Page 13 of Their Princess

Both Wilde and Cook looked over the device, each trying several codes to unlock it. Graff moved away from my side and toward the body, where he crouched and studied what was left of the bastard’s face.

“Get it to the Warden.” Wilde tossed the phone back to Jackyl. “Any clue what these fuckers want?”

Frowning, Cook slowly shook his head as Jackyl answered, “Nothing on the bodies to say why they’re here.”

“Probably has to do with that load of guns we intercepted,” said Cook.

“It’s the cartel for sure,” murmured Graff, standing over the body.

“How can you tell?” asked Cook.

“The tats.” Graff pulled out a knife and sliced the man’s shirt down the center. He trailed his finger over the tattoos without touching the skin as though he admired the work.

“And here I thought I had ruined them with a bullet,” I muttered, and Graff let out a small huff of laughter.

“What if...” started Cook, and all the heads in hearing distance pivoted to face the man who scratched his beard as he thought.

“Out with it,” barked Wilde.

Cook held up a hand. “Hear me out. The Mafia took credit for blowing up the warehouse and all our product, yeah?”

“We all got that message from Enzo’s video,” I said through gritted teeth. “Someone still owes me for taking my kill.”

“Pipe down, Sas,” said Wilde.

“We were ambushed,” added Cook, his hand drifting up to his chest—the place he’d been shot in that shootout in Vegas.

Massimo strolled over, his silky pants brushing luxuriously about his legs. Only the new Don of la Famiglia—now the Parisi Family, I presumed—would come to this sandpit in a silky suit.

I shook my head. “Doesn’t make sense. I made a deal with them. Why would they have been in on blowing it up? They’d have to know they’d never get paid that way.”

Adelina was back to staring openly at me, this time scrutinizing me like I was an ant under her high heel. I lowered my chin and ran my tongue over my lower lip. If she kept that up, I’d rip off the heel and use it to cut off the rest of those rich-bitch clothes. I needed my women in leather or nothing at all.

“Nah,” said Wilde, “Sas’s probably right. It’s likely the cargo we intercepted before this deal with the Don.”

“Either way,” said Massimo loudly, sucking everyone’s attention toward him like a vacuum, “the deal stands. Once the cartel gets their claws into this land, they won’t let it go. There are always more vermin south of the border, and they come in swells.”

I rolled my eyes at him. I didn’t need this political bullshit.

The door to the auto shop swung open, and the pregnant patched member stumbled out. Sure, I could be happy that Wilde had an old lady and was gonna to be a dad, but it was also fucking weird that we had a woman in our business.

“Jesus fuck,” Bou muttered, glaring at the body that Graff hovered over. “We gotta get those out of here.”

“Why?” I asked. “We own the police here.”

Celt, Bou’s brother,wasthe police in Park Ridge.

“The locals are gonna ask questions,” said Bou. “Sound travels in the open like this. All of Park Ridge probably heard the gunshots.”

“They know what the MC does,” I mumbled.

“I have other clients than those in the MC. Someone will be curious.”

“They might turn a blind eye, but that’s only when they don’t actually see the bodies.” She rested both her hands on top of her belly.

I snorted. Did she think they were really that innocent? The town couldn’t have been more than eight hundred people, nine tops. No one was innocent here, even if they wanted to pretend they didn’t know what kept this town alive.

“We’ll move the bodies,” said Wilde. “Cook, you got a place?”

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