Page 45 of Dangerous Men

I pull up the call log on my phone and my pulse ratchets.

“What is it? What happened?” Ashton asks, sensing the change in my demeanor.

I shake my head to silence him and press the screen to call back the number. I switch the phone to speaker mode so Ashton can hear.

When Viper answers the call, there’s no sound at first except the rush of running water in the background.

“About fucking time,” he says finally.

“What happened?” I ask. A rage bordering on panic colors my voice.

“Well…” There’s a snap on the other end of the phone as bone breaks. No screams follow it. “Dante might not be as dead as we’d thought.”

Next to me in the car, Ashton looks ashen.

“What the fuck does that mean, Viper?”

Another crack of bone, eclipsed by a low laugh. “Let’s just say the reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Sebastian shot him,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “Twice. And he’s the best marksman of the four of us.”

“On atarget,” Viper emphasizes. The sound of water cutsoff abruptly. “This was his first kill with a gun. You know that. Hisonlykill with a gun.”

“And he fucked it up, didn’t he?” Ashton snarls next to me. He threads his hands through his hair and groans. “Goddamnit, Doc!”

I still don’t believe it. Can’t believe it.

“We werethere. All four of us. And we searched every hospital record in the region,” I remind them both. “Formonths. He never turned up in any emergency room.”

“Never turned up in any morgue either,” Viper hums from the phone.

Fuck.Fuck.

“You sure about this?” I ask.

“Nope.” Viper cackles on the other end of the line, and something lands with a loud, wetsplat. “Heseemed pretty sure, though. Hadn’t seen the big man himself, but rumor among the old guard is he’s back and he’spissed. Didn’t have an address for him, didn’t even have a phone number. But he had a location.”

I’m gripping my phone so hard it’s a wonder I haven’t cracked the screen.

“Where?” I demand.

“Empire City,” Viper coos through the phone. “His old turf.”

Hisoldturf. Our new turf.

I don’t bother saying goodbye before hanging up the phone. I’m singularly focused as I message my personal assistant, instructing him to get me a plane ticket and ensure my hotel room is clean and waiting.

Looks like I’m going to Empire City.

20

SYDNEY

The Boss: Good morning

I readthe text again as I brush my teeth, frowning at my phone. I don’t recognize the number, and I certainly don’t remember saving it. But it’s in my contacts as The Boss.

I haven’t had a boss since I worked in retail during college. And somehow, I doubt my old manager is messaging me to see if I’ll cover a shift at the local high-end lingerie store.