“Malice did. My brother knows when to ask for help.”
“Uh huh,” I muttered while the fucker smiled at the scene before him.
“It’s always a good day when children are united with their parents. Don’t you agree, Mr. Doherty?”
Refusing to reply, I stood my ground as the fucker turned to me and said, “Mr. Sinclair has requested another meeting with you.”
“I’m busy.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
Smiling, I replied, “Well then, my answer is fuck no.”
“You don’t want to do that, Mr. Doherty. Mr. Sinclair doesn’t like to be told no.”
“Funny. I don’t give a fuck what he likes,” I snarked, walking away.
I wasn’t buying that bullshit for one second.
For three motherfucking days we’d been looking for those kids. Every place we searched or raided turned up nothing. Then, the second I make a call and bring in someone else, the kids miraculously appear.
Yeah, I called bullshit.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say someone was watching us the entire motherfucking time, and when they knew we were close, they jumped in and saved the day.
That told me two things.
One we just got played.
And two, the fucker grinning at me was the mastermind.
When I was out of sight, I reached for my phone and dialed Ghost.
“Yeah?”
“Change of plans. Find Thena Hartley, fast.”
“What changed your mind?”
“Let’s just say I don’t like the motherfucker doing the asking.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Remi
“Remi, when is Reaper due back?” Massacre asked, sliding off his stool and pocketing his phone as I walked past the bar toward the kitchen.
Without a thought, I replied, “Sometime later today.”
Following, he continued, “So, by dinnertime?”
Passing Maria at the stove, I headed straight for the fridge, opened it, and grabbed a bottle of apple juice. Just like with Jesse, I couldn’t get enough of this crap, and as of this morning, the smell of coffee made me sick.
Fucking figures.
“Not sure. Probably before that.”
Twisting off the cap, I had barely taken a sip when the annoying brother asked, “So, between four and five, then?”