Page 94 of Bonds of Obsession

I’m doing my best to look as bored as possible, like I’m sitting through a corporate meeting instead of listening to coordinated murder. The more convinced they are that I don’t give a fuck, the better off my men and I will be.

“The police won’t look too closely,” Imogen adds once Rafael has finished. “They’ll write it off as another gang hit. I made sure certain officers got their usual payments, plus a bonus for any overtime this might cause them.”

“And the escape routes?” Malcolm asks.

Owen nods. “All covered. Had my people at every major intersection, watching the bridges. Even if someone slipped past the initial attack, they wouldn’t have made it out of the city.”

“Glad to hear it,” Malcolm says. “And you cleaned up after?”

“Meticulously. The warehouse is still burning. By morning, there won’t be anything left to find.”

Elliot turns to me, and I’m almost certain I see a hint of a sneer before he schools his features again. “And the wife?”

I stand up slowly, keeping my own expression perfectly neutral. Every eye in the room locks on to me as I lift the bag.

As distasteful as this whole fucking ordeal has been, I can’t resist dragging it out a little longer. “You’ll find everything you need in here.” I drop the bag to the table with a thud and give it a shove in his direction.

He raises a brow as he reaches for the bag, but the sick bastard can’t quite hold it together when he looks inside. His nose wrinkles and he looks away for a second before pulling out the severed hand.

And fuck, the look on his face right now?

Priceless.

I don’t know where or how Killian came up with a fucking severed hand, and I’m not going to ask. Celine’s wedding ring catches the light, and it’s easy to see the blood that’s crusted around the band.

“Since you seemed to doubt my capabilities,” I say. “I thought you might appreciate some proof that I’m more than up to whatever task the Syndicate requires.”

“Damn.” Imogen leans forward to get a better look. “And they say diamonds are forever.”

“Diamonds, maybe.” Cassandra smirks, with something like approval in her voice. “Hands? Not so much.”

“Did she beg?” Elliot asks, his momentary queasiness apparently gone. In fact, now his eyes are gleaming with what I can only imagine is a sick, twisted fascination. “When she realized what was coming?”

I think of Celine’s tears—not of fear, but of freedom—and let a genuine smile play across my lips. “Does it matter? She’s dead either way.”

A low whistle comes from Owen’s direction. “Looks like the new blood’s got some teeth after all.”

I don’t have to fake the dangerous edge in my voice when I respond. “I’ve always had teeth. And I’ve never been afraid to use them.”

I might not be the type of monster to murder a pregnant woman, but I’m still exactly the kind of leader who will slit a man’s throat if he threatens what’s mine. I need them to understand that.

Elliot’s eyes meet mine across the table, and I see the moment grudging respect replaces his doubt. Good. Let them think I’m as fucking evil as they are. Sometimes the best way to survive in a pack of wolves is to bare your teeth and prove you can bite just as hard.

My words hang in the air as the others exchange glances around the table. The energy in the room has shifted, and I can feel the way their assessment of me has changed. I’m not the weak link they initially thought I was.

“Well,” Malcolm says, leaning back in his chair. “I believe we can consider Elliot’s votum successfully fulfilled.”

“Arturo, his wife, and his unborn heir have been eliminated,” Elliot confirms, still studying the severed hand like it’s a piece of fucking art. “Along with his entire operation.” His eyes flick to mine. “I consider it to be thoroughly fulfilled.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to look away first. Let him search for weakness. He won’t find any.

Imogen stretches, breaking the few seconds of silence that threatened to go on indefinitely. “I need a drink after all this. Anyone else?”

Cassandra nods. Although I’ve seen them snark at each other with their claws out, there’s something almost like respect in her expression as she glances over at Imogen. “I’m in.”

“I could use several,” Rafael agrees, rising from his chair. “Although I’m not sure Noctura’s open bar is the best place to go when I’m already struggling to keep my eyes open.”

“Speak for yourself,” Owen says. “Some of us can handle our liquor.”

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