Page 27 of Ink

INK

Iwas just about to take Annika back up to our room when Kevlar popped his head into the clinic. His gaze met mine, and he jerked his chin toward the hallway.

“Need to talk to Kevlar for a second,dolcezza. You good?”

Annika sighed in exasperation, but there was a little humor in her ice-blue depths. “I’m more than fine, Matteo. Stop worrying so much.”

“Not gonna happen,” I muttered before giving her a quick kiss and following Kevlar out of the room.

Rebel was waiting for us in the hallway, and his expression was furious.

“Show him,” Kevlar grunted, and Rebel held up a bullet.

“You found it?”

Kevlar nodded. “Found the casing in the woods, too.” He opened his fist to show it to me, and my eyes narrowed.

“Are those fucking custom?” I growled.

“Yup,” Kevlar replied.

“Son of a bitch.” More than likely, this meant we were dealing with a professional. “How the fuck did they miss?”

Rebel handed Kevlar the bullet, then shoved his hands into his pockets as he leaned back against the wall. “Wooded area around the compound is tough to navigate, and we patrol it regularly. Probably couldn’t find a decent perch.”

“So we got damn lucky.”

Rebel nodded.

Which meant we probably wouldn’t be so fortunate a second time.

“I don’t recognize the style.” Kevlar took a closer look at the components. “But my connections in that world only go so far...”

He left the rest of his thought unsaid, knowing I’d understand.

Scowling, I muttered, “How have I become even more involved with The Family since I left them behind?”

I yanked my cell phone from the inner pocket of my cut and pulled up Rafa’s number.

“Matteo,” he greeted when he picked up.

“Need a favor,” I grumbled.

“You already owe me,” Rafa replied smoothly, not bothering to hide the smugness in his tone.

“Debatable. We can get into that shit later. Someone is trying to kill my woman, and you’re better equipped to find the bastard than I am.”

“How can I help?” All traces of humor were gone now.

“Pretty sure it’s a pro.”

“And that’s more my world than yours,” Rafa concluded.

“Fair assumption,” I agreed.

“What makes you think it’s a hitman?”

“Custom ammunition, mostly. But more specifically, the style of it,” I explained.

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