Page 53 of Bonds of Hate

“Enough!” Logan slams his hand on the door frame, his bulk filling the opening to the meeting room. He clearly caught at least part of our exchange. “Get in here before I kill you both.”

I resist the urge to stick my tongue out at Poe as he stomps past me.

Poe doesn’t waste time as he takes a seat next to Logan at the rectangular table. “Did you or did you not say that the Omega is off-limits?”

Logan rubs at his temples as he collapses into his seat. “I am not feeding this playground fight by arguing semantics.”

I can’t help flashing a shit-eating grin at Poe. “Told you.”

Logan turns on me with a muffled snarl. “I hope you discovered something useful while deliberately defying my commands.”

As tempted as I am to provoke him in the same way I did Poe, Logan is much closer to losing control. His breaking point might just be enough to kill us all. Probably not worth the risk.

Clearing my throat, I snag a nearby tablet and bring my notes from Maya’s file. “There’s a hole here about a mile wide. Her whereabouts for the last year are entirely unaccounted for.”

“Really?” Golden eyes narrowing, he gestures for the tablet and studies the sparse information with obvious interest. “Any leads?”

“Not exactly, but I think I might know where to find one.”

He blows out a hard breath. “Go on.”

“I think we should dig into her Enclave debt, how it went unpaid for a year. Something fishy is going on there.”

“Do it, but be discreet. Let me know if you need to task any additional resources.”

Poe makes a disgusted sound. “You cannot be serious about this, Logan. No Omega is worth this amount of chaos. We’re practically at each other’s throats and it’s only been a day.”

“Hey, don’t blame me for your lack of control,” I protest. “You’re not the one with a loose molar.”

“I’m also not the one who left the dining room stinking of Omega cunt.”

“Relax, brother. Next time I lay out a feast, I’ll remember to save you some.”

Poe half-rises from his chair, eyes snapping.

“Enough, already. Fuck!” Logan throws himself back in his chair, propping his spit-shined boots on the mahogany table. “Fortunately for my tenuous hold on patience, we have more important things to discuss. Though I am expecting you to find something useful. And soon. You won’t like the consequences of disappointing me.”

I give him a single nod to show I understand the — poorly — veiled threat in his words. “You got it, boss.”

“What’s so important?” Poe asked, a note of annoyance lingering in his voice.

Logan gives him a level stare. “My brother.”

I resist the urge to askwhich one, because I know he won’t appreciate the sarcasm. Logan has more brothersthan I care to count, but only one of them particularly matters.

The one he murdered.

The smell of it still stands out in my memory. Walking into Logan’s quarters, the walls and floors drenched in red with the scent of iron in the air. Logan had literally torn his brother apart. Prince Ander would have been impossible to identify if not for the dark sigil of House Corellian tattooed on his back, the only bit of skin left relatively unscathed. Nothing about Ander’s death had been quick or clean, the violence outrageous in its excess.

Logan wouldn’t even tell us what the fuck happened.

All the princes have combative relationships with each other. The king’s refusal to name an heir officially ensures that their rivalries and political aspirations run deeper than any blood ties. Despite all that, Logan and Ander had never been enemies.

But Logan responded to questions with threats of violence delivered so sincerely that insisting on more information felt akin to suicide. At that moment, all our prince and pack leader wanted from us was to clean up his mess and keep our mouths shut.

Threats won’t cut it anymore. We deserve answers.

I settle into the seat, burly arms crossed over my chest. If a shitstorm is on the way, I might as well get comfortable. “Shouldn’t Cillian be in on this? Where is he?”

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