“Tomorrow we make them pay. Painstakingly. Every last one of them.” Those were the words ringing in Raven’s ears when she finally left Jaxon’s office in the gray haze before dawn. Her legs still felt unsteady, not from fear but from the sheer heat of his presence, his promise, his claim. Whatever rift had been between them was gone, burned away by something fiercer than love, sharper than anger.
The city outside the club was quiet. The kind of hush that comes before a storm.
Zane Morreau was having the kind of morning that could make a man believe in curses. First, three of his offshore accounts were frozen without warning. Then one of his lieutenants, his own cousin, was found stuffed into a trunk, alive but barely breathing, with a silver coin pressed into his bloody palm.
A coin Jaxo
