I shove him away, pulling out my gun from my holster and unloading three rounds into his skull then wiping the tip of my gun against my suit. “We need to figure out who the fuck these motherfuckers are, right after I go babysit your kid.” I turn, waiting for both Victor and Tony to follow me to the waiting black SUV. “What?”

“Nope—” Tony, who is apparently Ruby’s favorite uncle, shakes his head, rubbing his slightly overweight belly. “You are a real fucking problem.”

Victor laughs, patting him on the back while making his way to me. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a tiny tin, popping it open and offering me a cigar. “Proud of you, son.”

I didn’t do it for his pride.

I didn’t think.

Tony gets into the car that’s parked behind the Range Rover, just as Victor leans in, handing me the keys. “I want you at that lake house tonight. Watch our girl.” I wrap my fingers around them, watching as he heads to his parked Maserati. Rounding the SUV, I put the car into reverse and do just that…

Go watch my girl.

But not because it’s for him… or even me.

I slow the SUV to a stop, pulling up the emergency brake when it won’t stop rolling down the deep-set driveway. This is hardly the average lake house, but I don’t know what I was expecting since I know the kind of money this family swims in.

I take the keys out of my pocket and cut the headlights, sitting there in silence. I need it. The silence between all of the noise that I’d walked. Even thinking back to my initiation, I should have known better. Known that there was more to why Victor took Poppy and me in. That kind of charity just doesn’t exist in our world. Everything is a transaction. The worst of it all is that I can’t tell fucking anyone what was said to me that night. The night I walked through the chapel’s doors before cutting myself open and bleeding over an Angel card.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tell anyone. No one except for those who were present, that is…

I shove the door open, my shoes hitting the soft blades of grass. There’s a large tree planted in the center of a wraparound driveway that directs you around a lake house constructed of glass walls and deep stained wood. There are three floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the front, with a ceiling-less porch that hugs around the entire box style building.

I walk straight past one of the soldiers who is standing at the front door. He bows his head and I offer him a tight smile. I don’t recognize him, but then that’s not uncommon.