Page 137 of Riordan's Revenge

Riordan, sorry. It happened. I fell out of love with you.

All suspicion released from me. If it had been anything other than these specific words, I wouldn’t have believed it. Yet no one could’ve faked this, and no weapon could’ve torn deeper into me and destroyed me quite so well.

My heart broke into pieces.

It shattered, and shattered, and splintered apart.

I turned my back on the warehouse and walked away.

Chapter 42

Cassie

Anxiety hung over me like a spectre as I paced the hospital’s emergency surgery waiting room. Up and down. Up and down.

Dixie was being operated on. The hospital staff wouldn’t tell us shite, but I’d found a friendly nurse who’d given me just enough information so I didn’t go insane.

She’d promised to update me with any news, so long as the ward nurse wasn’t around to bust her.

Dixie could die.

My helpful, sweet, bubbly friend deserved so much more from life, yet some bastard had tried to kill her.

My gut churned.

It didn’t take a genius to realise it was a message.

Anger rose and rose and rose.

Footsteps sounded behind me. I spun around, sagging to see Shade. He’d had to leave to handle the crime scene but had promised to return.

“Any news?”

I shook my head, my words stuck.

“Detective Dickhead wants to talk to ye. I told him to back the fuck off, but the man is an arsehole, so don’t be surprised if he shows up. He knows you’re here, but that’s all the fucker has been told.”

He didn’t need to prompt me on what to say. Chief Constable Kenney was well known to me and my family, as much as to Arran, Shade, and the skeleton crew. I knew how to talk my way around police questioning.

“Kenney will be all over this as a copycat.”

Shade curled his lip, his back to the nurses’ station. “He’ll be jerking his stumpy dick in glee at a chance to catch the killer considering he missed out last time. If he dares talk shite about Dixie, I’ll threaten to cut it off.”

I stared at him.

He was right about the detective. Shade’s reaction, on the other hand, didn’t quite fit.

Images of the boathouse flashed before my eyes. He’d shown pain but not shock at the discovery of Dixie.

I cocked my head at the enforcer. “You’re not surprised by this.”

He didn’t reply, his thumbs in the loopholes of his jeans and his expression sober.

Emotion rushed inside me. “Hold the fucking phone. Bronson is dead, yet Dixie’s throat has been fucking slit. You said the killer, and not a copycat. Why?”

His mouth opened, but my anger took over again, dark realisations swirling.

“Ye expected another murder.”

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