Page 18 of Beautifully Reckless

“How about you leave us alone to do what we were paid to fucking do?” Griffin snaps, spinning on his heel and stepping around the corner of the bamboo partition.

What the fuck kind of rooftop is this?

As I step around the corner, I nearly slam straight into Griffin’s back, because the fucker has stopped dead in his tracks.

That’s when I see it.

A gun pointed our way.

“Crow. It’s only us. Lower your weapon,” Griffin suggests, his tone edged with caution.

I recognise the guy holding the gun as the driver of the ute that had my Angel in it.

“Can’t do that, boss,” Crow answers, his hard gaze flicking between the four of us.

“Well, isn’t this fun?” Devon drawls, stepping to the side and dropping himself into a sun lounger, stretching his legs out and tucking his hands behind his head like he’s a lazy fucking king about to summon the fucking sun to rise in the dead of night so he can get a suntan.

Crow curls his lip at Devon, but I ignore their exchange and look past him, taking in a bunch of familiar faces.

Fox Pines kids.

Lexi’s friends.

Only, they’re not really kids anymore, are they? They’ve all grown into themselves, and judging by the way they’re standing behind Crow, arms crossed, not looking remotely fuckingimpressed, I’d say they’ve got as much balls as he does, daring to point a gun at his fucking boss.

A Marx boss.

On second thought, maybe that’s just dumb.

“Where’s Abbey?” I demand, stepping forward and shoving Griffin aside.

The fucker just chuckles, but given his gun is still in his hand, I’d say he’s a little concerned about the loyalty of his own crew member.

“None of your concern,” Crow responds, which is when Lexi pushes through the wall of her male friends, stepping up like she’s ready to fight me herself.

“What did you do?” she snaps, cheeks flushed with anger.

“The fuck do you mean?” I snap back, my gaze bouncing between her and her fucking posse.

“You were meant to keep her safe, Ringo. I reached out to you because I trusted you. Then you call and say she ran. But why did she run? Why wouldn’t you give me answers? What did you do?!”

I jerk back at her yell, her anger hitting me like a punch to the gut.

“What the fuck are you accusing me of?” I growl, and another fucker, one I recognise as Ayden’s cousin, steps forward, eyes burning with the kind of rage that means he’s two seconds from swinging fists.

“If you fucking touched her, I’ll—”

“Please stop this bickering.”

The new sharp voice cuts through the tension like a blade.

I turn, and my stomach sinks to find the Angel sisters strolling around the corner.

Fucking hell.

Am I really standing on the rooftop of a Marx-owned building in the middle of Melbourne, surrounded by two of the most notorious Marx bastards, a pack of Fox Pines teenagers, and the fucking Angel sisters? The same women who have a little black book of killers that they send out to hunt down abusers and carve out their retribution like modern-day fucking assassins?

What fucking bullshit is this?

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