All three of them exchange a look—the kind that communicates entire paragraphs without a single word.
"Zeus." Sarah's tone shifts from angry to almost pitying. "You told her everything, I assume. About Fiend’s betrayal, the cartel, the kidnapping, the cliff. You told her you pulled the trigger to save an innocent woman's life, correct?”
"Yeah."
"And you think a girl who spent years being beaten and abused by a man twice her size is going to despise you for doing what you had to do to save Rowan?"
I lift my head.
"She doesn't hate you for killing Fiend," Rowan says with absolute certainty. "I'd bet my life on it."
"Then why'd she leave?"
“Our guess? Which, may I say, is probably pretty accurate," Kayla's voice softens, “is that she thinks being Fiend's daughter makes her unwelcome here. She thinks that the club will resent her for who her father was and that her presence here hurts you—or itwill.”
"She left to protect you, you dense blockhead,” Rowan adds.
To protect me? What kind of fucked up logic is that?
I have to find her and set her straight. I shove off the barstool, but before I can formulate a plan, the clubhouse door opens. Demon strides in with Fuzzy half a step behind. Demon's face gives nothing away—his default—but the set of his shoulders makes the hair on my arms stand up.
"Zeus. We got business, brother.”
"What is it?”
Demon pulls out a chair at the farthest table and drops into it. He motions for me to join him. Whatever he has to say, it looks serious. Clearly, he doesn’t want the women to hear.
As soon as I’m seated, he begins, “When London showed up at our gate, I started a background check. Standard protocol."He holds up a hand when my fists ball. "It's my job to vet anyone we bring under this roof. You know that.”
"Get to the point."
"Her mother, Karen Hargrove, is a long-time addict—pills, alcohol, and for the past year, Raven. Ended up in a coma at Henry Ford. Same situation as Fury's stepsister."
I know all this. London told me.
"Except Karen woke up," Demon continues. “And was discharged a little over a week ago."
"I know. London talked to her yesterday."
Demon nods. "After London mentioned the phone call, I had Karen followed."
"You had London’s mother followed?"
Demon's dark eyes hold mine. “Brother, a woman connected to our newest resident gets released from a hospital stay caused by a cartel drug, and you don’t think my first instinct is to monitor her?"
He's right. I should've thought of it myself.
Demon looks at Fuzzy. "Show him."
Fuzzy pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and holds it up.
The footage is grainy—shot from a distance, probably from a car window. A thin woman in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt stands outside a bodega on the east side. She looks how London might if London were twenty years older and ravaged by decades of substance abuse.
A black SUV pulls up. A man exits—tall, shaved head, dark clothing. Even in the grainy footage, I can make out the tattoo crawling up the side of his face.
A crow.
Los Cuervos.