18. Adrian
Motive.
He’d gone over it a thousand times. A thousand and one reasons could—and had been—used to justify murder, but in the end, it boiled down to four categories: lust, love, loathing, and loot.
Adrian rubbed the stubble on his chin, unaware of the ticking clock on the wall or the hardness of his chair as he ran through everyone involved in the shooting.
Eli picked up the dragon tile by Kassy’s body and kept it a secret all these years, but it was obvious neither of them had connections to Red Dragon or Royal Flush. And though it was possible Kassy had attracted a stalker in one of the clubs who acted out of a fit of jealousy, they wouldn’t have dropped the tile for such a personal matter. That theory also didn’t explain why his father and Luke had been shot, but not Eli.
That left him, his father, and Lucas Cortez as the true targets.
Luke had been a good kid. He’d rarely been home—either out riding, playing ball, or hanging around the schoolyard with some girl. He was hardly one to start something so serious it had to end with blood.
Luke’s father was a different story though. For a long time, Adrian assumed Royal Flush had done something to spark the shooting, but there had been no proof and then no retaliation. He’d asked Raptor about it, but all he said at the time was that President Cortez felt just as blindsided by his son’s death as everyone else. The club couldn’t make a move without solid evidence, and even now that they had it, something tied their hands.
To that end, he had to admit Raptor was right. Involving the club would only lead to more death. Not to mention, it would put Riley in danger, which was the last thing he wanted. But Raptor had still managed to call in a favor and stopped by earlier in the week to drop off an envelope, mentioning it was the best he could do for now.
The favor turned out to be a USB with the official police records on the case, including details not released to the public.
Adrian hunched over his desk, the glare off the computer brighter than the fading sunlight outside as he read through the report, reliving the story that haunted him all these years.
—Three shots heard around 7:23 pm at Avendale Park.
—Witnesses claim the shots came from a nondescript four-door sedan, some specified a Corolla, with a dark or black paint job. No license plate.
—Shooter described as a light-skinned, young adult male in their twenties wearing a black hooded sweatshirt. One witness later claimed the shooter had a large silver ring on their right hand, the same hand that fired the gun.
—A car fitting the description was found later that night in a back alley, burnt to a crisp. Forensic results came up blank.
—Ballistics on three shell casings found at the scene and bullets removed from the victims confirmed the weapon used was a Glock-19. No cartridge with matching markings had yet been cataloged.
There wasn’t much to go on.
Despite the tile signature being sloppy, the hit itself had been clean. The shooter had to have enough skill to hit a target, but they let nerves get the better of them at the last second.
An unsanctioned hit?
Churning over the information, he reached for the pack of cigarettes when his phone buzzed on the desk, its vibration rumbling over the wood. Looking away from the computer screen, he read the preview text.
I’m at Nia’s place, let me know when you’re ready.
Ivory.
Right, he was supposed to dye her hair today. He’d taken the supplies back with him from the salon, but then got sidetracked digging into the case file.
His pack of cigarettes got tossed back inside the drawer, and he clicked off the report.
When she asked about getting her hair dyed, he’d been almost too glad to have a reason to see her again. Even more so when she agreed to come to his apartment. The more he saw of her— the girl who couldn’t help but care more than she should—the more he understood how selfless she was.
Despite his refusal to let her get close enough to unravel the root of his problems, she still wanted to help. She still tried to be there when he’d given her no reason to.
Her patience for him was an unsolvable puzzle in its own right. It would be far easier to give up. He wasn’t the most conventional person to hook up with and was even harder to care about. Yet she kept pushing aside her attraction for the former to persist in the latter. At this point, he had a lot of catching up to do to be worthy of her, but he was going to try.
Closing the laptop, he shoved grim memories of the crime to the back of his mind. Even before it all happened, he’d been good at compartmentalizing. Now, that gift had become more important than ever. The less she got involved in this whole thing, the better.
Not getting involved hadn’t stopped her from helping, though. After their text conversation, he’d been able to focus on what mattered. He didn’t need every answer, just the right one. The important one—like knowing justice had been served. He may never understand why it happened, but he’d sure as hell find out who and make sure they’d never target him again.
He shot a text back telling her to come over and went to get a plastic sheet to cover the counter and floor. The apartment’s bathroom would be much too small, and being so close to her always seemed to lead to unintended side effects, so he planned to use the kitchen. It’d be easier to clean up, and he’d be able to think more clearly. Hopefully.
A small knock came at his door, almost too quiet to hear, and he set down the folded plastic to let Ivory in.
She stood waiting in the hallway, her sweet smile paired with purple pants and a paisley top that fit her personality perfectly—topped off with a plate of what smelled like freshly baked cookies.
Shit. She was really trying to kill him.
“What do we have here, a sweet girl bringing treats over to the big, bad wolf?” he teased, lowering his voice with a wicked grin.
She laughed and played along. “You do have rather sharp teeth.”
“All the better to eat you with.”
Her expression faltered, and he didn’t miss how her eyes lingered on his mouth.
Fuck, what was he doing? She hadn’t even stepped inside, and all that had already slipped out. Just as he predicted, he’d be a terrible friend—because there was nothing friendly about his thoughts at the moment.
He cleared his throat. “Come in.”
Without waiting around to close the door after her, he walked into the kitchen and continued to spread out the plastic.
“Thank you for bringing cookies,” he said, this time avoiding any Little Red Riding Hood comparisons.
“You’re welcome,” she replied in her signature meek tone. “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to pay you somehow.”
She set the plate down on the far end of the counter, away from the sink where he was setting up. “I’m not sure what kind of cookies you like, so I hope chocolate peanut butter doesn’t sound too bad?”
It sounded amazing, actually, and they smelled even better. “I’d be happy with anything you baked.”
A small smile danced across her lips as he walked over and picked up a cookie, the middle warm and fresh out of the oven.
One bite was all it took.
She’d stolen his soul, and quite frankly, he didn’t want it back.
“Have you tried these?” he asked after finishing the bite. “They’re amazing.”
She giggled. “I’m glad you think so. Caspian and Nia also said they approved, but I haven’t verified for myself.”
He motioned to the plate. “That’s cruel. Have some while I finish setting up.”
“No, these are all yours,” she protested, waving her hands, but he shoved the plate towards her and walked away.
“I don’t trust someone who won’t taste their own cooking, so eat up,” he ordered.
She picked up a cookie like a good girl.
A glance in her direction revealed the look of contentment on her face, and that in itself was a far better treat than hoarding all those delicious cookies for himself.
“See?” he said. “How selfish would I have been not to share?”
She shook her head and tried to hide her smile. “It’s okay to be selfish with some things. This was a gift.”
“Oh, Iv,” he murmured, once again unsuccessful at filtering his thoughts. “I can be a very selfish man, but only with gifts that aren’t meant to be shared.”