Page 42 of The Devil We Know

Darius: *middle finger emoji*

I close out of my messages again, setting it on the table as I say, “No, we didn’t know. Kind of annoyed that we didn’t know, but it is what it is at this point.”

“It’s irrelevant,” he says tiredly. “Now we just have to work on getting her out. Matt said he’ll do whatever he can to prevent her from marrying that snake, but it’s highly likely he won’t be able to manage that without significant bloodshed. At some point, it will likely require an extraction, something that I can’t be linked to.”

I narrow my eyes at him, my arms crossing over my chest as I lean back in my chair. “Why can’t it be linked to you?”

“I have far too many people depending on me to end up in a war over one life.”

I smile and reply, “How about the war of all wars?”

He cocks his head at me and asks, “Explain.”

“If we go in there on an extraction mission, it usually ends up being more of an extermination,” I explain. “We’re not going to go in there and just remove the two people we need. We’re going to eliminate every last motherfucking one of them while completing the mission.”

“So, you’re saying if I don’t want to be part of the extermination, I had better leave?”

“That depends on which side you’re on,” I answer honestly. “If you’re with us, you’re safe. If you’re against us, you’re dead.” He gives me a rather arrogant look and chuckles under his breath. He says nothing, and eventually, I ask, “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been threatened so nonchalantly before.”

“What can I say,” I reply affably. “I’m a nonchalant kind of guy.”

“Now, I know that’s a fuckin’ lie.”

I can’t help but smile, and then I change the subject. “So, how does Matt suggest we do this? Everyone knows us, and I can’t say I’d pass for a very pretty woman.”

“I have that handled. I’ll be sending someone over to the warehouse this evening with everything you need to go deep undercover.”

“How deep?”

He stands and looks down at me as he replies, “You won’t even recognize yourself.”

Stuffing my phone into my pocket, I rise from my chair, pick up my cold coffee, and throw it in the bin as I follow him out the door. I stop on the street, and he extends his hand to me as he says, “We don’t necessarily want to be part of a war, but rest assured that the Irish won’t stand in your way.”

I take his hand, giving it a good shake before releasing it, and I nod. “Rest assured that we’ll go in there and get it taken care of.”

He says nothing further, just turns and walks away, quickly disappearing into the crowd. I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone only to come out with a rectangular business card.

I flip it over, and written on it is:Camilla McDonough - Illusionist. There’s no phone number, email address, or anything else, but I know he must have slipped it into my pocket at some point.

I shake my head, annoyed that everyone seems to be quicker than me lately.

Shrugging off my brief moment of inferiority, I head off in the direction of the warehouse, whistling.

18

An Irish Canoodle

Tony

Camilla McDonough showed uplater that same evening.

And when I say showed up, I mean she managed to infiltrate our warehouse, the spitting image of Carolina.

To say I was a little confused is an understatement.

Also, seriously perturbed.

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