“Ophelia Mars warned me about you,” Leigh says, and it takes me nearly a minute to process what it is that she’s said.

Ophelia.

As in Victor’s mother.

As in … what the actual fuck is going on?

“What contact have you had with Ophelia?” Victor asks, suddenly alert. He leans forward and parks his elbows on his knees. His stare is intense, like looking into the dark eyes of a shark before it bites down. No malice there, just survival. Doesn’t mean you’ll bleed any less.

Leigh sputters, like she’s been caught with her hands in the cookie jar.

“Ophelia is … well, she’s well-known in our circle …” The disgraced social worker trails off as Aaron comes down the steps, lips pinched, eyes hard. He has a soft spot for children and not only because of his sister and cousin, but because every person that matters to him had their childhood stolen away.

Innocence is precious and these people profit off of breaking it.

There’s nothing worse.

“The girls are watching a movie in the home theater,” Aaron says, one hand resting on the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. He looks at the Vincents the way one might examine a pile of dog shit. “And that kid … she’s fucking nine years old. Her name’s Alyssa.” His voice is staccato, almost robotic. I imagine that he’s trying really hard not to kill somebody right now.

“Do you think they’ll try to eavesdrop on us?” I ask as Aaron gravitates toward me like he’s being pulled by an unseen force, resting his palms on the tops of my thighs as he stands between them. It’s like he’s so fucking angry that he needs to ground himself, to find something to hold onto. I love being that something, a sun that he orbits in hope of warmth. I wonder if he knows that I feel the same way about him? That I crave his smile, his approval, his affection.

Aaron shakes his head, his slightly curly, chestnut hair falling onto his forehead.

“I warned them that if they did, there’d be one less Christmas present under the tree for all of them.” He smiles, but the expression is tight. “If I know Kara—and I know that I fucking do—that’d be enough to keep her and Ashley in the room. Heather, too, probably, because Kara’d fight like hell to keep that present count up for Ashley’s sake.” He gives a feral grin that has me shivering. I’m aware that everyone—including Coraleigh and Marcus—are staring at us. Also, I don’t care. “But I don’t know Alyssa, so I pushed a dresser in front of the door, too.” He shrugs and glances over his shoulder again, eyes narrowing slightly. “Wouldn’t want them to see something they’d never forget.”

“Like brain and bone, for example,” Callum supplies, joining in the conversation with a smile. He kicks his legs the same as me, biting into his apple. His blue eyes shimmer like the sea under the setting sun outside the window. It’s getting dark already, but that’s no surprise. I mean, it’s nearly December.

“Ophelia said her son had a gang, and that his new wife was a kid that’d spent some time in the foster care system. That’s all I know,” Coraleigh pleads as I glance around Aaron to look at her. He doesn’t seem inclined to move, much to Victor’s chagrin. Vic asked me once, during those first few weeks, if I could multitask. Apparently, he’s really good at it: he can question a mark and be a jealous alpha-prick at the same time.

“All you know?” Victor echoes, standing up from the sofa and wandering absently into the kitchen. He opens the freakishly large Sub-Zero refrigerator that has no right existing for only two people. It could hold food for an extended family of a hundred. Jesus. Is that worth the blood and bone of children? A nice fridge? The fuck is wrong with these people. “No, that’s not it.” He leans into the refrigerator and starts placing items on the counter. Some deli meat, a head of lettuce, a fat tomato. Sandwich makings. “You wouldn’t have suggested selling us such pitiful intel.”

I raise my brows as Victor goes about preparing himself a sandwich in the kitchen of two people who are currently tied up and begging for their lives. Why is that hot to me? Yep, dick drunk. I am officially dick drunk.

Stifling a groan, I turn back to the Vincents.

“I find it interesting that you insist on lying to us,” Oscar muses, but since he hasn’t pulled out his gun, I’m guessing he’s placed money on the Vincents actually being useful to us. The Kushners had nothing we could use, and they were nothing. So they were executed like it was fucking nothing.

If I said their deaths had no effect on me, I’d be lying. Because, unlike the Kushners or the Vincents or my ex-bestie Kali Rose-Kennedy, I have a soul.

“They must not value their lives,” Victor agrees, and Marcus makes a whimpering sound. It’s clear that while he’s aware of his wife’s activities, he doesn’t participate in them much. There’s nothing he can tell us, which is a shame because he looks easy to break.

I stab the frozen lump of ice cream with my spoon as Aaron steps back, moving to the side next to Hael, so we can all watch the Vincents squirm.

“Ophelia is an important member of Oak Park high society,” Leigh sputters, her brown eyes flicking from side to side. She’s stalling for time. The question is: why? “She’s been a major donor at the fundraisers I’ve hosted in the—”

Victor’s laughter shatters the still air, like a church bell signaling the beginning of a funeral procession. I glance back at him and see that he’s bent over the counter, palms flat against the shiny stone surface, eyes closed.

“A donor?” he asks, cracking his eyelids. His eyes blaze with the fires of hell as he looks at Coraleigh. “Where is she getting the money to donate to anything? She’s destitute, just an aging beauty queen with a dwindling fortune and a sour personality.”

“Victor,” I say, rubbing my thumb over his grandmother’s ring. “She’s stalling for time. Somebody really is coming.”

Oscar and Victor exchange a look as Hael raises his red brows.

“You really think she’s that stupid?” he asks with a whistle, but I’m already shaking my head.

“She’s that conniving,” I correct as I push up off the counter, leaving the ice cream and the dirty spoon behind me. Oscar’s staring at me with a strange expression, like he can’t decide if he should take me seriously or sneer and tell me I’m being silly. I mean, not that I blame him. What sort of idiot would allow a guest to show up with us here? Either Coraleigh is just cocky … or her instincts are like, way, way off. “Whoever’s coming, she thinks they can hold their own against us.”

My attention immediately turns to the staircase and the little girls in the room upstairs. Aaron’s, too. I can tell by the way he clenches his jaw.

“Should I load them in the Bronco and go?” he asks. It’s parked outside, hidden by the massive stone wall that surrounds the Vincents’ beachside mansion. I’m not sure if he’s talking to Vic or … well, he’s looking at me. Our eyes meet, and I flex my fingers at my sides.

“No,” Victor says, as calm and even as always. Aaron and I both turn to look at him. He’s hefting a huge kitchen knife in his big hands. With his attention locked onto Coraleigh, he very carefully slices his sandwich into four triangles. Each press of the knife into the bread is a threat. “I think I have a pretty good idea of who their guest is going to be.”