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“That’s how they did it every other time,” Hunter replies evenly. “There’s no indicator they’ll change their habits now.”

“Serial killers are consistent,” Rath adds. “They like routine and safety. I think Sorren is right–the odds of it happening again are solid. Especially with the right bait.”

Nick snorts and rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair like this whole meeting is beneath him.

“What?” I snap, already feeling my temper rise.

He shrugs those beefy shoulders that have won him fight after fight in the ring. “Even if you’re right, do you actually think someone like Sofia Martinez is going to draw their attention? She’s barely even connected to the Counts anymore.”

Hunter and I exchange a look. Those are almost the exact words Sofia herself had said. Apparently, right before she made it crystal clear she didn’t want Nick Bruin anywhere near this project.

“Well, your Duchess is from North Side,” I say, keeping my voice level. “Does she have any thoughts on another female who might be of interest to the Guardian?”

“She’s not the Duchess. She’s our fucking Queen,” Nick fires back. “But no. That place is a shitshow. They’re barely even a frat at this point–at least officially. Maybe this Guardian asshole realizes that and isn’t interested.”

“We got intel that whoever is doing this wants someone from each house,” I explain, “to fulfill some twisted ritual.”

“A Baron's ritual,” Nick notes, eyes narrowing. “Which, by the way, they still don’t have one of those yet, do they?”

“What does that mean?” I ask, bristling. “One of what?”

“A female BRN. One of your Crypt Chasers? Obviously their attempts at your Baroness have ‘failed.’” He makes finger quotes around the word. “But shouldn’t there be someone else?”

“Dude,” Rath hisses, “chill.”

“Look,” Nick thrums his fingers on the table, clearly not interested in chilling. “I know my brother is on board with all of this, but Sy is too damn soft for his own good.”

I think of Simon Perilini–massive arms, lethal fists–and soft is the last word I’d use to describe him.

“He’s trying to play nice with Maddox for Remy, but that’s bullshit,” Nick continues. “Timothy Maddox has been an evil fucking monster for a long time, and just because he’s got a chick riding his dick now and took a blade to the chest for her doesn’t mean he’s reformed. All of this…” he circles his finger over the map, “... goes back to BRN. Every last bit. And I think the rest of us are fools for playing along.”

I stand abruptly, pushing my chair back with a loud screech across the hardwood.

Nick watches me closely. Everyone else in the room goes still.

“The funny thing here,” I say, voice low and dangerous, “is that you were specifically asked not to come. Sofia’s request after what you did to her brother.”

Nick leans forward, intense blue eyes locking onto mine. “Oh? What does she think I did to her brother?”

“Drop the act, Bruin,” Rath says. “Everyone knows what you did to Perez.”

Nick cuts his gaze toward Rath. “I just did what you guys didn’t have the balls to do.”

Now Rath is rising from his seat. “You trying to start something with me, too?”

Nick stands as well, squaring up. The air in the room crackles with tension. Everyone left their weapons at the door, but Bruin doesn’t need a weapon. He’s bigger than all of us, a pure fighter, but I’m territorial as hell right now–this is my house, my table, my plan. That’s all I’m thinking as I round the edge of the table. We push into each other’s space, chests bumping. He shoves my shoulder hard. I shove him back twice as hard. My eyes dart around for something to smash over his head, prepared to throw down right there on the antique rug.

“I’m not interested in the Lords,” Nick says evenly, although Rath doesn’t sit back down. Hunter and Pace watch, but don’t intervene. This feels bigger than Sofia Martinez. It’s about the Barons. About Timothy. About everything that’s been simmering between our houses for years.

Just when it feels like it’s about to boil over, the door to the dining room opens, and Timothy steps in.

“Oh, perfect.” Nick laughs darkly, taking in his jeans and black shirt. “Daddy’s here.”

“Nicholas,” he says, voice calm, but carrying real weight as he looks at Nick. “Is there a problem?”

“You know there is.”

Timothy nods. “Well, whatever it is, you and I both know this isn’t about DK.”