Page 25 of Ruthless Reign

The door burst open and Pope poured into the room, taking in the corpse and my blood splattered face with a wild blink.

“What is it, Pope?” Dad said in a rush, his body rigid.

Pope blinked, remembering what he came down for. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Gilligan’s Finch…it’s gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?” Mikey asked.

“They blew it up.”

“And the Kents?” Dad demanded, his face paling.

“Most were inside when it happened.”

I shook my head, jaw clenching. Kaleb told them. He fucking told them to leave, but they refused. After we cleaned up the mess in the lot, they chose to stay and play it cool despite the fact that one got away. Said they didn’t move against the Sons, that we did. They’d refused our offered deal. They weren’t at fault.

Kaleb told them it wouldn’t matter. It happened on their turf.

They didn’t listen and now they were dead. Fucking idiots.

Dad threw his whiskey glass and it shattered in the corner, showering glass over the room. “How’d they get that close?” He seethed. “Our men are out there watching and the Kents—they would’ve had lookouts, too. There’s no fucking way a goddamned cavalry just pushed through without?—”

“It wasn’t a big move,” Pope interrupted. “They made it look like a gas leak. That’s the angle the news is spinning. Could’ve been done by one man. One fuckin’ guy could’ve got through alone. Pulled the gas lines. And you know damn well Kent and his crew smoke in there. Someone probably went to light up and…”

A gas leak?

“Have they taken credit for the hit?” I asked and all eyes turned to me.

Pope frowned, his brows lowering. “No. Not that we know.”

I got to my feet, sharing a look with Dad. I gave my head a tiny shake, telling him what I thought. It didn’t sit right.

From what we knew about this Irish snake, he liked to put on a show. He liked the spotlight. He would’ve taken credit for the hit right away. Word would have been put out that you don’t strike out against him and expect to live.

“It couldn’t have been an actual fucking gas leak,” Dad reasoned with my unspoken argument. I shrugged. I didn’t say it was, but something about it wasn’t right. Becca did hit the building. A gas line could’ve ruptured. But I doubted it.

“Give us the fucking room,” Dad growled and Mikey and Dean left the burritoed Saint on the floor and followed Pope from the room.

“I don’t think it was an accident, but he would’ve taken the credit by now. It doesn’t add up.”

Dad nodded. “He still could.”

“I can’t think of a reason why he wouldn’t.”

“Unless he thinks he doesn’t need to. Maybe the message is that he can take any of us out at any time and make it look like an accident?”

I considered that. “Maybe.”

“It had to be them. Fucking Jason, man… I’ve known him since we were kids. And his son—you went to school with him, didn’t you?”

“We told them to get out. They should’ve listened.”

Dad’s brows drew together, and even though he said nothing, I knew what he was thinking. How he’d just remembered that one of his adopted sons lacked the ability to have empathy. Old news, really.

“There’s a play here,” I added, lowering my voice. “If the driver that got away didn’t see our faces. If he thought this attack was orchestrated by the Kents and only the Kents…”

“...and retribution has already been meted out,” Dad finished, considering.

“We could be in the clear.”

---