Page 101 of Bad Blood

It’s my first tactical move of this meeting. Five marble front steps separate us, and guess who has the height advantage.

Edier Grayson stands like a statue in front of me, his hands clasped in front of him, wearing the same uniform as his men. On them, they look like soldiers. With Grayson, he looks like a motherfucking assassin.

He’s a suave bastard—as tall as me, with a Colombian heritage that shows in his features, and an adopted upbringing that has sharpened them into the ultimate weapon.

His stillness is unnerving.

His dark gaze, unswerving.

I sense RJ falling in beside me, his hand hovering over his gun, but this is the last place I need bullets to fly. We’re already giving my guests a free show.

Steeling my jaw, I glance over at Rocco who’s hovering a few steps behind. “Secure the entrance. I don’t want anyone walking through those doors. Got it?”

He offers a curt nod, before retreating inside.

“You brought our war back to my casino, Grayson” I say idly, turning to my uninvited guest and breaking our standoff with a casual accusation. “Are you here to piss on my walls this time instead of shooting them?”

His face darkens.Finally, a reaction.“You know that wasn’t us, Carrera. If that was the play, I would’ve aimed a scorpion bullet at your head, not the wall.”

He’s right. Grayson would consider it a waste of time and good artillery. If he aims, he aims to kill. Which is why his presence is like a downed power line—calm exterior but filled with enough voltage to light up a man with a single word.

“I’m surprised you have the balls to cross that Bridge. You’re gate-crashing my big night.”

He doesn’t react. Not one damn smirk cracks that facade. “I’m sure I would have enjoyed myself immensely, but my invitation got lost in the mail.”

“Yet here you are...and you brought friends.” Spreading my arms wide, I gesture to his ninja-clad entourage. “Obsession isn’t a good look for you, Grayson.”

Taking one slow step at a time, playing fast and loose with the swagger, I hold his icy stare until we’re face to face. Two feet apart. Boss to boss.

Prince to prince.

I don’t need to look behind me to know that RJ is right there, or to know that the thirty sniper guns we have trained on the situation need only one good reason to fire.

“You have sixty seconds to tell me why you’re here, Grayson. After that, you and that piece of shit car you hauled over state lines are getting a remodel.” I direct his gaze to where a long, dark sedan is parked, blocking my valet stand.

Arrogant fuck couldn’t even park like a normal person.

“You dare to ask me that, Carrera, after all the trouble you’ve caused?”

“ThatI’vecaused?”

“You forced Thalia to marry you. You made her look herfatherin the face and lie. That’s the kind of shit, Santiago remembers.” His own mask is slipping, and I want nothing more than to rip it off and shove it down his throat. “We both have blood on our hands. That truth is as real as our hate, but you went too far when you stained hers.”

My smirk disappears. “No more than Sam Sanders did with my sister last year.”

He considers this for a moment, and who am I to interrupt?Let him tie his own knot and hang with it.

“This isn’t over,” he says, stepping forward to meet me halfway. “That shotwillbe returned at some point. But right now, there are more important things to discuss.”

“Enough dick swinging,” I snap. “Tell me what you want, or get the fuck out of New Jersey.”

He straightens up, rolling his shoulders back like he’s gearing up for the fight of his life. “You have something of mine, and I want it back.”

Over my dead body.

“Thalia is a Carrera now, Grayson.” I cut the distance between us to a single foot, escorted by the sound of ten Santiago rifles preparing to spill their deadly secret. “She’s my wife—ineverysense of the word.”

Let that sink in for a minute, you Colombian asshole.