The heavy oak door required a hard shove, and Daire pushed, prowling into the quiet room. A thick oval table took precedence with several chairs around it. Pictures of club members and several old cuts lined the walls. Pyro, the Fire leader, sat at the head of the table, his hair greasy, his eyes bloodshot, his cheeks red. An empty chair sat next to him, and three other members filled out chairs.

Daire slowed and then shut the door. The empty chair had belonged to Duck, Pyro’s nephew and former vice president of the club. Duck had been murdered just a week before, and from the look of Pyro, he wasn’t taking it well. Daire relaxed his body and tuned in to the club’s president, noting altered biorhythms, sluggish blood flow, and burning lungs. The guy had definitely been self-medicating with cocaine and alcohol.

“Is Kellach still in Ireland?” Pyro asked, his voice weary.

“Aye.” Daire leaned back against the door. “I thought I’d attend the meeting.”

Pyro shrugged a shoulder beneath a T-shirt stained with motor oil, ketchup, and something green. “Fine. Where are my guns?”

“Kellach is working on the holdup right now, and the new guns should arrive sometime within the next week.” The guns Daire had moved to the States and stored near the airport had somehow been confiscated by the Seattle Police Department. Aye, he’d called in the tip, and since Alexandra had been in Ireland, no way could the betrayal be traced to him. “When’s the next shipment of Apollo?” he asked.

Pyro flipped through a series of papers in front of him. “Tuesday.” He scrubbed down his face, his eyebrows rising when whiskers scrunched. “Our dealers are almost out of stock, and since they’ve been educating buyers about not taking too much of Apollo, we’ve only had three new deaths reported.”

The key to that sentence was the word reported. Daire lifted his chin. “Who’s supplying us?”

Pyro glanced up, his head swaying a little. “Who’s our gun supplier in Dublin?”

Daire forced a grin. “The supplier doesn’t like anybody knowing his name.”

“Neither does our contact for Apollo.” Pyro scratched his elbow and stared off into the distance.

One of the other members, a newly paroled longtime member named Jamm, tapped his fingers on the table. “You okay, Pyro?” he asked, his voice raspy after years of smoking without filters.

Pyro nodded his head. “Fine.” He glanced around as if surprised to find everyone at the table. “Uh, any other business?”

Jamm pushed away from the table. His dark beard reached his chest, while his hair had been cut short. Tattoos covered both of his arms to the wrists. “No. Just get some rest.”

Nobody mentioned the empty chair, although somebody would have to become vice president at some point.

Daire cleared his throat and reached for his phone. “We’re missing one of the prospects, and he left Short’s Bar last night with this woman. Any ideas?” He held out the phone.

Jamm took it and studied the screen. “We’re missing Logan?” His chest rose. “That kid is great with bikes. How long he been gone?”

“Almost twenty-four hours, and he’s not answering calls or texts,” Daire said.

Jamm twisted his lip. “With this chick, I don’t blame him.”

Pyro stood and grasped the table until he appeared steady. “Prospects are supposed to be reachable at all hours. Let me see.”

Jamm handed over the phone.

Pyro’s head jerked back. “That’s one of the Grizzly skanks.”

Daire reclaimed the phone and studied the picture. Tall redhead with presence and broad shoulders. Could be a bear shifter. “I’ll call Bear.”

“Hell no.” Spittle flew from Pyro’s mouth. “I’ve had enough of the Grizzlies. My nephew wanted to take them out, and I was too stubborn to listen. Enough is enough. Our men are hurting, and the only way to cure that is to draw blood.”

Daire slid the phone into his pocket. “I’ll talk to Bear first and see who the woman is. Our priority is finding our prospect.”

Pyro shook his head, his pupils so wide the blue was barely discernible in his eyes. “No. This is for Duck.”

“Amen,” Jamm said, smacking his hands together.

The other board members stood. A guy named Knife grabbed a blade from his back pocket. “For Duck.”

Shit. Daire couldn’t stop all of them without using plasma, and letting them know he was a witch was an incredibly bad idea. So he faked a smile. “I guess it’s war.”

Chapter 26

Zane Kyllwood didn’t particularly like witches, and he really hated sitting around and waiting in Daire’s penthouse. As a soldier, he was trained to go in fast and hard. This hanging out, studying deeds and maps, made him want to rip off his own head. Sitting at the table was not working for him.

An enemy had his brother.

A cold lump settled in his gut, and he had to work to force down the rage. And fear. Logan was trained and smart as hell. Even so, he was a kid. The idea of his little brother being tortured or beheaded made Zane’s head swim.

Kellach Dunne barked orders into his phone while pacing the long wall of windows, and Simone Brightston worked a computer on the counter, looking for surveillance footage. There had been a brief but entertaining scuffle between Kell and Simone when he’d ordered her to work in Daire’s penthouse. The woman had nicely refused, but Kell hadn’t taken no for an answer.

Based on the materials Zane had read, if Simone really wasn’t involved in the mining and sale of planekite, somebody sure wanted her to look guilty. He would’ve ordered her into safety if she’d been his to protect, too.

Sam slid an energy drink in front of him, and he took it gratefully. There was nothing like having his brother at his back. “Anything?” Sam asked.

“No.” Zane shoved another manila file across the table.

Their mom flipped through a series of maps, muttering to herself. Zane kept an eye on her, having no doubt she’d take off at some point to meet Bychkov without any backup. If there was a chance to save Logan, she’d sacrifice herself. He knew that much about her, if nothing else.

Sure she was young, but she’d always been steady and forward moving.

Not bat-shit crazy. And fighting polar bears, robbing banks, and plotting revenge against somebody as powerful as Bychkov was bat-shit crazy. Not to mention mating one of the Coven Nine enforcers. They were dangerous and nuts. Now Zane would either have to watch her take a dangerous experimental drug a second time to negate the mating bond, or he had to cut off Daire Dunne’s head.

Something told him neither path would be an easy one.

“I’m staying mated,” his mom whispered, turning a map around and holding it up to the light.

The woman had always known how to somehow read his mind. “No, you’re not.”

An eyebrow lifted, and she glanced around the map of Europe. “Behave yourself, young man.”

It took every ounce of control he owned not to reply with a “yes, ma’am.” He bit back any other response, cutting Simone a look. The witch had abandoned the computer and was watching the scene with sparkling eyes. “You might want to get back to work.”

“Watch yourself, demon.” She sniffed and turned back to the computer. “I’ll burn you to a crisp.”

Witches. He was suddenly surrounded by witches. “They’re all insane,” he whispered to his mom.

Simone snorted, typing away quickly.

“I like ’em,” his mom responded.

She would.

Sam, ever the peacemaker, leaned against the demolished front doorjamb and crossed his arms. “Mom, don’t you think you rushed into this a little bit?”

She shrugged. “Life can be short.”

Zane didn’t know her at all. Who was this woman? “Which is why we plan carefully and proceed slowly.”

“You’ve never done either, son.” She returned to studying her maps.