Page 42 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

14

River

I’ve never beenbig on cuddling after sex, but I actually find myself reluctant to leave Ash’s bed after the marathon sex. I finally plant one more kiss on his fucking addictive lips, then leave his room and slip into my own room to grab some clothes and get dressed. There’s still shit I need to do today, and I really want to start going through the guest list I conned out of the security guard at the hotel.

As soon as I step out into the hallway, Dog comes running up to me, eager for attention. Apparently, the couple of hours I spent with Ash were too much for the mutt, and he thought I was dead or something, because he immediately attaches himself to my side, looking up at me with his tongue hanging out.

Either that or he can sense that something in my emotional state has shifted, and he wants to be close.

Whatever the reason, I take him outside with me, where I settle on the back stoop. It’s a nice day out—warm and sunny with a gentle breeze that rustles through the trees that line the back of the neighborhood.

Of course a place like the guys’ house has trees everywhere. None of the concrete and dumpsters that pass for a backyard around my place.

Dog fucking loves it.

He runs around in the grass, yipping and rolling around on his back. I smoke a cigarette while I watch him run around and bite at buzzing bees and his own shadow, amused by his goofy antics.

I’m pleasantly sore from fucking Ash, and something feels lighter in my chest.

When he would barely look at me in the aftermath of the gala, there was a weight there, heavy and impossible to ignore. But now that the bad blood has been cleared, it feels like I can breathe again. It was fucking me up to be on the outs with him, and I didn’t like it.

With things better between us, even if they’re still not quite clearly defined, I can think and focus again. Which is good, because the other problem from the gala isn’t even close to being settled yet. The guest list from the event is still burning a hole in my pocket, so I pull it out and finally give it some attention.

The list is pretty long, which tracks with how many people it felt like were milling around at the event that night, all of them glittering in their fancy clothes and thinking they’re better than everyone else. Most of the names are unfamiliar to me, although a few jump out as people I know by reputation. A guy named Desmond Hunter, who comes from the oldest money there is in Detroit. A woman named Celeste DuPree, who I’m pretty sure is a fashion designer. And Alec Beckham, the rich guy Ash pointed out to me. Powerful people on the level of Ivan himself, who have enough power and status in the city that their names get spoken even in the underbelly with all the criminals.

I make notes of the names I recognize, even though I’m not sure any of them would stoop to being involved in something like this. As far as I know, none of those people are involved in anything criminal, they’re just filthy rich.

Dog barks at something, and I glance up to see a bird sitting on the back fence, checking him out with its head cocked to one side. The shaggy little mutt mirrors the bird’s movement and barks again, but the bird doesn’t fly away, clearly not bothered by this weird animal yapping at it.

I block the barking out and go back to the list, humming a little tune under my breath.

But as my gaze settles on the paper again, my throat closes, cutting off the sound with a choked rasp.

I stare down at a name that makes my heart stop in my chest.

Maduro.

Julian Maduro.

The last name sends a chill washing over my skin despite the warmth of the day, an immediate and visceral reaction. I shiver almost violently, and I drag in a deep breath that barely does anything to settle me at all.

It’s not Julian that I know—orknew—but his dad. Lorenzo.

A sudden rush of memories rise up in me so suddenly that it’s like they block everything else out. The grass and the sunshine and the sound of Dog’s barking all fade away, replaced by the heavy thumping of club music and the flashing of lights. I can feel sweaty bodies around me, pressing in on me.

Vaguely, I’m aware that it’s all in my head. Everything I think I’m feeling and hearing happened a long time ago. It’s over and done with.

But even that thought isn’t enough to keep the memories of my past from pulling me under.

He’s the first one on the list.

The first name I have to cross off.

The need for revenge burns under my skin like a fire, hot and impossible to ignore. Even when I’m just going about my business, buying bread and milk, brushing my teeth, using the bathroom, I think about it.

They all have to die, and he’s going to be the first.

I have the intel I need to hunt him down. He’s not careful about his comings and goings, not important enough to think he’d ever be taken down a peg by one of the bigger players in Detroit, or just too stupid to see it coming. I’ve been watching him for a while, learning his habits so when the time came, I’d know everything I need to know to make sure he doesn’t get away. He hangs out at the same club every weekend, blowing his money on poker games and expensive scotch, trying to tempt the younger women who come in to dance with him or sit in his lap.

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