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“Yeah.” Trev tried to remember. “They’re always digging around and apparently busted a water pipe. Flooded out the whole club I used to work at and a couple of the other buildings.” He paused. “The owners were screaming like crazy and oh! That’s when that bakery burned down too.”

“There was a flood and a fire?”

“Yup. The people at the bakery got into a fight with the crew that were digging. They were in the wrong spot or something, it turned into a big screaming match, and they were so busy arguing that they forgot about something in the oven. Started a huge fire. And the only reason it didn’t spread was because of the damn water.”

Cold looked thoughtful, but all he said was, “Huh.”

Trev tried to study Cold’s face as if it would yield more clues, but he felt like he’d given away something for free.

But what?

Shit.

“Why are you asking about the park?” Jupiter frowned. “You think the Luchesis are involved with it somehow?”

“I merely asked a question,” Cold said. “Either you know something or you don’t.”

“Hey, boss!” Roger called out cheerfully as he strolled into the parlor. “Don’t mean to interrupt, but I thought you might wanna see this.”

Trev frowned and turned around to see what Roger had.

His lockbox!

“What the fuck?” Trev surged forward to grab it, but a firm hand curled around the front of his throat.

It was Mickey.

Jupiter was on his feet in a blink and scowling. “Let go of him.”

“Sit back down,” Mickey said flatly, squeezing Trev’s throat.

Shit, shit, shit.

This was bad.

It was going to turn violent way too fast, and Trev needed to defuse the situation as quickly as possible. Although it was sweet that Jupiter wanted to defend him, he stood absolutely no chance here.

So, Trev did what he did best.

Act like a brat.

“Oh, harder, Daddy.” Trev rolled his eyes. “Mmm, yeah, come on. Is that all you got?”

Mickey chuckled. It was not a particularly friendly sound. “I’d break you.”

Somehow, Trev didn’t doubt it.

Still, he couldn’t resist taunting back, “Come on, I might be into that shit.”

“Hey, hey, everyone keep it in their pants.” Roger handed the lockbox to Cold. “That’s my line anyway.” He grinned at Trev. “Bitch.”

“Whore,” Trev automatically shot back.

“Huh.” Mickey hummed. “It’s like he knows you.”

“Play nice,” Cold scolded as if he were speaking to children, flipping the lid open.

“That’s mine,” Trev snapped, not caring when Mickey squeezed. “What the fuck? It was locked! How did you even get it open?”