Boyd slides me an uneasy glance, and I nod my assent. “Well, in any case, it looks like Caroline wasn’t the only one on that list, but she was the only one who didn’t go missing before her official purchase date.”
“So, what? Stonemore’s picking girls up and selling them? What’s that got to do with us—flesh sales are older than even me, son.” My father folds his hands over his stomach, tapping his thumbs. “I’m not getting involved in that shit.”
“No, of course not.” Boyd’s cheeks hollow out with the breath he draws in, mouth poised to keep talking, but he seems to think better of it and nods instead. “Anyway, I just thought you should be aware of where the majority of their money’s coming from and going to. Probably seventy-five percent of their revenue in the last year is from these sales alone.”
“Are they drawing attention to the organization?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay. Keep an eye on their official expense reports, and see that they’re using the shell corporations correctly, so we don’t somehow get dragged into that business. I have a hard enough time convincing people Ivers International is legitimate when there are rumors about what my son likes to do in his free time.”
Smirking, I get to my feet, taking that as my cue to leave. “You know what they say about rumors, Dad—most are based in some kind of truth.”
He opens his mouth to say more, but I don’t hear anything as I draw my hoodie up over my head and pull the strings tight, unwilling to let anyone know I stepped foot back in this place. Unwilling to give in to the temptation to stop and peek over people’s shoulders, make sure they’re taking the security and coding aspects of this place seriously.
Boyd catches up in the decrepit elevator, following three stories down and out into the heart of downtown King’s Trace, keeping pace beside me.
“Well?” I ask after a stretch of complete silence, reaching my black Volvo parked on the curb at the end of the sidewalk. “Did you follow me out here to ask for a ride somewhere?”
“Everywhere in King’s Trace is within walking distance.” He reaches into his suit jacket, pulling out a USB that looks an awful lot like the one I destroyed the other night. “Recognize this?”
I tear the plastic from his hand, closing it in my fist and glancing around to make sure no one’s watching. Although, who the fuck am I kidding.Someoneisalwayswatching.
They made that clear two years ago.
“Where the hell did you get this?”
He squints at me, hazel eyes searching my face. “You know what’s on there?”
My gaze narrows in turn, suspicion flooding my chest, gnawing at the frayed edges of my brain. I take a step forward, my hands flying to his lapels and gripping hard, yanking him off the curb. Holding him there, I breathe harshly into his face, rage simmering like a watched pot, itching to boil over. “Doyou?”
We stare at each other in silence, neither of us blinking, and finally he lets out a sharp curse, exhaling. He sags against my hold, and even though we’re built similarly, the anger infused in my blood gives me an advantage, adrenaline pumping through me, keeping him upright. “What the fuck is going on, man?” he asks. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Fisting his suit jacket tighter at the base of his throat, I whirl around and shove him up against the car. Violent fury beats in time with the pulse in my neck, blurring my vision, making me lightheaded with need.
A desire to kill that runs deep, the single legacy of Ivers men past.
Bloodlust we’ve never been able to curb or sate. A curse that cost my brother his life.
Jerking Boyd toward me just to push him back into the car door, relishing in the wheeze that puffs out of him, I release one lapel and crush my forearm to his throat instead. The car isn’t tall enough to offer any kind of support, so he just hangs there, restrained, glaring at me.
My hood falls off in the struggle, and some people give us funny looks as they pass by, but no one dares cross Kieran Ivers.
“Who gave you this?”
“Christ, man, no one. It got dropped off with the mail while I was at lunch. Now, get the fuck off me.” He moves, shoving me away and slipping out of my hold; I let him, trying to grapple with the information he’s given me.
Dread creeps up my spine, a silent demon intent on disaster, and I glance around to make sure no one’s paying us any attention; everyone seems to purposely avoid our altercation, knowing no good would come of getting involved.
Dragging my palm across my mouth, wiping away some of the sweat that’s collecting at the corner of my lips, I droop against the car and face my friend.
He rubs at his neck, adjusting the collar of his dress shirt, watching me. When he cocks an eyebrow, I sigh, finally pocketing the USB drive. “I thought I burned the last of the evidence.”
“What evidence?”
“Of… stuff Murphy did for Stonemore. Stuff they paid him to do, but he died before he finished. I’ve been trying to keep up with it, destroying anything that ties him to it all, but I thought I was done. Thought I’d tracked down the last associate with proof of his crimes.”
Boyd frowns. “So, you’re… what? Filling in for him?”