Page 17 of Stroke of Shadows

Sythe nodded his head. “You deserve better.”

“Right?” A vein pulsed violently in his forehead. “He’s an old man who would rather see my inheritance pissed away than change. It’s why it won’t be long until I’ll be the one running things, making alliances that actually benefit the fucking family.”

The lighter clicked, the flame brightening as he lit his cigarette. With a groan, Wyatt inhaled, throwing his head back before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“I appreciate you having my back,” he continued. “Ivan’s a cunt who works for my father.”

Sythe chuckled. “Least I can do, mate.”

“He’ll be the first to go when I’m in charge.” He took another drag of his cigarette, his free hand twisting into a gun. “Bullet right between the eyes.”

“Remind me never to piss you off.” Sythe accepted the cigarette when Wyatt held it out. “You’re still pretty secretive with what you and your father do.”

“Like I said, friends can fuck you over.” Wyatt licked along his bottom lip, watching Sythe from the corner of his eye. “My father works with exclusive collectables, while I deal more with the money side. Loaning it out and then collecting with interest.”

“Just like Sailor.”

“Exactly.” Wyatt rubbed at his nose. “Like I said, there are certain expectations that come with my name. If Sailor, or his father, doesn’t pay up by the time limit, well, then they’ll get another little visit from me. And next time, I won’t be leaving without payment one way or another.”

Sythe breathed out smoke, chuckling. “Your life’s fucking hilarious man.”

Wyatt grinned. “You have no idea.”

A slight noise pricked Sythe’s ears, and he straightened, turning to look down a darkened alley.

Wyatt frowned, noticing the change. “Sy?”

Sythe scanned the shadows, his beast stilling inside his mind. He saw the man a few seconds before he stepped out into the light. “Can we help you, mate?”

He wore black from head to toe, his movements jerky as he darted his gaze between them. He wasn’t from the club, his clothes ripped and dirty, and he smelt like he hadn’t showered in a few days.

“My friend here asked you a fucking question.” Wyatt’s expression hardened.

“You ruined me,” the man said, his tone cold and controlled. “You and your fucking father.”

The snap of Wyatt’s lighter echoed around them, followed by a dark chuckle. “I have no idea who the fuck you are,” he replied. “Now fuck off.”

“Did you not hear me?” The stranger put his hand beneath his worn jacket.

“Careful,” Sythe warned. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You ruined me,” the stranger continued, acting as if Sythe wasn’t even there. “I’ve lost everything. My business. My house. My wife.”

Wyatt moved toe to toe with the man. “Last chance, or I’ll take your miserable life as well. Fuck,” he shoved a single finger into his chest, pushing the stranger back, “off.”

A flash of silver, far faster than a human should be able to move. Sythe was on him in an instant, breaking the guy’s arm as he pulled it behind his back. “Dude, what the fuck! I told you not to do anything stupid.”

It took a moment for the copper to register, his beast honed to the scent. Sythe noticed the handle of the small blade sticking out of Wyatt’s side, a swell of blood darkening the surrounding fabric.

Sythe dropped the stranger, not caring as he scrambled away. “Don’t…”

It was too late, Wyatt pulling the knife out with a single tug.

“Fuck’s sake!” Sythe growled, catching Wyatt as he collapsed to his knees. The knife clanged to the pavement, barely five inches in length. From the angle, it looked like it missed his major organs, yet the wound pumped out blood far faster than it should. “Shit!”

“Prick stabbed me,” Wyatt said, his words beginning to slur. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“It’s nothing,” Sythe said, pressing his hand against the hole. “Barely a scratch.”

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