Page 60 of Ruthless

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" Luka asked, but there was no mockery in his tone.

"We need allies," I said firmly. "People who have their own reasons to want Prometheus gone."

A slow smile spread across Luka's face. Not his usual cocky grin, but something more dangerous, more predatory. "I know who to call."

He kept his eyes on me as he dialed. The call connected quickly.

"Lo, it's me," Luka said, never breaking eye contact. "I need a favor. A big one." He paused, listening. "Yes, it involves potential bloodshed and terrible decision-making." Another pause. "Thought that might interest you. We need to talk. Securely."

I listened to his call, thinking of Michael's journey from a terrified, self-loathing man to someone who'd finally found the courage to propose to his boyfriend. Who'd begun to believe he deserved happiness.

I couldn't bring Michael back. But I could ensure his death meant something.

"Lo's going to arrange a meeting with someone who might help us," Luka said as he ended the call. "Someone with resources we'll need if we're going to attend that funeral."

"Who?" I asked.

"He wouldn't say over the phone," Luka replied. "But if Lo thinks they can help, they're worth meeting."

"We can do this," I said, as much to convince myself as Luka.

Luka's smile turned predatory, reminding me that beneath the man I'd come to care for still lurked a killer with forty-eight confirmed deaths to his name. He closed the distance between us in two fluid strides, one hand sliding to the nape of my neck, the other curling possessively around my hip.

"Together," he murmured against my lips, the word carrying more weight than any declaration of love. "Whatever comes next, we face it together."

His kiss wasn't gentle. It was a claiming, a promise, an oath sealed in blood. And I returned it with equal ferocity, understanding finally that this was more than just survival or lust or convenience. This was abond forged in violence and fear but evolving into something neither of us had names for yet.

When we broke apart, his eyes held mine. "I'll burn down the entire fucking Pantheon before I let him hurt anyone else you careabout."

Vincent traced Michael's smilingface in the photo, his hands trembling slightly.

"This was from last Christmas," he whispered, voice rough with grief. "He was so proud of this hideous sweater."

The shock that had blanched his face when we received the image of Michael's body had hardened into something colder. More focused.

The anguish in his voice made my chest squeeze tight. Vincent wasn't just mourning a patient. He was mourning the future that had been stolen from someone he'd helped rebuild. As a therapist, his purpose was to guide people toward better lives, and Prometheus had deliberately targeted that purpose, perverting his work into a weapon.

I'd spent the morning making calls, reaching out to contacts who might still talk to me. But I knew exactly who was responsible. Prometheus.

I paced our apartment, phone clutched in my hand, fury building with each step. Forty-eight confirmed kills, and none had made me feel the way seeing Vincent's shattered expression did.

"I should probably get going," I said, checking my watch. "Lo will be waiting for us."

Vincent looked up, eyes red-rimmed but startlingly clear. "I still think this is a trap."

"It probably is," I admitted, crouching in front of him. "But Lo vouches for Diego, and we're out of options."

He captured my wrist, his fingers surprisingly strong against my pulse. His touch sent electricity racing up my arm. "Just promise me you won't do anything reckless."

Something pulsed in my groin at his commanding tone. This new, harder version of Vincent awakened something primal in me. I wanted to pin him against the wall, taste the grief and fury on his tongue.

"Reckless is my specialty," I replied, a grim smile tugging at my lips. "But I'll try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum."

"I mean it, Luka." Vincent's eyes narrowed. "We need their help to fight Prometheus, not to create more enemies."

"Diego's a smuggler, not a saint. And whoever he's bringing will be worse."

"Can we trust them at all?"

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