“We should go,” I murmured. “There is much to do before we go home.”
Technically, I was home, but the penthouse flat meant as much to me as the clothes I’d thrown in the incinerator rather than use Cam’s washing machine. “Come.” I took Saint’s hand. “We have work to do.”
We gathered the weapons, secured the penthouse, and left via the unobserved maintenance doors. My Yamaha was parked underground. I swapped it out for the Ninja I’d ridden to Bristol. It was faster and, like my cupboard upstairs, had a concealed compartment for carrying illegal weapons.
I took the most lethal from Saint and packed them away. The police would not catch me. And if they did, they would not find anything I carried. Saint on his slower, noisier bike bore more risk.
We rode out, hitting the route that would take us back to Devon, stopping along the way to gather more weapons and the materials I would need to destroy the Crows’ compound buildings.
“How much of this stuff do you have?”
It was our third and final stop. Saint had been quiet until now, but the sight of the second gun seemed to tip him over the edge.
I did not tell him I had collected it for him. That I feared he, more than anyone else, would need it. Or that I could not explainwhythis foreboding feeling consumed me. “When you are rootless in your work, you learn to keep what you need in many places.”
“Duplicate stashes?”
“All over Europe. If you want to kill someone in Switzerland, I can help you, wingman.”
His eyes bugged out. It was brief and made his wise features seem boyish, but he caught himself. Packed it away. “I’ll settle for cathartic arson in Devon, thanks.”
“As you wish.”I want to kiss him.
I did not do it. Home was still an hour away and there was no time.
We set off again, Saint ahead of me, his strong body a beacon on his rowdy bike. Fulfilling Cam’s prophecy, it began to rain far harder than the predicted drizzle we’d expected. Fat drops battered my visor, sheets of water lancing the road.
I still managed to study Saint as he rode, though. He was narrower than Cam, his torso longer, and his forearms were quite beautiful. I resented the leather that hid them from me. Hated the dark jeans that concealed his thighs. It occurred to me again that I could not fathom how Cam had resisted this man for so many years—
An obnoxious roar killed my thoughts stone dead. Obliterating them.Bikes. But they were on me before I could contemplate who they belonged to. Swarming me. Cutting me off from Saint.
Instinct had me reaching for the weapon I usually kept to hand, but it wasn’t there. I’d stashed it with the others beneath my seat. Being careful. For once in my strange little life.
Stupid.My predicament annoyed me.
That I could not see Saintterrifiedme.
I rose up, swerving around a Harley with an uglyCrowpainted on the tank. The wordnomadwas beneath it.Butch Crow.If not the man himself, then one from his crew.
It has begun. The war. But why now? Why us? Then I remembered what the rat—whatRocco—had told Cam. That any Crow not loyal to him had no idea I existed. That they did not fear me the way the Sambinis did.
To them, I was a smaller-than-average biker on a smaller-than-average bike, trailing Saint Malone along a deserted road.
They’ve come for him.
Rage hit me. I swerved another Harley, but there were too many for me to dodge. Six? Seven? I couldn’t tell.
They boxed me in, blinding me with flashlights. Disoriented, I swerved again, but I had nowhere to go. My bike skidded, sliding from beneath me, and I hit the tarmac at eighty-miles an hour.
20
Saint
Alexei’s Yamaha careened down the road, skidding, sparks igniting as it narrowly missed the Crows who’d already knocked me from my hog and pulled weapons on me.
He flew out of sight at a speed that turned my blood to ice. I leapt forward, pulverising the nearest Crow with the hammer attached to my belt, but two more blocked my path.
I wasn’t Alexei. I couldn’t put multiple men down in the space of a few seconds. It was messy and loud, blood spraying from every blow.