Page 12 of Crown of Lies

Well, I guess Quinn wasn’t the only one I was lying to.

Breathing through my nose, I peel away from one of several safehouses I’ve checked on today. Typically, the Carnage safehouses are quiet. They’re there for when real war breaks out, between skirmishes, or when someone falls on hard times.

And in the wake of the massive displacement of people from the clubhouse, they’re all busy and filled up.

Just another part of the messmy wifehas made.

The roar of my bike is soothing, a familiar sound that’s almost hypnotic, and it helps clear my mind of the racing thoughts that have been cascading through it for days. After about twenty minutes of riding, I get to the clubhouse—or rather, what remains of it. Charred bones of what used to be our center of business.

Our home.

Atlas, Killian, and I basically built this shit from the ground up. And now what’s left of it?

Ashes. Crumbling support beams. A hell of a lot of regret.

I slip off my bike and yank off the helmet emblazoned with a skull on the side, the symbol of Carnage. With my hands shoved into my pockets, I make my way toward the burned out building. The police poked around for a bit after firefighters extinguished the blaze, but with Silas’s body gone and nothing left of the building but broken beams and ashes, there wasn’t much for them to find—the one upside to the fact that we lost everything, I guess.

Several of my people are gathered in front of what was once the entrance, and as I approach, my presence is immediately noticed. Several Carnage enforcers and some of our drug runners are speaking in low voices, and when they see me, they break up their conversation and walk over.

“Any news?” one of them asks—Kendrick, a big, burly guy who’s always down for a fight and is known to knock in heads.

“No. Just what we already know. That Silas fucker had beef with Carnage, and he decided to make a move.”

“Do we know why though?” This time it’s a younger member, Micah, who asks. He hasn’t seen much action yet, so all of this is probably shocking. “I mean, burning a clubhouse is an act of war. He had to know that, right?”

I clench my jaw. I have no idea whether Silas knew that, but Quinn definitely did.

And she did it anyway.

“We’re not sure exactly what his motives were,” I say, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “I’m working on figuring that out.”

It’s not a satisfactory answer, I know that. But it’s all I have for now.

My men all look frustrated and angry, agitation clear in their stances. Micah seems a bit dejected, and Kendrick folds his arms over his barrel chest.

“He wasn’t working alone,” he insists. “I’d bet my last fucking dollar on it. Which means there’s still someone out there who needs to pay for what they did to us. And it would be my fucking honor to give them the justice they deserve.”

He cracks his neck as he speaks, a bloodthirsty glint in his eyes. I nod, clapping my hand on his shoulder as I force down the guilt that sits like a rock in my stomach.

“You’ll have your vengeance,” I promise. “Just give me some time.”

I spend a while longer at the clubhouse, taking stock of the final inventory of what was lost and what little was actually salvageable. A final head count done by a few of my men confirms beyond a doubt that no one is missing and therefore not killed in the fire.

Even after I’ve done all I can do at the site of our ruined clubhouse, I linger for a while longer, speaking to my people and trying to give them some small boost in morale. But finally, there’s nothing more to be done, and it’s time to head home.

If I can really call it that at this point.

Half an hour later,I pull up outside Quinn’s house. As I’m parking my bike in the driveway, movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. I yank off my helmet as a scowl tugs at my lips.

Could this day get any fucking worse?

Emmett is here.

He must have arrived just a second after I did, and he practically leaps out of his car after pulling up to the curb, his attention zeroed in on me. I get off my bike, gripping my helmet in one hand as I stride forward to meet him halfway up the walk.

There’s no fucking way I’m letting him get anywhere near the house.

“Emmett,” I say, lifting my chin coolly in greeting.

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