61. Cyrus
CYRUS
My blood boiled in my veins.
Who was Dom to step on my turf, make a demand like this?
She could claim it was a request all she wanted. But as I stared back at her, lit only by the headlights of her Camaro, I knew there wasn’t much room for negotiation.
I wasn’t her errand bitch. And she certainly couldn’t dole out tasks like a micromanaging boss who wouldn’t stop breathing down my neck.
Despite her insistence, there was also a part of me that was undeniably curious.
I couldn’t shake what Kiera had said to Tess.
Rubin had fucked up all of my plans and his weird cult was gaining a foothold in my business. Party drug use was dropping even considering the start of Atwood’s semester.
I’d agree to the warehouse raids because of its tangible impact on our income.
“What’s in it for us?” I fired back, the sound of the crickets growing in the brush as night settled in.
With a shrug, Dom let her head roll back as she stared up at the stars. “They’re bright out here. Not a light in sight.”
Hissing back, Nash was tired of our time being wasted. “Give us the deal.”
I knew under that stiff, porcelain mask, that Nash’s jaw would be tight, her nose starting to wrinkle into a snarl.
Every few seconds, her eyes would flick over to Tess.
Wearing shorts and a tshirt, she was probably getting bitten by mosquitos — the only ones still clinging to life as fall gripped the Valemont woods.
I wonder what her blood tastes like.
Making a note to take a sip for myself when I finally caught her, I tried to bring my attention back to the bikers at my door.
Dom clapped her hands together. “How about a favor? And sating your obvious curiosity.”
“A big fucking favor. Asshole.”
“Good.” Letting out a sigh, Dom nodded. “The compound is large, over a hundred acres and completely enclosed. We have no idea what goes on inside — or who is even there.”
Closed off by way of concrete walls was an expensive task. Something my contractors might know about. I’d done what I could to take our illegal earnings and turn them into something sanitary.
A job like Rubin’s wouldn’t be cheap, and it would have taken time.
How I hadn’t heard about dozens of concrete trucks heading up the mountains was beyond me.
“How does some monk have enough cash for that?” Blade muttered from beside Tess.
Leo lifted her chin. “It’s either the worst compound on earth or he’s making quite a bit of money off his followers. Or he was rich before putting on the rags.”
Shaking my head, I cut in. “No. I looked into that already. He was a coder at some tech company, lowly. Fine salary. Not enough for something like this. Maybe enough for a fixer-upper in the south but not prime, mountain-view property in the Hudson Valley.”
Tess’s head whipped around to look at me, her green eyes piercing mine even through my heavy mask.
Of course I’d looked into it. As soon as we realized it was Rubin and that he’d been obsessing over Tess, I needed more details.
I couldn’t risk my catch being ripped out from under me.
What lingered in the air was the disturbing reality that The Messenger had far more followers than we’d realized and — maybe worse — that they were willing to pay into his scam.
“Don’t forget about our favor.” I roared as I turned around and walked back into the park.
Dom and her crew watched us walk away, only moving toward their car doors when Blade closed Feverpoint’s gates.
In the darkness of the park, I tried to wrap my head around all of it. Tess. Rubin. The prophecy.
How had all of this come together like this? Was it fate? Destiny?
Nash needs to do another reading.
Maybe the cards could guide us, give us some hint as to how Rubin was bringing in so much money.
And we’d only get those answers if we made it happen ourselves.