Galen stared down at the phone in his hand. It had been ringing every five minutes, and would continue to ring every five minutes until he picked it up.
His last meeting with Bryn hadn’t gone as he’d planned. He had thought he’d be able to at least get a job at the club for his efforts. Instead, he was told in no uncertain terms that if he set foot there one more time, it would be his last day on Earth.
The phone was finally silent in his palm, the screen showing he had ninety-seven missed calls from Craine and ninety-seven voice messages Galen had no desire to listen to.
Four minutes and fifty-five seconds later, the screen lit up once more. With a sigh, Galen bit the bullet and pressed the accept button, putting the call onto speaker so he could have the ass-chewing in stereo.
“Galen.” Craine barked his name, making Galen grind his teeth. Craine had turned into a goddamn guild master with his demands, and there was a reason Galen hadn’t wanted to belong to one in the first place.
“Craine—”
“I want you back here.”
Galen sank further back into the pillows propped up on the headboard. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear. “When?”
“Now.” Craine hung up, and the screen went dark. Galen wondered why Craine wanted him back so soon, and the lie he told Bryn suddenly felt as if it might be true. What if he’d had enough of Galen’s fuck-ups? What if it had been a test and he’d failed miserably?
Galen stood up from the bed, pocketing his phone and snatching up the handles of his small duffel bag. Closing his eyes, he faded back to Craine’s office in Chicago. He stepped through the lobby doors and came face to face with Craine’s two henchmen.
“Gentlemen,” he drawled.
“Come with us,” Goon Two said, his tone business-like, his face completely blank.
Galen’s eyes darted to the face of the other guy. His expression was just as serious.
Fuck.
Instead of replying, Galen waited for them to turn around and lead the way over to the bank of elevators. Goon One’s chubby finger jabbed at the button impatiently. Craine must have been riding their asses while he’d been gone.
The doors opened, revealing the elevator’s mirrored walls and white marble floor, and all three of them stepped inside. While he waited for the doors to close, Galen made a decision that would no doubt raise a lot of questions.
He turned around to face the goons and waved at them before fading from sight. Rematerializing straight into Craine’s office, Galen found the man leaning back in his chair, his fingers steepled under his chin, his expression almost expectant.
Craine pressed a button on a small metal box set on his desk, and there was a crackle of static before he said, “Send Rhys in.”
Galen studied Craine as they waited for his best friend. The sleeves of his crisp, white shirt were rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons undone. Galen had never seen the mob boss without a tie before, and it looked … strange.
“What took you so long?” Craine asked in an icy tone.
Galen dropped his duffel at his feet. “I stopped to chat to your goons. They really are a couple of assholes, you know that?”
Craine remained stoic, his dark eyes reproachful. The door opened at Galen’s back then, drawing Craine’s gaze. Without turning around, Galen knew Rhys had just joined them.
“Sit. Both of you.” Galen didn’t like his tone but bit his tongue and sat down, staring at the guy. He didn’t quite know what was different about him. He seemed a whole lot more irate than usual. Rhys took the seat beside Galen, his attention on Craine also.
“Tell me about what happened to you in Boston,” Craine said.
Galen recounted the whole story, from his first meeting with Bryn to the final one, making sure to give him every single detail. Craine was nothing if not meticulous when it came to the details of his business. When Galen was done, Craine sat forward in his chair.
“Is that everything?”
Galen said, “More or less.”
“Tell me about the layout of the club.”
“From what I can tell, the club is spread over three levels. I only ever saw the lowest level—the Eye—and that’s where the office is.”
“What’s Bryn like?” Craine asked and Galen found the question odd.
“She’s stunningly beautiful, but as tough as nails. She’s independent, but she surrounds herself with … people who have her back, no matter what. She’s almost untouchable.”
Craine’s lip quirked. “So, how were you able to … touch her?”
“I have my ways of getting past hired muscle,” he replied, watching Craine’s dark eyes. He sighed. “I guess it doesn’t matter how I did it, just that I did.” He spread his hands out in front of him. “I got an audience with her. I made up a story about you wanting to buy into her club. She rejected it. I tried again. I lied to get her to give me another chance, but she rejected that too. In the end, I had no other choice but to give up.”
“Why?” Craine asked, steepling his fingers again. His gaze settled on Galen’s face, his stare burrowing in under his skin.
“I like my head just fine where it is,” Galen answered with a shrug. “And I doubt she was bluffing. The guy she keeps around is a Mare, and from what I found out, he’s the last pure-blooded Mare.”
“Will he bleed if you cut him?” Craine asked quietly.
“Of course.”
“He can be killed, then,” stated Craine simply.
“Of course he can, but I’m no match for him. I doubt there would be any fucker out there who could take him on and survive.”
Galen watched the mob boss’s eyes flash green. He squeezed his own eyes shut and took a deep breath. He needed some more fucking sleep.
“There are some out there who would gladly take on the Mare,” Craine said.
“Maybe, but Boston is off-limits for you now.”
As soon as the last word was out of Galen’s mouth, Craine was out of his chair, his chest rising and falling as his nostrils flared. With his hands planted on the desk in front of him, he said, “Don’t you dare tell me where I can and cannot conduct my business.”
Galen kept his expression vacant, but on the inside a shiver of fear sliced through his body. He could see Rhys tense from the corner of his eye, every muscle in his body ready to fire into action should the threat become something more.
After a long moment, Craine sat back down again. “I want you and Rhys to go back there. I need this Mare removed from the equation.”
“You want us to kill him?” Galen asked, incredulous. Craine was asking the impossible.
“You said yourself that he bleeds. He can be killed. But if you don’t think you’re good enough to do the job, I could find someone else.”
Craine’s meaning was loud and clear: what good were they to him if they couldn’t follow orders?
Galen glanced at Rhys, his friend giving him a tight nod. They would get this done.
He looked back to Craine. “We’ll leave tonight then.”
Both Mares stood up, Galen picking up his duffel and leading the way from the room.
“Galen,” Craine called out as he reached the door. “I need to speak to you alone for a moment.”
Rhys snarled quietly under his breath, giving his friend a look that said not to do it, but Galen only shrugged. “I’ll see you at home,” he told Rhys, squeezing his shoulder.
Galen turned back around, dropping the bag and facing Craine. Rhys closed the door behind them, sealing them in the room together.
“Our business relationship is finished, Galen,” Craine said. “After this job, we’re done. Do you hear me?”
Galen wasn’t particularly surprised, nor was he particularly upset about it. Without saying a word, he scooped up his bag and turned his back on the mob boss.
It wasn’t the end of the world. Galen knew there were plenty of people around who liked the idea of having a hit man on call. Hell, maybe he’d even go and work for Craine’s competitor just to piss the bastard off.
Galen froze, his hand already on the doorhandle, when the sound of metal on metal echoed around the room. Without turning, he tried to fade from the room, but the distinctive thwack of silenced gunfire pushed all the air from his lungs.
A burning tore through Galen’s back, his legs falling out from beneath his body. He dropped to the floor, boneless, weightless, and the side of his face pressed into the tightly-looped pile of the carpet. The dull thud of footsteps filled Galen’s ears and he swiveled his eyes upward.
Craine stood over him, a gun in his hand. Galen tried to fade, but his body—which had felt so weightless before—now felt like lead. He couldn’t move his legs and he knew the brand-new bullet in his spine was responsible for it. The injury wasn’t life-threatening. Galen could heal the wound, but somehow he didn’t think that was going to happen this time around.
The warm muzzle of the silencer was suddenly pressed to Galen’s skull. His heart rate sped up and his mouth went dry. Craine leaned down, his warm breath feathering over Galen’s cheek. A smirk pulled up the corner of his mouth … and then there was only darkness and the sound of a bullet firing from a chamber ringing around the room.