Documents in hand, Elise burst into her father’s study. She had run all the way home from the Cotton Club in a torrential downpour that had not deterred her one bit. After her argument with Layla, she had torn through the club’s management office until she had calmed down. Eventually she’d found records that showed a connection between one of the gangs and Dr. Harding’s lab. So when her father glanced up at her from his desk with an irritated scowl, she did not hold back.
“Do you know what was going on in the Cotton Club?” Elise asked, breathing hard while she slammed the now-damp contract on her father’s desk.
He glared at her sopping form. “Heavens above, Elise, you are making a mess.”
“And you might be making an even bigger mess by working with someone who is distributing reaper venom to criminals,” Elise said strongly.
Mr. Saint snatched the pages from her. He studied them for a long moment, jaw tight while his eyes moved back and forth. Finally, he set the papers down and his glare deepened. “This arrangement is old. And the Diamond Dealers are dead.”
“But this indicates that Dr. Harding lied about turning down the offers to sell reaper venom—”
“Sometimes bending the truth is necessary—”
“You’re not listening to me.”
“I always listen—”
“Dr. Harding’s medical license was revoked!” Elise screamed. She breathed hard as her father stared at her with startled eyes. “He’s practicing illegally.” Moments passed, and when he still did not speak, she continued, voice shaky and quiet. “You shut out Thalia’s mother for creating a failed cure. You should cut off Dr. Harding for lying about his medical certification.”
Mr. Saint moved slowly through the room, going to sit at his desk while he looked at his watch.
“Father—” Elise started.
“That’s enough, Elise. You’re dismissed. We can talk later,” he said sternly.
Elise’s shoulders slumped. She stared in bewilderment at her father, but he was unmoved. Swallowing down her frustration, Elise stormed out of the room and slammed the door after herself.
The glass shards dug into her flesh as Layla scrubbed at her hands in Jamie’s kitchen sink. She started to get aggravated when her skin began to peel and tiny glass flakes still clung to her fingertips.
“You’re running up my water bill,” Jamie huffed as he emerged from his bedroom. Hendricks trotted after him, nose high in the air, tail swishing with what Layla knew was malice.
Layla turned the water off and faced Jamie. He looked tired, blond hair damp from a shower, eyes a bit glazed over. But still, he scowled at Layla and the water she had splashed on the counter. “You’re a menace.” He slumped onto the couch and picked up the crossword puzzle Layla had left there earlier. The scowl slowly melted away as he read her thank-you message. A small smile graced his lips and even though Layla hated that surge of warm softness that flooded her because it meant she was cracking beneath his whims, she was glad to have a distraction from her complex feelings surrounding Elise.
Layla would have rather spent hours scrubbing her hands in the sink until they were raw as long as it meant she did not need to confront her feelings for the Saint heiress. But there she was, hands wet and raw, specks of blood and glass still stuck to her, and Elise still on her mind.
“Why do you look so peeved? I thought you had some kind of breakthrough,” Jamie asked.
Layla moved toward the couch. She gingerly sat on the only available cushion that just happened to be beside a sleeping Hendricks. He lifted his head as she sank onto the seat, green eyes narrowing on her. Layla shot him a quick glare, then focused back on Jamie. “Not quite. The Saint heiress and I ran into a problem at the club.”
Jamie’s eyes widened with curiosity. “What? More gangsters? Most of my guys don’t have stable homes; they are probably just staying there until they find a place.”
Layla shook her head. “No…” She realized now just how stupid it would sound if she mentioned getting sidetracked because of the tension that had risen between her and Elise. But frankly, who was Jamie to judge her when he thought Vex was a good name for a gangster? She sighed. “The problem is the Saint girl. And me. We just don’t work well together.”
“Obviously. But that can’t be it.” Jamie folded the crossword puzzle and turned to her. “I think you hold yourself back a lot. I don’t understand that. What are you afraid of? You’ve already lost everything.”
His words hurt. Layla looked away for a moment, throat burning with unshed tears. She forced her emotions back down and swallowed before she looked at him again. “I know I should work past everything to get to the bottom of this so I can get the cure, but you have no idea what it’s like to have to constantly be around the ghost of the most traumatic moment of your life. When I’m around her, it’s like pouring alcohol on an open wound.”
“Ah, but you open yourself up to be healed eventually. It’s all part of the process,” Jamie said gently. He stroked a hand down Hendrick’s back, and the damn cat purred. His eyes closed, head craning back, purrs traveling through his body and to the couch, where Layla felt them vibrating through her cushion.
She bit into her bottom lip. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Tell me about the Cotton Club. Do you really think it’s bound to reopen?”
Jamie snorted. “Doubtful. The owner is not even in the city.”
Layla frowned. “No?”
“He was so upset about the incident with the reapers and the dancers, he had to fly off to Europe to spend time with his other, more successful, less liable club.” Jamie laughed softly. “His words, not mine. He’s really pissed off Stephen Wayne, actually.”
“Why Stephen?”
“They’re in business together. Why do you think Wayne had posters for his lab all over the club? He approached me to be a product supplier for Calhoun initially, but I was already too busy with the speakeasy. So Stephen went with the Diamond Dealers.” Jamie gaped. “And now they’re dead. Thank God I listened to my gut.”
Layla paused, thoughts spinning in her mind. “Do you try the liquor that you get?”
Jamie almost laughed. “To make sure it’s good? Hell no. These people are so desperate for a fix, they would drink bleach.”
“What if it was? I mean, there’s been so much death surrounding the Cotton Club, you never stopped to think something was off with your supply? The Saint heiress told me Stephen might have enemies—”
Jamie’s eyes darkened and his expression fell. “Are you accusing me of something, Quinn?”
“No. But maybe someone used you as a cover to hide their own illegal activities. And that same person probably killed Theo Smith and those Saints.” Layla sighed. “It’s only a matter of time before more people die.”
Jamie stared at her for a while. “Your mind always goes to violence. You are so violent. All the time. Does it ever get tiring?”
“No.”
Hendricks let out a low meow. Jamie grinned. “I know, she’s crazy.”
“Says the man talking to a cat. Who you call your ‘son.’” Layla teased. She could still remember the shock of finding out that Jamie’s “son” was not a human child. Layla had laughed on the couch for five minutes straight when she first met Hendricks—before he made an enemy out of her. She was glad for the break in tension now, a welcome relief from the day’s stressors. Tenderly, Layla reached a hand out to pet Hendricks, but Jamie shook his head.
“Let him smell you first,” he said.
So Layla did. Or she tried. Her hand hovered in front of Hendricks’s face for one second before his eyes shot open. But to Layla’s surprise, he did not hiss. He lapped at her fingers with his tongue for a few moments, no aggression in sight. Layla huffed. “Wow, Hendricks, you can be nice—”
Hendricks, as if turned on by a switch, suddenly lunged for her hand. Yowling, he clamped down on her fingers and drew blood. Layla snatched her hand back right as Jamie pulled Hendricks onto his lap.
“Never again,” Layla muttered, rubbing her blood off onto her pants.
Jamie stared. “I have never seen him so angry before. That was beyond anger; it was pure warfare.”
Layla only rolled her eyes and left the room.
Elise’s father called her to his study hours after her initial confrontation. She stepped into the room cautiously, her eyes landing on her father behind his desk.
Mr. Saint said nothing, just watched her settle in front of him.
His silence frightened her and Elise scrambled to say something before he exploded, “Father, I want to apologize—”
But he lifted his hand and gestured to the door, which swung open. In stepped Mr. Wayne and Dr. Harding. The latter looked exhausted as usual, dark purple smudges beneath his sunk-in eyes. He slumped a bit after Mr. Wayne, whose bright smile dimmed when he noticed the room’s waning atmosphere. “Has our meeting been moved?” he asked.
Mr. Saint shook his head. “No. You’re right on time. It’s been brought to my attention, though, that Dr. Harding here is no real doctor,” he said darkly.
Elise felt the storm of her father’s wrath starting to close around the room. She pressed herself against the wall, lips tight.
Stephen Wayne glanced down at his colleague, astounded. “What is he talking about?”
Dr. Harding’s eyes darkened. “There is something terrible spreading among reapers and humans, and I only wanted a chance to stop it before they could destroy our city—”
“You’re not a real doctor?” Stephen Wayne demanded.
“Listen to me. The poison is still out there—”
“I think the only poison is you.” Mr. Saint gestured to the door and two Saint members walked in, immediately restraining the doctor between them.
“No. Wait! You don’t understand…” The rest of Dr. Harding’s words trailed off as the Saint members dragged him from the room.
Silence cloaked Tobias Saint’s office. Elise stepped away from the wall and faced him, guilt already flooding her upon seeing the sudden exhaustion etched into her father’s face.
“We will not go public with this. It would only humiliate us further,” Mr. Saint said.
Mr. Wayne nodded. “Of course. My deepest apologies, Tobias. He had me completely fooled.”
“He used a fake identity,” Elise whispered.
Mr. Saint stood, sticking a cigar into his mouth. He cleared his throat. “No more mistakes. We must move forward. Do you stand with this empire, Elise?”
Tightness constricted her chest and her breathing faltered, but Elise remained tall, her jaw clenched to keep her panic from exploding. “I do.”
Sighing, her father tore his gaze away from her.
“Perfect.” Mr. Wayne clasped his hands together. “Elise, I need you tomorrow. We will still deliver the cure to the Harlem clan, and Layla will be our first subject to demonstrate to the rest of the reapers that our cure is perfectly safe. There’s bound to be mistrust. But if you offer a bargain first, there will be significantly less tension.” He raised an eyebrow, expectant. “Are you with me, Elise?”
Elise shared a look with her father, who only gave her a firm nod. She looked back at Mr. Wayne and reached forward to shake his hand. “I’m with you.”