CONAN

“ S o, order is just to kill? No torture required?” I ask Finn as he drives.

“Yes, Conan. We know Arthur is hiding in London still. He’s untouchable there.” He keeps his eyes on the road.

“Only for now.”

My phone pings and my stomach flips. I live in hope that one day it will be Hallie’s name flashing across the screen.

I pull it out of my pocket and sigh when I see a message from Reggie.

REGGIE

This good enough?

I open the attachment and smile.

Ben’s club engulfed in flames.

I turn it to Finn, who also grins.

I type back a quick response as Finn pulls up to the location.

ME

Don’t forget to leave the present.

That being Ben’s mangled corpse. I know Arthur’s spies will send the message back to him. I can’t fucking wait.

He can hide in London for only so long.

Once we get the green light to enter the UK again, I’ll be on that private jet.

“How many are in here?” I turn back and ask Drago.

“Three. Could be more.”

I nod. Three of us against three of them. They don’t have a chance.

Their ‘safe house’ isn’t even remotely safe. No one is safe in Pennsylvania. It’s under the Quinn brothers’ rule.

Why did Arthur even think he could step foot in our territory?

We all exit Finn’s Mercedes and pop open the trunk. Finn slides on some knuckle dusters and grabs a gun. I opt for a blade. My pistol is already safely in its holster.

“Let’s fuckin’ go.” Finn hurries us along to the front door of this tiny shack of a house.

Finn calmly knocks twice on the door.

“We’re asking permission to kill them?”

Finn doesn’t flinch.

“No. Our father taught us to always have manners, Conan.”

The door slowly creeps open and a sliver of a man’s face emerges.

“Oh, fuck.”

He goes to slam the door, but I hold out my hand and shove it wide open. I charge in, grabbing him by the throat and pounding him into the wall. As he gasps for air, I shove the blade into his stomach and drop him to the ground.

“We got two more incoming,” Drago says behind me.

As one guy launches at him, Drago pulls back a fist and lands it straight into the guy’s jaw, sending his head rocketing back.

Once he’s on the ground, Drago steps over him, gun pointed between his eyes, and lodges a single bullet into his skull.

My guy is bleeding painfully to death by my feet. Finn is grappling with the third man, and he looks like he’s having fun.

And then he gives us his favorite move—the blade across the throat. His guy drops to a limp pile on the ground, and Finn simply steps away, dusts off his jacket, and fixes his flat cap.

He turns to us and motions for us to be quiet.

Hmm. Footsteps upstairs.

I point up, and he nods. We follow behind Finn, who leads us up the stairs. He aims for the only closed door and slowly creaks it open, revealing a man struggling to open the window.

Without a word, I point my gun at his head and pull the trigger.

“Nice shot,” Drago tells me.

“Thanks. I prefer my targets to be moving, though.”

That hunting part of me doesn’t just mean with sex. It’s ingrained in every part of my life, even down to killing my victims.

“Now what?” I turn to Finn.

He shrugs nonchalantly.

“Burn it.”

“How many men do we think Arthur has planted over here?” I ask Drago.

“It’s tough to say. At the moment it’s like whack-a-mole. When they pop up, we hunt them down.”

I grin.

“Cool. I can deal with that. Then we’re heading to Arthur, right?”

Finn nods slowly.

“Once we have the all-clear from Theo, yes. I don’t know when that will be. He has a few issues going on in London. If we declare war on their turf, we need the Kings ready.”

This is, right now, the only thing making me feel any shred of life.

The thought of killing the man who murdered my father.

The man who has wrecked my world.

His time will come.

I groan as my phone lights up on the stand. I look at the clock. Three-fucking-a.m.

Rolling over, I pick it up and squint at how bright the screen is.

And that’s when I see it.

Am I fucking dreaming?

Hallie’s name.

I sit up like a bucket of ice water has been poured on me and answer.

“Trouble, are you okay?”

My heart races.

Loud music booms in the background.

“Hi. Hey.” She sounds nervous.

Her voice. I needed to hear that. It’s like a drug.

The music quiets down, and I hold my breath.

“What’s up? Are you okay?”

She takes a breath.

“Yeah. Sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”

“Don’t hang up,” I plead.

Just having her on the phone is enough to quiet the mess inside my head.

“It’s just, I’m drunk and I missed you. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I meant to text you, but I’m a bit tipsy and called you by accident,” she rambles.

And I smile.

She misses me?

I let out a ragged breath.

“I miss you too, darlin’.”

“I—I can’t.” Her voice breaks and the line goes dead.

Fuck.

I try to call her back, but she rejects it. And when I go to text her, it never sends.

I flop back on my bed and let out a breath.

She misses me.

That is something. She didn’t call to say she hates me.

Fuck.

This hurts.