Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“What changed?”
Blue meets my eyes across the room. “Your father.”
Vespera has gone completely still, her usual theatrical energy replaced by focused attention.
“He said he knew there were people who needed help escaping. Said if I helped him save the innocent ones, he’d help me find targets who actually deserved to die.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “And you said yes.”
Blue looks at Vespera, who nods encouragingly. “Peter and I spent years working together. He’d identify people who needed help disappearing, and I’d handle their ‘deaths’ while he got them new identities, new lives.”
“That’s . . . actually beautiful,” Vespera says softly.
“It was perfect,” Blue agrees. “Until Brutus figured out the pattern. Too many of our targets were surviving their ‘murders,’ disappearing without a trace.” His expression darkens. “When he confronted me, I had to choose. Peter or the Crow.”
“You chose Peter.”
“I chose myself,” Blue corrects. “I chose to stop being Blue Crow and just be Blue. But that meant war with Brutus, and Peter . . .” He trails off, pain flickering across his face.
“Peter paid the price,” I finish quietly.
I’m quiet for a long moment, processing everything he’s told me.
“Blue Crow . . .” I finally say. “Doesn’t sound right.”
“It wasn’t right,” Vespera says.
Blue clears his throat, breaking the heavy weight in the room.
“Enough about the Crow. This is why I wanted to bring you here,” he says, gesturing around the room. “To meet Vespera and see the incinerator. So you’d know where to come if things go sideways.”
“Consider me your backup plan,” Vespera adds with that wicked smile returning. “If you ever need help making problems disappear, I’m your girl. And if you ever need a glam squad for an undercover job, well, I do that too.”
Blue pushes off from the table. “We should go. We’ve got dessert waiting at home.” His grin turns predatory. “Two Crow sitting on ice, and I’d hate for them to spoil.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Blue
The basement air carries the scent of champagne and anticipation—two of my favorite combinations. Hans has outdone himself with tonight’s presentation. The stone walls are softened by warm lighting, and he’s arranged a proper dessert service on the antique sideboard: crystal flutes, vintage champagne chilling in silver buckets, and delicate petit fours that Wren must have prepared before she turned in for the evening.
Our two remaining dinner guests complete the tableau.
Jack “The Knife” Crow sits in the chair closest to the champagne setup, his wrists secured with Hans’s trademark efficiency. No gags this time—I want to hear what they have to say. Victor “The Veteran” Crow occupies the chair beside him, his confiscated cane sword leaning against the wall like a decorative accent.
Both men eye the champagne setup with obvious wariness. Smart. They should be wary.
“Gentlemen,” I say, guiding Saylor down the final steps with my hand at the small of her back. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Not at all,” Victor replies, but he carries less of the confidence he showed at dinner. “Though I have to say, your hospitality has taken quite the turn since the soup course.”
Jack snorts. “Hospitality? Your psychotic girlfriend stabbed Leroy through the fucking hand. Where is he, anyway?”
I can feel Saylor’s posture straighten beside me, but when I glance at her profile, there’s no trace of the earlier nausea. If anything, she looks . . . eager.
“Leroy’s indisposed at the moment,” I say pleasantly. “But don’t worry—you’ll be joining him soon enough.”
“Hans,” I call, and the big German emerges from the shadows near the wine storage. “Would you mind opening the champagne? I think tonight calls for a celebration.”
“What exactly are we celebrating?” Jack asks, testing his restraints with casual interest. “Your girlfriend’s impressive stabbing technique? Because I have to say, the follow-through was shit.”
Saylor moves toward the champagne setup with fluid grace, pulling a small velvet bag from her purse. “We’re celebrating progress,” she says, her voice carrying a confidence that wasn’t there when we first met at dinner. “Personal growth. Learning new skills.”
Hans pops the first cork like he’s done it a thousand times before, the sound echoing off the stone walls like a small gunshot. Victor flinches despite himself, while Jack just watches Saylor with growing unease.
“You know what your problem is, sweetheart?” Jack says with less swagger now. “You think one lucky stab makes you dangerous.”
Saylor extracts a bottle filled with tiny blue spheres from the velvet bag. “Actually, Jack, I think my problem was trying to be something I’m not.” She unscrews the cap with steady hands. “All that dramatic knife work. Very messy. Not really my style.”
My pulse quickens as I watch her tap not one, but two blue orbs into her palm. Christ, she’s learning fast.
“What are those?” Victor asks, his earlier composure finally cracking.
“Medicine,” Saylor says sweetly, studying the blue spheres in her palm. “For your nerves. You both seem so tense.”