It’s nothing but a tiny concrete room. A metal chair sits in the corner, but that’s it. Just a box.
“Well this is ... disappointing,” Carson says. “Did you run out of money on the house? Jesus, we’ll give you a loan, man.”
Rome smirks and presses a stone in the wall, and then a panel shifts in the floor, revealing a staircase that leads underground.
“So, you’ve been watching too many spy movies,” I say. “I like it.”
“I’ll give you all the code,” Rome says as he leads the way down the stairs. Lights flick on by motion sensor, illuminating all the way down. “Only the eight of us will have access to this.”
At the bottom of the stairs, he lays his hand on another screen, and a sensor scans his retina before the door clicks open.
“I really need to up my cool-007 game,” I mutter, and when we step inside, Julian whistles.
Carson goes right for the explosives.
And I cross my arms over my chest, taking it all in.
The room is massive, probably five thousand square feet, with walls covered in weapons. Everything from handguns to sniper rifles, knives, throwing stars, crossbows—anything you could want. There’s a firing range at one end of the room with four lanes for practice. Carson has something similar to this in the basement of the King of Spades, and we’ve been training the girls down there.
This isn’t for training.
This is for war.
“Some might call you a little paranoid,” Julian remarks as he studies a wall of throwing knives.
Julian loves any kind of blade.
“My family is worth being paranoid over,” Rome replies as he leans his hips against a counter and crosses his arms over his chest, watching us as we check everything out.
“Where’s the flamethrower?” I ask him.
Carson laughs. He thinks it’s hilarious that I prefer fire.
“I have six of them in a cabinet over there.”
“Nice. Thanks.”
“The girls are likely talking about the gala on Saturday,” Julian says, and we all move to the center of the room to talk. “We should do the same.”
“I’m not one to bring other families into our business,” Carson says, and it’s no surprise to any of us. He doesn’t trust anyone, and for good reason. “So the fact that Cillian O’Connor is hosting at his resort makes me uneasy.”
“I don’t disagree,” Rome chimes in. “We can’t control as much if it’s not in our building.”
“I can see that,” I reply with a nod and push my hands in my pockets. “But whoever this Lincoln is, he doesn’t know any of us. It makes sense for Cillian to invite him. Not to mention, plans are already up and running.”
“Let’s call Cillian,” Rome suggests, and I pull my phone out of my pocket and hit video call. We keep the range behind us so he can’t see the armory.
Cillian is an ally, but he’s not part of the family.
He answers, and his blue eyes narrow when he sees all four of us fill the screen.
“I’m pissed that I wasn’t invited to this party,” he says dryly. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Vegas,” I reply with a smirk. “We want to talk about Saturday.”
“Good. I was about to call you. Lincoln just RSVP’d for two and bought an entire table.”
I lift an eyebrow. “He paid a million for the table?”