Vinnie grimaced. “I’d rather be sure we have the right person, since we’d have to let him go if it turns out he’s innocent.”

Mila nodded. “If he mysteriously disappears, Dominic will be the prime suspect.”

“Exactly,” said Vinnie. “And if it is Pierson, well, it’s best to let him think we’re in the dark. Right now, he’s counting on a hit man taking care of the job. If he discovers we know about it, he’ll try to get rid of Mila another way. Possibly by involving the extremists. That can get messy. Look what they did to Bracken’s family.”

Footsteps stomped across the landing and into the kitchen. Dominic watched as a skinny teenage girl with flaming red hair came storming into the room, her mouth tight, her eyes wide with anger.

“Dad, you need to ship that little weasel off to another country—preferably one with lots of sweatshops for kids—or I’m gonna kill him.”

Vinnie sighed. “Elle—”

“Look what he did!” The girl held up a sequined top that had long slashes running through it, as if it had been clawed at by an animal.

Vinnie frowned at her bloodstained fingernails. “Why is there blood on you?”

Jutting out her chin, Elle shrugged one shoulder. “He slashed my top, so I slashed his. Not my fault he was wearing it at the time.”

A boy of about twelve or thirteen stalked into the room, his shirt torn and bloody. He glowered at the older teen. “Christ, Elle, what is your damage?”

She thrust the top at him. “This! This is damage! You got off lightly, Damian!”

The boy made a dismissive sound. “It doesn’t fit you anymore anyway—you’ve put on more weight.”

She gaped. “I lost four pounds this week.”

“I fart four pounds.”

“Well, there’s not a lot the Antichrist can’t do,” she sniped.

His hands fisted. “Stop calling me that! And stop humming The Omen theme music through the bedroom wall!”

“Stop calling me Miss Piggy and making whale noises at me!”

“Is it my fault you’re the size of one? I think not.”

Vinnie sighed. “Elle, Damian, enough.” He looked at his son. “Your sister is not fat, so stop with that shit. Elle, your brother is not—”

“The personification of pure evil?” Elle sniffed. “I disagree.”

Damian’s upper lip curled. “Drop dead, Jelly Thighs!”

“Screw you, Beelzebub!”

“Hey, hey, hey, enough.” Vinnie slashed a hand through the air. “We’re done here. Oh, and you’ll both be replacing the clothes you slashed.”

Mumbling and huffing, Elle and Damian marched out of the room and headed off in separate directions.

Vinnie turned to Dominic. “I gave this advice to Bracken, and now I’m going to give it to you. Either only have one kit with Mila or wait a decade before having a second. Pallas kits don’t get along well with siblings of a similar age. Really, given that Mila and Alex are twins, it’s a wonder they didn’t kill each other as kids.”

“We tried,” admitted Mila.

“Yeah, so did we,” said Tate, gesturing at his brother.

Luke nodded. “Multiple times. I nearly succeeded when I pushed him off the roof, hoping it’d look like suicide. The bastard had put rat poison in my pudding.”

Tate shrugged. “Listening to you vomit was better than listening to you breathe.”

Mila gave Dominic a mockingly sweet smile. “See what a bright future you have to look forward to?”

Chuckling, Dominic kissed her temple. “Works for me.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dipping the string mop into the plastic bucket, Mila yawned. She’d knocked down the freaking tub of shaving cream while tidying her station, and she totally blamed Dominic. If he hadn’t repeatedly woken her throughout the night with his insatiable cock, she wouldn’t be so damn lethargic. She couldn’t help but snarl when he came up behind her.

Snaking his arms around her waist, he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Tired, baby?” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“And whose fault is that?” she clipped, wringing the soapy water out of the mop using the bucket’s built-in wringer.

“You weren’t complaining last night. In fact, you were moaning. Groaning. Whimpering. Almost sobbing at one point.”

Mopping up more of the spilled cream, she sniffed haughtily. “I don’t sob. Or whimper.”

“Oh, you definitely whimper.” He nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply. “And you came very close to sobbing when I spent a good twenty minutes just working your clit with my tongue, refusing to touch you anywhere else.”

Fuck if he wasn’t right. But she’d never admit it aloud. “Perhaps you lie to comfort yourself—I’m not sure.”

He nipped at her neck. “You know I’m not lying, just as you know you’re getting turned on just remembering it.”

Dammit, she was. “Wrong again.”

“Really? Hmm. Then these must be Tic Tacs in your bra, huh?”

A chuckle burst out of her. “Fuck you, GQ.”

His shoulders shaking with muffled laughter, he kissed her neck. “I’ll get you some coffee.” Releasing her, he turned to Archie and Evander. “Anyone else want coffee?” The two male cats called out their orders as Dominic strode into the break room.

Shaking her head, she went back to mopping the floor. She needed to hurry her ass up, since Dean was waiting on the sofa.

She dipped the mop in the bucket again just as the door opened and let in a gust of street noise. She flashed a polite smile at the stocky hyena shifter who was one of Archie’s regular clients. “Archie, your three thirty is here,” she called out.

The hyena rolled his eyes at her. “Will you never refer to me by my name?”

“When you insist that your name is Hambone, no, I can’t call a grown man that.”

Dean let out an amused snort. “Yeah, I’m with Mila on that one.”

Archie summoned his client over, so Mila quickly warned him, “Careful, the floor’s wet.” As the hyena sidestepped the wet spot, the door once again swung open. A woman stepped inside and glanced around, seeming unsure, tugging at her black curls restlessly.

“Hi, do you have an appointment?” Mila asked.

The woman’s eyes snapped to Mila, momentarily flaring with something dark. “Um, no,” she replied. “I just wondered if you could take a look at this for me.” She dug her hand into a brown paper bag, seemed to angle the bag toward Mila and—

Thunder rang through the air. A harsh impact slammed into Mila just as red-hot pain exploded in the left side of her chest. She recoiled in shock, her mouth dropping open, her feet slipping on the wet floor. Not thunder, she thought as she fell. Not thunder. Fuck.

Gunfire split the air, making Dominic’s heart slam against his ribs. He raced out of the break room and into the barbershop . . . just in time to watch Mila lose her footing and awkwardly fall backward. She hissed, and as if weighed down by pain, crumpled onto her back. The scents of blood and gunpowder tainted the air. Mila’s blood. It seemed to clog his nostrils and churn his stomach, sending his wolf into a blind panic. And for a single moment, Dominic’s world stopped.