Page 33 of Into the Fire

I licked my lips, so many thoughts rushing through my mind before I settled on one.

“Fine.” I stepped toward him.

He flinched away from me.

“I have another message that needs to be sent. Will you reply for me?”

“Of course, Archangel.”

“Good.” Lightning fast, I reached out and wrapped my hand around the little fuckhead’s throat and squeezed. His eyes widened at me as I cocked my head and looked down at him.

There was a flicker of humanity left in his dark eyes, but I didn’t give a fuck. The human was still in there, however slightly, but the soul was blackened.

I released him, and he fell to his ass, choking and gasping for air. Without a second thought, I brought my foot up and kicked him in the face, feeling the bone break and splinter atop myboot. He let out a shocked, pained cry and rolled onto his side, his face busted and bloody.

I reared back and kicked him in his ribs, sending him doubling up. I kicked twice more before bending down and fisting his hair and dragging him to his knees. He let out a pitiful cry as he stared at me through swollen eyelids.

“Tell Everett not to send pussies to deliver messages. I’m the fucking Archangel, not the next fucking meal. Tell him if he wants me so badly to come and fucking collect me himself. Can you do that?”

“You’re insane. You’re signing a death warrant,” he wheezed.

“Yeah, just not mine.” I let him fall back to the ground before I spit on him. “Deliver my message. The next time I see you, I’ll kill you, so let’s hope you’re good at hiding. . . Emerson. The walls of Chapel Crest can barely contain the crazy. Imagine if the truly insane decided to tear those walls down from the outside.Don’t fucking try me.”

I stepped over him as he collapsed again. I went to my car, my body tense and my mind reeling. Peeling out of the lot, I raced down the dark highway, my speedometer needle buried as I gripped the wheel.

There was no way I was going to let my brother and Rosalie be punished. These twisted games weren’t going to work for me.

But if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

I breathed out and slowed my car before pulling out my phone. I had one fucking contact who could get me in touch with who I needed so I pressed call on his name. Just some mid-ranking shitstain who did all the dirty work in the hopes of being seen by the boss man. We weren’t friends. Barely acquaintances, but he had the hook-up I needed.

“Hello,” his deep voice came over the line.

“I need to speak with Matteo De Santis,” I said into the receiver.

He was quiet for a moment. “Who should I say wants to speak to him?”

“His son.”

ELEVEN

ROSALIE

Anson was quiet. Way too quiet. We’d had a good afternoon, even if I did suck at learning the dance he’d choreographed. He’d arrived an hour later than promised and looked like he’d been tugging his black hair because it was a wild mess on his head.

“Are you OK?” I asked, settling in next to him on the couch with my music book.

He glanced at me and gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his blue eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine. Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

I bit my bottom lip. “Ani, we can work on this some other time—”

“No. I want to see your music.” He reached for my book, and I let him take it. I watched as he stared down at my lyrics and music, his lips moving as he read and his fingers tapping on his thigh.

I quickly looked away from him, my heart in knots, and stared out the window. The guys had gone out to do whatever it was they did. Enzo assured me it was simply a quick meeting and maybe they’d grab a bite to eat on the way back. Fox had winkedat me, making me relax. If he wasn’t nervous, I knew I shouldn’t be.

Easier said than done.

“With or Without,” Anson murmured, his gaze skirting over the page. “I like the title. And this lyric?” He pointed to the one he was referencing. “There are no gray areas in a world of make-believe, just different shades of red. I believe in the lies because they’re what you said. We’re in or we’re out. With or without.”

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