Stolen Crown by S. Massery
Gemma
I don’t moveas he returns to the garage. He doesn’t seem particularly alarmed. Just annoyed at the interruption.
“Sam,” he greets his cousin. “Thought you and I were meeting at the tower later.”
“Well, plans change. I’m officially the errand boy for your father.”
I creep forward until I can see Aiden’s back and the corner of Sam’s head. Seeing sometimes helps me hear—weird, but true. It’s like when I’m going somewhere new in my car, or on the verge of being lost, and turning down the radio is my first instinct. I don’t know why, it just helps.
“Errand boy,” Aiden repeats. “How’d you get roped into that?”
Sam sighs. “Unclear at this point. Listen, we’ve got a problem.”
Uh-oh.
“Those firearms that went missing?” He hesitates. “They just reappeared.”
Aiden sighs. “Where?”
“Colin West had them.”
“Bullshit,” I say, striding out of the shadows.
Sam reels back. “Gemma. Why are you—?”
“It’s bullshit that Colin has them. He wouldn’t even have known—”
Aiden wraps his arms around my waist, stopping me from reaching his cousin. “Put your claws away, princess,” he says in my ear.
I stop fighting, but my glare stays firmly in place. I should’ve known they would try to pin this on my brother. Again. Everything has been hung around his neck since Wilder’s fake death.
“I suppose you’d ignore the evidence?” Sam narrows his eyes at me.
“I’d like to see some solid evidence. If you have circumstantial he-said-she-said bullshit, you can stuff it up your—”
Aiden’s fingers tighten on my hips, and I snap my mouth shut. Again.
Sam brings up a video on his phone, thrusting the screen under my nose.
My brother’s car stops at the curb in front of the Italian restaurant in Queens—the one Jameson forced us to go to, where he killed my father. Colin wouldn’t have known that location, which means whoever set it up wanted to hurt us. Indirectly.
Another car is close behind Colin’s. A stranger and my brother climb out, meeting at the trunk of Colin’s SUV. The video blips, and then Colin opens the trunk door to reveal a crate. The stranger leans in, pulling out a firearm. It’s barely visible in the video. It could be anything…
But then the stranger is nodding, and he slings the rifle’s strap over his shoulder. He hands my brother a wad of cash and steps back. The video goes blank.
“That’s it? Like none of you have sold a weapon for cash—”
“That was Hart,” Sam informs me. “I don’t think you met him.”
I tense and glance back at Aiden, who was watching the video clip over my shoulder. He inclines his chin, meeting my eyes. “Yeah, easy guy to recognize.”
“How the fuck did he get my brother to agree to that?”
Sam sneers. “Desperate men will do anything. He’s probably trying to individually offload the firearms to avoid suspicion.”
I shake my head again and wriggle free. “I don’t suppose you inspected that weapon.”
“Hart is on his way to meet me,” Sam says. “It’s the same caliber as the shipment the DeSantises were expecting in.”
“Circumstantial.” I wave my hand, my good mood gone. My attention trips over the papers we left out, on the hood of Amelie’s car, and my stomach somersaults. But I can’t go to grab it without calling Sam’s attention, or piquing his curiosity.
It isn’t that I don’t trust him, but… I’m not sure I can trust him.
Aiden does, though.
“You’re still wearing his ring,” Sam comments. “Thought you would’ve thrown it in the trash first chance you got.”
I cradle my left hand to my stomach, hiding the ring from his sight. “It’s not any of your business, Sam, so fuck right off.”
Aiden sighs and motions for his cousin to head back toward the street. “Are you taking that to my father?”
Sam hesitates, then says, “Not if you don’t want me to. But we’re supposed to be hunting, Aiden. Whether or not you’re fucking her—”
Aiden slams his fist into his cousin’s face.
I wince at the impact and snap of bone. A second later, blood gushes from Sam’s nose. He covers it with his hand, pinching the bridge, and I can’t tell if he wants to strike back or yell.
“Do not talk about my future wife in that way,” Aiden says carefully. He snatches Sam’s phone from his hand and types on it, then drops it to the floor. He digs his heel into the screen, shattering it. “Get the fuck out of here.”
We watch Sam leave, and then my attention flips to Aiden’s tense back.
I carefully pick my way forward, avoiding the bits of glass, and press my palm to his shoulder blade.
He’s shaking. Barely perceptible.
“I don’t know what’s going on with our families,” I say quietly. “Colin and Wilder and your dad. Even my father had a plan that I knew nothing about. But if you’re with me, we can figure this out. From both sides.”
A plan forms in my mind.
The way out of this.
He glances back at me and nods once, then moves out of reach. “I need to blow off steam. Want to come?”
I would’ve thought he’d strip me and fuck away his problems… but before I’ve even begun to nod, he snatches my hand and leads me around to the passenger seat of my car, opening it for me, then collects the evidence and slides it back into my hiding place in the trunk.
He motions for me to stay put, then disappears back into the house. He reappears a moment later with my keys, phone, and boots. He ducks into Amelie’s car and grabs everything else, putting it in my backseat. Finally, he circles around and presents my knife to me, already tucked in the sheath and thigh holster’s straps.
I gesture at myself. “No access.”
“Put it on the outside. No one will think twice.”
I nod slowly and do as he asks, then pause when he holds up the gun.
“You’re packing heat now, princess?”
“More like a matchstick compared to what you carry.”
He checks it, notes that it’s loaded, and smirks. “It can pack a punch if you know where to aim.”
I stop with my fingers on the straps and meet his gaze. He’s still standing next to my open door, watching me. I want… so much. To kiss him. To question him.
Later.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to help me?” My voice comes out husky.
His smirk widens, but he only double-checks the safety and hands it back to me.
Once he’s at the wheel, the rest of my belongings next to my feet, I raise my eyebrows. “What was that about?”
“Which part are you referring to?”
“Sam. Hart setting up my brother. The broken nose.”
He lifts one shoulder and backs out onto the street, then puts his hand on my thigh. “He was disrespectful. He’s lucky he didn’t get a bullet instead.”
I suck in a breath. “And the rest of it?”
“I asked Hart to look into where the firearms could’ve gone. He was working on it with Breaker.”
The few days before the wedding were chaos—we learned information from Rubert, which obviously was only a little helpful. The warehouse seemed to be a dead end, and we’re no closer to figuring out what happened after they dropped off the product. The contract…
“Who would want to target your family?” I ask. “I mean, is it Jameson’s enemy? Someone he pissed off?”
Aiden squeezes my leg. “I don’t know.”
I tip my head back. “Dad had a notebook in his safe. And a handful of keys. I wish he could’ve just written out exactly what was going on. I need someone to explain this to me.” More than Delia’s warnings or Aunt Mary’s advice. More than Xavier looking over my shoulder, and the sensation of Colin waiting for me to fail.
“There are too many questions and not enough answers.” He shakes his head. “Where has Wilder been hiding? Has this all been in an effort to invoke war?”
I sit up straighter, patting his hand. “Oh my god. Everything that’s been framed on the Wests—what if that’s being used as so-called evidence to move the war forward? Because despite their best efforts, you’ve sort of been dragging your heels on the hunt. No offense.”
He rolls his eyes. “I was looking for something concrete, and all I got were whispers.”
“Right, because Colin is innocent.”
We turn onto a dirt driveway that winds up a manicured lawn lined with trees. The road passes a large white house, similar to Dalton and Grace’s, and end up at a warehouse-sized dark-green building. The sign above the door, painted in pale yellow, says, Sean’s Weapon Emporium.
I glance back at Aiden. “What exactly are we doing here? Buying guns?”
He grunts. “Sean runs a little fighting school, and he sells a variety of weapons.”
“As the sign implies.”
He nods and kills the engine. There are two other cars here and an old pickup truck. I follow him out, tucking my dad’s gun in the waistband at the small of my back and tugging my tank top down over it. It’s already hot, humid enough to make my hair stick to my face. New York summers sneak up on you. Calm and wonderful one minute, brutal the next. It’s why so many people flee to Long Island, the Hamptons and wherever else, for the season.
Aiden takes my hand and leads me inside. A bell chimes over the door. This part seems to be about half the size of the building, running lengthwise. A minute later, the door to our right swings open. A short, squat man comes out. He’s bald, but his beard is thick and trimmed close to his jaw. He nods when he sees us, gesturing for us to join him.
“Fight or shoot?” he asks. Sean is embroidered on the sleeve of his white shirt.
“Both, if you have a fighter.”
Sean chuckles. “You’re in luck. Phil is here. Training for UFC, so no funny business.”
Aiden nods sharply.
“You need to warm up?” Sean’s eyes flit to me. “You fighting, too, sweetheart?”
“Don’t fucking look at her,” Aiden growls, stepping in front of me.
Sean backpedals. “Sorry, sorry. Habit to be nice, you know? Customer service. It’s why my guys keep me around.”
I scoff.
Neither of them acknowledges it, and we walk into a huge room that features a raised platform in the center. There’s training equipment around the rest of the room. Two men are working off to the side with wrapped knuckles, running through what seems to be exercises. Jab, move. Jab, jab, move.
One guy is already on the platform, punching the air.
He’s… fucking massive. Bulging muscles, thick thighs and neck. His movements are staccato, and he dances like he’s floating.
Shit.
“Let me guess, that’s Phil?”
Sean chuckles and watches the fighter with a hungry expression. “My prized possession.”
Ice trickles down my spine.
Aiden turns to me. “Sit over here.” He pulls me to a bench and down. “Take this.”
He hands his gun to me, then kneels beside me. His head is even with my elbow as he unlaces his shoes. “Ask Sean about the weapons,” he says in a low voice.
“He deals illegally?”
Aiden meets my gaze and grins. “Obviously, princess.”
Ugh. “Okay, fine. I’ll hold your gun and watch you play with the big guy.”
He leans forward and kisses me fiercely, his tongue slipping into my mouth. I don’t even have time to react—not even close my eyes—before he’s stepping away. His shirt lands in my lap. I track him across the room, where he hops up onto the platform, says something to Phil, then grins.
Whatever he said must’ve been an insult, because Phil’s face goes from blank to fury in a flash.
Aiden bounces up and down, swinging his arms in wide arcs. I watch his muscles move in fascination, anticipation crawling up my throat. I want to see his violent side. Crave it, really. I know this fight will be bloody. There’s no other alternative, not when Phil looks like a bulldozer in human form.
Aiden says something else to Phil, too quiet for me to pick up, and the latter lets out a yell. He charges, swinging a massive fist at Aiden’s head. Aiden jerks back, barely, and Phil’s knuckles catch his jaw. His head cracks to the side, but then he’s out of reach before the attack can continue.
They circle each other. Aiden spits blood on the floor, and his grin reveals pink-streaked teeth. He doesn’t wait for Phil to make the first move again. He dives forward, getting inside Phil’s reach, and hits him hard in the ribs. He hammers a few hits and retreats, then bobs in again and slams his fist into Phil’s nose.
Bloody.
“Perfect, isn’t he?”
I glance over my shoulder at Sean. I can’t tell who he’s talking about, so I just nod once.
“I tried to recruit him when he was a teenager. Jameson wouldn’t hear of it. The kid only came to me when his father didn’t know what the fuck to do with him, anyway.”
My prized possession. So easily traded away when something better walks into the room.
My stomach flips.
“Nice piece,” he says, gesturing to the gun in my lap. “Can I see it?”
I release the magazine and pull the slide back, completely unloading it before I hand it over. “Made in Italy,” I lie.
He makes a noncommittal noise.
“I’ve been looking for something similar for myself. Something smaller than what I’m packing,” I venture. I keep my eyes glued on Aiden.
His attention keeps straying from Phil—and the fight—toward me, though. I will him to focus on the beast in front of him. Not sure it does much good, though. He gets a nasty hit across the face again, and I wince.
“Raise the stakes,” Phil calls to Aiden. “I kick your ass, and I walk out of here with your girl.”
My blood runs cold.
Aiden, however, goes completely still. He narrows his eyes at his opponent.
Behind me, Sean swears.
Aiden darts forward, unbothered by the hits Phil rains down to try to keep him away. Phil’s back hits the ropes, and Aiden just keeps pummeling away at Phil’s body. Head, torso. He grabs Phil’s head and yanks him down, into his rising knee.
The fighter keels over, blood gushing from a split lip, his nose, a cut on his forehead. But Aiden doesn’t stop. He climbs on top of him and keeps hitting, until Phil’s face is no longer recognizable.
“Aiden, stop,” I yell.
He doesn’t seem to hear me.
I stand and climb up the platform, avoiding his pistoning elbows. It would probably only take one hit to knock me flat on my ass. Instead, I wrap my arms around him from behind, pressing my cheek to his spine.
“It’s over,” I say on repeat.
It takes only a minute for Aiden to stop. His hand covers mine as we rise, then he peels it off his chest. He rotates slowly, eyes searching my face.
“It’s okay,” I say.
I run my fingertips down his swollen cheek.
He kisses me. It’s rough and dominant, and he leans into me like I’m his only reprieve from the world. His tongue tangles with mine in my mouth, and I let out an involuntary groan. All my lust comes roaring back. Not that it was ever far—not after his show of force. He cups the back of my head, tugging my hair to angle me. I grasp at his biceps, slick with sweat, and will him closer to me.
Slow clapping brings us back to the present.
Sean has Aiden’s gun in his hand, and a sick feeling crushes me. I left everything on the bench—his shirt, the magazine, the extra cartridge.
He makes a show of flicking the safety off, and he climbs up onto the platform with us. I spin around, plastering my back to Aiden’s front, and we both back up. Sean inspects his fallen fighter with a passive stare, nudging the giant with his shoe.
Phil is out cold, blood pooling on the mat beneath him. He needs a doctor, in all likelihood. But he’s breathing, and that’s more than I can say about myself right now. My chest is tight, and I can’t seem to take a breath.
“What are you doing?” Aiden asks.
Sean scoffs. “I’m taking what I should’ve a long fucking time ago.”
