“What the f**k happened?” Cat drove, fighting to keep the vehicle steady, while her voice shook. She’d been there. She knew what went down. Her demand for an explanation was an attempt to make sense of the disaster, not asking for a rundown. Mason took the first, most obvious, guess, blinking when Talbot voiced his thoughts.
“A trap for anyone who found the stash.”
Talbot spoke so deadpan, Mason feared for the man’s mental health. He sounded vacant. Worse, uninterested. A quick glance at their leader and, unprepared to examine Talbot’s f****d-if-I-care expression, Mason shuddered; the action made Mason tear his gaze away, only for his sight to fall on the scimitar—Carter’s scimitar—that lay across Mason’s lap. He’d always loved this weapon, but not wanted to get his hands on it like this
