Gideon shook his head, “No one can say I didn’t try.”
Glass shattered as a loud pop recoiled off in the distance as Gideon St. James’ head flew back, knocking him out of his chair. His lifeless body dead before it even hit the ground.
The silence in the room was deafening.
I could hear my own heart beating like a drum in my chest. Looking at the phone in my hand, it was at that moment I realized that I had never sent the text.
What the hell? I wasn’t stupid.
The recoil was far off.
From the moment of the hit to the sound of the recoil, let me know that whoever shot St. James was a professional. Only one man I knew could make that shot, but that was impossible.
He hated Reaper.
Even made a show of it when St. James gave Reaper a brass bullet with his name engraved on it.
It was impossible.
He would never help Reaper.
Not after what went down.
Nothing was adding up. Just when I thought I had a handle on everything, Reaper went and changed course.
Could I have been wrong all this time?
What did I miss?
Turning to face Reaper, the man I’d known from childhood, I slowly realized that I never truly knew him. The man wasn’t the happy, fun kid I remembered. There was more to him. Something I missed all these years.
He leaned forward in his chair as if it was another day in our fucked-up world and said, “Massacre, since your brother is sunbathing on the dead spooks' island, you are now the liaison between the Valentinetti family and this club.” I knew that the man I knew as Reaper, the President of the Golden Skulls, was more cunning than he let on.
“Huh?” Massacre blinked a few times, confused just as I was, nodded. “Okay, I can do that. Gio is going to lose his shit. He fucking hates me, but I can fill in till Player gets back. He is coming back, right?”
“As soon as Phantom gets her head right and sends off a coded text.”
“What?” our club sister perked up at her name.
It seemed the only two people not confused about what the hell just went down here were Patrick and Reaper. While the rest of us tried to make sense of what we just missed, Reaper ordered. “Player. Coded text. Now.”
“Oh right. Sure,” she said, typing something into her computer.
“God, I’ve missed this club,” Patrick smiled, leaning back in his chair as Reaper continued. “Sorry, Massacre, but the terms of the alliance are clear. A blood relative must be the liaison. Since Player and Axel aren’t here, that leaves you.”
“I get it,” Massacre groaned.
Most of us knew of the hostility Massacre carried for his cousin Giovanni. Though the drama behind that problem was long fixed when Player came clean and told his family the truth about why he left the family, Massacre wasn’t so forgiving. He stilled harbored some ill will towards Giovanni and the others, refusing to return to the family. Giovanni knew Massacre was better suited with the Golden Skulls, so he asked Player to be the go-between.
“Dude. You made up with your family,” Patrick grinned, slapping Massacre on his back as Massacre sulked. “I wouldn’t go that far. They are still fucking bastards.”
“Okay,” Phantom piped up. “Text sent. Family drama aside, we have another problem.”
“Shocker,” Massacre deadpanned, sulking in his chair. “If I have to deal with Giovanni until Player comes home, I ain’t cleaning up that mess,” he said, pointing at the dead body on the floor.
Reaper rolled his eyes, then looked at Phantom. “Continue.”
“Alan Worthington III, the current mayor of our little town Purgatory, is working for the Society. Formally from Virginia, Worthington left a cushy job with the Virginia National Bank in Richmond, where he was vice President. The man has ties to not only the Society. His wife, Sheila Worthington, is not only Remi’s wedding planner, but she is also the second cousin of Joshua Cussler.”