high rises. The first floor houses stores like Les Haut, a high-end clothing boutique. The middle floors are home to a couple of attorneys' offices and a plastic surgeon.

The penthouse, however, has one resident.

"We are," I say.

"I don't understand. Doesn't she live in Pine Hill with Dutch and the others?"

"Not anymore. See that top level?" I ask, pointing.

"Yeah."

"It's a penthouse apartment."

"Mia lives here?" She pauses then adds, "You know what?" She shakes her head, the disbelief disappearing. "I don't even know why I'm surprised. Of course she lives upstairs from her favorite places to shop."

I smirk. "Come on."

We take the elevator up, using the secure code Mia gave us to allow access to her floor—just like my place. The fact that she and I both live in penthouse apartments with top-notch security, however, is where the similarity ends. The doors open to what Dutch describes as a vomit of color. A bright yellow sectional faces a wall of windows, allowing sunlight to saturate the rich hues. A pink ottoman and accent chair complete the sitting area, with the throw-pillow-to-person ratio at least six to one. It's cozy and inviting—and bright as fuck.

Lexi slows, taking it all in.

"Wow," she manages, staring up at the art piece Mia keeps telling me is post-modern-something-or-other. It's an abstract splash of bright blues, greens, and yellows, which is basically the decorating scheme of the entire place.

"If you squint, it's not quite so overwhelming," I tell her.

"I heard that," Mia calls, her voice ringing out from around the corner.

She appears a second later, a tray of drinks in her hand. "Stop talking shit about my decorating, Grey. Your namesake's the only color you're capable of using, so you're in no position to talk."

Lexi grins, and I glare at her. "You're taking her side?"

Lexi shrugs. "She's not wrong."

"I never am." Mia softens as she looks at Lexi. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Lexi tells her.

"Everyone's outside," Mia says. "Come on."

We follow her out, where Dutch, Razor, and Crow are all sitting at the covered patio table. Mia slides the tray onto the table, and Razor reaches for the bottle of whiskey and starts pouring shots. There's another bottle beside him, but it's empty.

We're clearly late to the party.

"Where's Ramsey?" I ask.

"I sent him to take a shower," Mia says with a huff.

"What? Why?"

"That's why." She nods at the white concrete wall. It's streaked red.

I sniff. Fresh blood. "What the hell happened?"

"He wants Franco's head, dude," Razor says. "Took his rage out on the wall with his fists."

I look from him to the others, my heart aching for Ramsey's loss. Losing his dad is one thing. Watching Anthony get executed like that while all those assholes sat by and let it happen—it's gotta be killing him.

Of course he wants revenge.

So do I.

"We can't let him do something stupid," I say.

"We know," Dutch says.

Mia reaches for one of the shots Razor poured, and there are bloodied gashes on her arm.

My hand whips out, snagging her wrist and turning it so I can get a better look. "What the fuck happened to you?" I ask quietly.

"Ramsey happened," Dutch says.

I look from him to Mia, but she pulls her arm back, dismissing my worry. "Relax, Grey. I'm fine. Ramsey's nothing I can't handle."

"Tell me exactly what happened," I order.

"After the meeting ended, Rocco and my dad helped get Ramsey into my car," Mia explains. "I didn't want him going home alone so I brought him here. He was upset. Obviously. I tried to calm him down. He didn't realize what he was doing. He half-shifted in the freaking car. Almost tore it apart."

I set the box down. "I'm going to talk to him."

"No need," says a clipped male voice.

I look up and find Ramsey striding toward us. His hair's still wet from the shower, and he's wearing a pair of gym shorts. His knuckles are bruised but already healing, from what I can tell. The grief in his eyes, however, is fresh and raw.

"Hey." I grab him in a hug. "I'm sorry."

Ramsey hugs me back hard before letting me go. "The only fucker who's going to be sorry is Franco."