Page 80 of Property of Tacoma

That’s what it was.

Cold, paralyzing fear that gripped me the moment I realized she was leaving.

Sure, she said she’d come back, but they always say that, don’t they?

My ex-wife said that too, in the beginning. We were having problems, but we were figuring them out. Then she was fucking Kevin in our bed while I was at a club meeting.

But Cali isn’t Jennifer.

I know that. I’ve known it from the start.

“Fuck,” I groan, setting the glass down with more force than necessary.

The sharp knock on my door frame pulls me from my thoughts.

Looking up, I find Bane leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest.

I pull in a deep breath, my lungs expanding. I don’t think I have the patience for his shit today.

Motioning for him to come in, I hope that whatever he needs, he’ll make it quick.

I’m not in the headspace for company.

Bane strolls in and drops into the chair across from me.

I drag my eyes across his face, glad that the bruising on his face is finally gone, and he’s no longer favoring his side where the Sinners broke his ribs.

“We’ve got a problem,” he says, his face serious.

My back straightens. “What now?”

“Just got off the phone with Banks.” Bane leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face tinting a shade of red.

Jesus. Whatever it is, he’s about to blow a fucking gasket.

“Well?”

He glances up, and I wave my hand for him to hurry up and tell me what the fuck is going on.

“Someone’s siphoning money from our accounts.”

My brows shoot up to my hairline, eyes threatening to pop out of my damn head. There’s no way I heard him right.

Our money’s in offshore accounts.

The Cayman fucking islands, for crying out loud.

Untraceable.

Untouchable.

Or so we all thought it was supposed to be.

“How the fuck is that possible?” I shout, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

“I don’t fucking know,” he growls, eyes narrowed to slits, “but when I find out who’s behind it, I’m going to cut off their thieving hands.”

Oh, I’m going to do far worse than that.