Uncertainty passed across Thatch’s eyes before he said, “I imagine a couple of hours.” To be fair, my jealousy hadn’t been exactly hidden, and his wariness, which I determined as being a sign of him being concerned about me, kinda got me all hot under the collar.
“That should be a fun meet,” Kent said, her grin filled with sly amusement. She was such an arsehole.
“Kent,” Thatch said, his voice firm, though I heard the tiredness creeping in the edges.
“What?” The innocence in her voice was bullshit.
“You shit-stirring for a reason?” I asked, wondering if she was aiming for something more than enjoying pissing me off. Not that I couldn’t handle it. I gave her just as much crap.
Feigned nonchalance lifted her right shoulder in a careless shrug. “You entertain me,” she said, her smile appearing alarmingly genuine. “And watching the big boss squirm is freakin’ hilarious. He’s never like this.”
Something pretty close to pleasure rushed through me. After my and Thatch’s connection and especially after finally sealing the deal, he was mine. It was as simple as that. And knowing others saw our bond, hell yes, there was a hit of pride pushing my damn chest out.
Michaels’s voice startled me—and Kent, from her wide eyes and the fast twist of her neck. “Jenson owes me a hundred bucks.” Tears sprang in his eyes for the barest of seconds before he seemed to get them under control. His sombre words pulled Kent and me up short. “He said you’d finally sort your shit out and get laid when you were going to see your niece.” A small quirk of his lips and a shake of his head had him looking at me. “He’d be happy to know you figured it out.”
I swallowed hard and sent him a nod. “We’ll make them all pay.”
Michaels dropped his head, took a breath, and then said, “I know,” before returning his gaze to me.
A quick flick of my eyes to Thatch and my heart clenched. The stricken look on his face hurt my damn soul. “Lucas has something,” he said.
“There’s no official record of a sister.” Lucas cast his eyes around the table. “There’s one mention of a Marinda Brent connected to Jeramiah Brent twenty-three years ago. It was on a human police record in New Zealand, one for collecting a deceased’s items.”
My brows flew high. “How’d she die?”
“Shifter attack.”
An ache ripped through my gut. An attack by a shifter, while not unheard of, was rare. Shifters in animal form still had all their faculties, so there was no turning feral and losing one’s mind. A shifter attacking and killing was the same as a human attacking and killing. If it was murder, then the murderer was a screwed-up piece of crap, just like every other murderer out there. The species didn’t matter, except for the damage of the often unidentifiable remains left behind.
“Fuck” slipped past Thatch’s lips.
“That fucking worthless—” Michaels jumped out of his seat, his chair slamming to the floor. “So his involvement is what, some sort of fucking vengeance or some shit?” Fury distorted his features, and his body practically vibrated. I expected the desire to shift and seek his own vengeance rode him hard. “Jenson was one of us, and fucking human.” Spittle flew from Michaels’s mouth.
My sister, Jenson, countless men, women, and children had been destroyed by the creation of drugs that were ruining thousands more lives, and the experimentation that went with it. Nausea swirled in my stomach. I exhaled hard before asking Lucas, “Was anyone charged?”
My question had him springing his face up and away from the screen. His eyes were wide. “No one was formally charged, but they had a name on the list but never received concrete evidence.”
Loud pounding gathered in my head. I desperately wanted to close my eyes and block my ears, certain about what his next words would be.
“Lennon Blackheath.”
And there it was.
“Fuck.”
The room stilled for the barest of seconds before Kent’s and Lucas’s fingers flew over their keyboards. Meanwhile, Michaels legit snorted, drawing my attention to him.
His gaze met mine, a sardonic smile crossing his lips, his eyes still hard and distraught. “You know, we could just leave them to kill each other.” A nonchalant shrug followed.
My gaze snapped to Thatch, almost tempted to agree and start talking him around, but he simply shook his head. “But Michaels has a point,” I defended. “If Brent is in this whole thing to wipe out Blackheath, then we could let him have at it, right?” There was no remorse, no pang of longing for what could have or should have been. The world would be a better place once Lennon Blackheath was out of the picture. I had to hope the pack would dismantle after that. If not, I’d consider helping it along its way.
“And what about Lentwood?” Thatch challenged.
“We can hope he gets caught up in the crossfire but be prepared to step in and take him out. Blackheath will only be in this for the money. He’s too damn stupid for anything bigger. Plus the fact that Lentwood is making this souped-up drug for vamps, its intent clearly to take down shifters and aim to perhaps adopt a more significant role for vampires, will have passed Blackheath by completely.” Blackheath had no allegiance to anyone but himself. But he was also egotistical enough not to get involved in shifter trafficking if he knew the aim was to put shifters in the ground while vampires took dominion.
“No chance.” Thatch crossed his large arms over his chest, the action drawing my eyes
