I asked around, called up some of my connections, and managed to get some surveillance footage from a house that’s near Raven’s uncle’s place. The footage was around the time that she was taken, and wouldn’t you fucking know it, but an SUV that looked an awful lot like Porter’s was driving around in the area.

The thing is, his SUV is pretty common, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to try to scare him enough to find out the truth—if he was part of the bridge incident. And if he was, I was going to make him pay.

I drugged him at the party and dragged him into the basement where I tied him up and waited for him to come to. That’s the thing about being the mafia offspring of a psychopathic assassin—you learn a thing or two about scaring people into a confession. However, my father always ended their lives after he was done with them. I’m not a killer, though. At least, not yet. It’s something I worry about all the time. Every time I get angry, I can’t help wondering if it’s the genetic monster trying to claw its way out of me.

Anyway, once Porter woke up, he freaked out, spitting and cursing at me to let him go. Then, after me bashing him around for a moment—hence the cuts on my knuckles—he started to calm down and talk.

“You think I was part of that?” He laughs, blood and sweat dripping down his face. “That’s child’s play, bro.”

“True. But you are a bit of a dipshit when it comes to this sort of stuff,” I mock, crouching down and getting in his face. “And I saw your SUV nearby when it happened.”

He rolls his eyes. “You and I both know every damn person in the mafia has an SUV like mine. Well, except for you and your friends.” He smirks. “Are you guys even part of your family anymore? Or, did they disown you?”

I roll my eyes. “See? A dipshit when it comes to this sort of stuff.” I start to stand up so I can return to punching him when he says something that completely blindsides me.

“You think I’m the dipshit?” A smirk curves across his swollen, beaten face. “Well, here’s a little secret that’s going blow your mind.” He leans forward. “That pretty little bird you’ve brought into your group isn’t who you think she is. Ravenlee Wilowwynter, aka Willow Raven Lee. And she didn’t move here by coincidence. Her uncle was paid to move here so that she could return to Honeyton.”

My pulse quickens, but I manage to keep my composure as I tell him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I am about to kick your ass again.”

“You do know what I’m talking about, bro,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve lived here my whole life, too, and I haven’t forgotten about that little friend you guys used to have.”