Page 39 of Ivory's Ruin Romance

“No allergies,” Caspian affirmed. “Full disclosure: I suggested chocolate peanut butter because they’re my favorite. I have no idea what Adrian prefers.”

“I guess that’s only fair, seeing as you get half the batch,” Ivory replied.

“And I’m looking forward to it.”

The drive to their apartment building didn’t take long. When they arrived, Nia apologized for being sick and unable to help with the cookies, but Ivory didn’t mind. Her nerves had kicked in again, and she threw herself into baking. Whatever conclusions Adrian might have drawn about it being Valentine’s Day couldn’t be that bad, right?

Either way, it wouldn’t be long until she found out.

EIGHTEEN

Motive.

He’d gone over it a thousand times. A thousand and one reasons could—and had been—used to justify murder, but in the end, it boiled down to four categories: lust, love, loathing, and loot.

Adrian rubbed the stubble on his chin, unaware of the ticking clock on the wall or the hardness of his chair as he ran through everyone involved in the shooting.

Eli picked up the dragon tile by Kassy’s body and kept it a secret all these years, but it was obvious neither of them had connections to Red Dragon or Royal Flush. And though it was possible Kassy had attracted a stalker in one of the clubs who acted out of a fit of jealousy, they wouldn’t have dropped the tile for such a personal matter. That theory also didn’t explain why his father and Luke had been shot, but not Eli.

That left him, his father, and Lucas Cortez as the true targets.

Luke had been a good kid. He’d rarely been home—either out riding, playing ball, or hanging around the schoolyard with some girl. He was hardly one to start something so serious it had to end with blood.

Luke’s father was a different story though. For a long time, Adrian assumed Royal Flush had done something to spark the shooting, but there had been no proof and then no retaliation. He’d asked Raptor about it, but all he said at the time was that President Cortez felt just as blindsided by his son’s death as everyone else. The club couldn’t make a move without solid evidence, and even now that they had it, something tied their hands.

To that end, he had to admit Raptor was right. Involving the club would only lead to more death. Not to mention, it would put Riley in danger, which was the last thing he wanted. But Raptor had still managed to call in a favor and stopped by earlier in the week to drop off an envelope, mentioning it was the best he could do for now.

The favor turned out to be a USB with the official police records on the case, including details not released to the public.

Adrian hunched over his desk, the glare off the computer brighter than the fading sunlight outside as he read through the report, reliving the story that haunted him all these years.

—Three shots heard around 7:23 pm at Avendale Park.

—Witnesses claim the shots came from a nondescript four-door sedan, some specified a Corolla, with a dark or black paint job. No license plate.

—Shooter described as a light-skinned, young adult male in their twenties wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. One witness later claimed the shooter had a large silver ring on their right hand, the same hand that fired the gun.

—A car fitting the description was found later that night in a back alley, burnt to a crisp. Forensic results came up blank.

—Ballistics on three shell casings found at the scene and bullets removed from the victims confirmed the weapon used was a Glock-19. No cartridge with matching markings had yet been cataloged.

There wasn’t much to go on.

Despite the tile signature being sloppy, the hit itself had been clean. The shooter had to have enough skill to hit a target, but they let nerves get the better of them at the last second.

An unsanctioned hit?

Churning over the information, he reached for the pack of cigarettes when his phone buzzed on the desk, its vibration rumbling over the wood. Looking away from the computer screen, he read the preview text.

I’m at Nia’s place, let me know when you’re ready.

Ivory.

Right, he was supposed to dye her hair today. He’d taken the supplies back with him from the salon, but then got sidetracked digging into the case file.

His pack of cigarettes got tossed back inside the drawer, and he clicked off the report.

When she asked about getting her hair dyed, he’d been almost too glad to have a reason to see her again. Even more so when she agreed to come to his apartment. The more he saw of her—the girl who couldn’t help but care more than she should—the more he understood how selfless she was.

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