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Sutton shivered, smiling tightly, then gripped my elbow as Axell approached with angry beats of his shoes.

“I tried to stop her,” he gritted.

“The shipments. I’m assuming that’s what the…” Sutton glanced around, exhaling roughly at the sight of drawn weapons from every present member, “...arguments are for? No need for bloodshed.”

“What do you mean?” Dmitri clipped.

“According to what happened with the Irish before, this is a test shipment from the cartel. Insurance to ensure the casino ports are safe from being stolen again. It’s obviously not a full shipment. Surely Ronan informed you?” she asked sweetly.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. “I knew it wasn’t.”

I blinked hard, my hand now burning from how tightly I gripped my gun. I was seconds from losing my shit, the pressure in my chest returning with a cold, harsh intensity.

My skin pricked at the thought of her standing between crossfire, but Sutton was saving us from unnecessary fighting. Even if she had to lie. I didn’t want to appease Dmitri by letting him think he was right, but the last thing we needed was for the authorities to ruin our delivery if they heard gunshots.

“We’ll figure it out,” Grave said as he and the Crowes hovered nearby, their weapons drawn but not raised. “We’ll meet with Ronan about it, then split the crates.”

The cartel member hissed some colorful curses and quickly vanished around the corner, the low groan of the ship taking off after a few tense minutes. The hair on the back of my neck rose. I was uncomfortably aware of how the Russians surrounded us—two standing near our backs.

Sutton inched closer, her shoulder brushing my side as I stared at Dmitri. His mouth twitched.

“I speak to Ronan tomorrow,” Dmitri told Sutton in English, then fixed his attention on me, switching to Russian. “After hand delivering you my cousin and betraying my own family, one would think you still owe me. I’ll be collecting my prize.”

After Raven had died, I discovered that it was Dmitri’s cousin who had injured Raven during that cold day in Russia. His way of breaking down our ranks. We didn’t actually run into them; he’d targeted us that day, intentionally going after Raven. Cold blooded vengeance.

Fenn wasn’t an heir, though, and he definitely wasn’t anyone important. After hounding Dmitri for a name, he’d finally given it up the night of one of our galas. The night I met Sutton.

I had left the gala and disappeared for two weeks to track the fucker down, and now Dmitri thought I owed him. But I knew the truth, and I wanted to cleave Dmitri’s head from his body. His time would come, just not right now.

I tensed and asked, “Prize?”

“Mm, yes. Prize.” Dmitri nodded toward his men.

My vision blurred as one of the Russians lunged for Sutton, his hand clamping around her arm. Her pained scream cracked through the air.

Time stood still, the world around me narrowing.

I lifted my gun, leveling above her head, as the Russian met my cold stare. Without an ounce of hesitation, I pulled the trigger and shot him right between his brows.

23

SUTTON

Shrill ringing exploded so loudly in my ears, everything became muffled. The shouts. The scraping metal of guns being pulled. My breathing. My feet swayed as though I’d been thrust beneath a violent lake, and I fought to hold myself upright.

I pressed my hands hard against my ears and slammed my eyes shut, my frantic, frightened breaths burning my lungs. I stumbled and an involuntary whimper escaped me when someone yanked me to their side.

By the time I opened my eyes, everyone’s weapons were drawn, aimed at each other in a tight circle. Arms were outstretched, steady and confident, their gazes unwavering.

Though it took only a moment for my eyes to adjust, the ringing in my ears finally faded and the harsh shouting resumed. It was all in Russian, and I couldn’t understand a word.

I trembled and glanced at the person beside me, my entire body wracking with cold, unbearable shivers. My adrenaline climbed higher, flooding my veins until the intense urge to flee took over.

Manic tucked me into his side as Grave and Axell stood in front of us—a wall of hard muscle. I swallowed and swiveled my attention to the man who’d been shot. Blood pooled around his crumpled body, bile rising in my throat as his open, sightless eyes stared back at me.

He killed someone for me.

Manic had killed someone.