Page 65 of Queen of Blades

Paul

Paul’sfather’swordschilledhim to the bone. It’d been a while since his family had been involved in a war. Now, in the matter of two days, they were in two. Both because of Paul’s actions. The responsibility, like a lead ball, sank heavy in his gut. He hated this.

In their early days, they struggled through quite a few skirmishes. Coming out on top was bloody, and largely because of Paul. Many lessons were learned along the way. The first of which was not to fly off the handle and react. As a family, their response needed to be calculated.

He sat at the kitchen table, across from his father, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere in their not-so-safe house. Sam was to his left, Uncle Michael had recently arrived with Mickey, and Eddie was on the phone. They started this syndicate and were in charge.

“We lost the laundromat,” Eddie announced sullenly. “The sons of bitches burned it to the ground.”

The men around the table sat stoically. Paul’s jaw ticked. Their first venture, the casino in the basement of Laundry Land, where he’d first met Harper, was gone. He wasn’t sure which was worse, losing that income or losing a place that held such sentimental value. Curling his fingers tightly into a fist, he mentally vowed to destroy those who took that from his family.

“Any casualties?” Mickey asked.

“Thankfully, we got everyone out.”

The men around the table nodded in relief. That was something. A tiny win was a victory. They had to take them where they could get them. War was hell like that.

“You’ve added more security elsewhere?” Uncle Michael asked.

“Of course. Four soldiers at the doors and another five patrolling around each of our properties. I’m not going to lie. We’re spread thin.”

Paul’s frown deepened. They didn’t need this stress.

“I have a meeting with Dario this evening,” Joseph reminded them. “I intend to keep it.”

“I’ll drive you,” Mickey offered.

With a dip of chin, Joseph signaled that was acceptable to him.

“Do we have any idea who attacked the laundromat?” Paul asked.

Mickey examined him with knitted brows. Uncle Michael flicked his attention between Paul and Joseph. Apparently, only Paul had been left out of the loop on this one.

Paul cracked his knuckles, doing his best to manage the frustration agitating every cell in his body. Being kept in the dark wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and it wasn’t something he planned on getting used to.

Eddie cleared his throat. “The Roughneck Riders.”

Unable to control himself, Paul vibrated with fury. Grinding his teeth, he stared death daggers at the phone. “What’s our plan?” he asked the room.

“We need to strike sooner rather than later,” Joseph admitted. “And since they aren’t a proper syndicate, we don’t need Dario’s permission.”

Paul nodded. Finally, they were making sense. He hated red tape and was glad there wouldn’t be much in this instance. They still had to manage the Irish situation, but Harper took priority. He had to get her back. Lord only knew what the bikers were doing to her.

The only hope Paul had was that her brothers were around to protect her. As much of a shit as Little Junior could be, he had loyalty toward his family. It was all Paul had to cling to in order to stay sane and seated at the table. Without that, he would do the worst thing possible—fly off the handle.

“They’re going to expect us to retaliate,” Uncle Michael offered unhelpfully.

“Obviously. They took Paul’s woman,” Sam said as he gestured to Paul.

Both Mickey and Uncle Michael turned their attention to Paul in confusion. Apparently, they weren’t fully in the loop on that one. It seemed he wasn’t the only one not kept up to speed on current events. Then again, there was a lot of shit going down at once. It was difficult to keep everyone abreast of each development.

Paul clasped his hands together, interlacing his fingers, then rested his elbows on the table, and leaned forward. “Harper Myers and I have history.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Mickey snorted. “You got shot over her.”

Paul glared. “Recently, we may have rekindled our attraction.”

Uncle Michael nodded.

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