Page 163 of Seeking Vengeance

He pauses, the responding chatter mumbling through the line. “Yeah, I understand. But it’s urgent. There’s been a serious complication with a contact we share. I need to speak to him straight away.”

The response is short and sharp.

“It’s a business matter,” he clarifies. “I can’t give specifics. But I will warn you someone will be held accountable if the message arrives late. I’d hate for that to be you.”

I take the ramp onto the multi-lane highway, one eye on Bishop, the other on the road.

“Okay. Fine,” he mutters. “Pass on the message that the situation in Denver is critical. If he doesn’t call Matthew Langston straight away it will be too late.”

I scowl, knowing Cole will interpret the information as a threat.

“Thanks, Alesha. I appreciate the help.” Bishop disconnects and lowers the phone. “Now we wait.”

“We wait?” I contemplate reaching over and slamming his head against the window. “Did you have to be so fucking dramatic? You could’ve paved the way for a more amiable introduction. This asshole doesn’t know me.”

“It was a call to action.” He shrugs. “I bet he reaches out in minutes.”

I bet he does, too.

I bet he dials my number with rage in his veins and death on his mind.

Bishop scans the cars around us. “Where are we headed?”

“Centennial Airport. Her brother won’t get a jet near the international tarmac.” I coast us down the inside lane, gliding in and out of traffic.

No call comes through though.

Not in five minutes. Or ten.

I take the turn to Centennial with increasing pessimism, haunted by the last picture I saw of Grace and wondering if it’s already too late to save Layla when my cell vibrates in my jacket. The incoming call connects to the car’s Bluetooth,Private Numberflashing across the dash display screen.

“Here goes nothin’.” Bishop sits taller.

I answer the call. “This is Matthew.”

“Is it though?” A superior drawl carries through the speakers. I don’t need to confirm it’s Cole. “I’ve heard you go by another name.”

“Not anymore I don’t. But that’s a conversation for a time when your sister’s life isn’t on the line.” I pull over to concentrate, letting the car idle on a random curb while I fight the need to rub at the pressure building beneath my temples. “I need you to help me find Layla.”

He scoffs a laugh. “You made the wrong choice, getting involved with her.”

“I didn’t know who she was when we first met.”

“But you stuck around to fuck with her once you did.”

I don’t answer. I bite my fucking tongue until I taste blood.

“What was the aim,Matthew Langston?” he asks with censure. “Did you want to get to me through her? To finish what your father started?”

“He hasn’t been my father for a long time, asshole. I want nothing to do with Emmanuel. Or you, for that matter. I don’t know what Layla told you, but I only want to protect her.”

“And are you usually this incompetent at the things you set out to achieve?”

“I’m incompetent?” I seethe. “I’m not the son of a bitch who shot a motherfucking psychopath after two years radio silence, then didn’t tell my goddamn sister about it to ensure her safety. None of this would’ve fucking happened if—”

The line disconnects, the barely heard hum of the radio kicking back in.

What thefuckdid I just do? What the absolute fuck?

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