Page 234 of Blackwood

And right beside her, my mom is grinning from ear to ear. Like she’s been waiting for this moment all night long.

By the time Bella reaches us, her skin is flushed, but her smile is pure murder. She didn’t just dance tonight. She made a queen fall. Karma’s a bitch Irina, a bitch named Isabella Marie Blackwood.

“You guys see her face?” she pants, breathless from the routine.

“Pretty sure Mom cracked a tooth trying not to hiss.”

Bella grins and slides into my side just as her phone vibrates in Lex’s pocket.

His whole body stiffens. “What the fuck?” He pulls it out, reads the screen, and groans like it physically hurts him.

Bella lifts her brows. “Who is it?”

“Mortal Kombat.”

Her expression changes instantly. Curiosity, caution, and something colder underneath.

“Happy Birthday, Iz. Sorry I missed the party. Had an important meeting in Hong Kong—” He stops. Snorts. “Of course you did.”

“Lex,” I say, tired already. “Just finish it.”

He grits his teeth and keeps going. “But don’t think I didn’t get you something. Sabine’s keeping it safe for me… oh and tell your boyfriend I want a rematch.”

He flips the phone around to show us the location. “Warehouse 29-A. Brooklyn.”

Bella frowns. “Do you think he’s serious?”

“That motherfucker wants a rematch? I’ll give him one. I’ll tie him to the goddamn scaffolding and see how much blood he’s willing to spill for a round two.”

“Lex.” Bella’s voice is sharp. She takes the phone from his hand and stares at the address again. “What do you think it is?”

Lex shrugs, still fuming. “Could be a trap.”

“Or a gift,” Bella mutters. “He said he got me something.”

“He also said Sabine’s guarding it,” I say, already pulling up the map on my phone. “Which means it’s definitely not something legal.”

Bella looks up at me. That fire’s back in her eyes, even under the exhaustion. The mission in her blood. The pull she can’t resist.

“So?” she asks softly.

I tilt my head. “So, let’s go find out, sweetheart.”

Chapter 64

BELLA

Warehouse 29-A. Brooklyn, New York

721 Days Since Zeke’s Death

We pull up to the warehouse that Laing texted us, no longer in costume. I’m in ripped jeans, a yellow crop top, and my leather jacket. Battle gear, birthday edition. Lex is in his usual black jeans, black V-neck, and black boots, because God forbid the man own anything with color. And Cade, sweet Cade, is in worn jeans and a hoodie, the drawstring twirling around his fingers like he’s trying to focus.

Tex is already waiting outside, leaning against the wall like a dark omen. “Hey,” he says. “Happy birthday, Bells.”

“Thanks,” I reply, eyeing the warehouse door behind him. “You been inside?”

He shakes his head. “No. I was waiting on you.”