As Calvin sped towards Brock’s place—the address already accessible to him through his research—he contacted Mason to let him know what he was doing.

“Douchebag took Lily’s daughter. I’m going to get her back. But that means no one is watching my place.” And he couldn’t get a hold of Declan, who was probably sleeping or hunting. “Can you swing over?” Ever since the attack on Lily, Calvin had made sure someone kept an eye when he couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow anyone to terrorize Lily again. But with her so frantic and worried about Zoe, Calvin couldn’t wait for a replacement.

“Sure, I’ll head over, but it will take me a good thirty minutes or so.”

Better than nothing. Calvin didn’t figure he would be more than an hour or so, but he didn’t like leaving Lily unguarded, especially given how many people in the drug trade they’d taken out in the last week or so.

Bad Boy Inc. was cleaning up their town, and those who didn’t cooperate paid the price and became an example for others. Unfortunately, more than a few were thick-headed and didn’t get the message. They thought they could strike back. A cop and ex-lover tried hitting Benedict. It didn’t end well. For them.

Things were at the boiling point, ready to explode, which meant Brock was unstable, and Calvin needed to tread carefully lest the bastard do the unthinkable.

Calvin hung up with Mason, satisfied Lily was taken care of, and kept his speed within limits. People watched movies and had this misconception that assassins lived by no rules. In books and on screen, they owned fast cars, drove like maniacs, and did all kinds of stupid shit to draw attention.

Wrong.

Assassins only lived to retirement if they were smart and remained hidden. Being discreet meant not getting pulled over for speeding or shooting the neighbor’s dog because it liked to bark its head off at the crack of dawn.

Calvin took his time and planned what he’d do when he got to his target location. He had dropped into work mode, the only way to deal with the anxiety that threatened over the thought of the sweet little girl he’d grown fond of in possible danger.

Here was what he knew. Lily’s ex lived in their old house, a single-floor bungalow. The basement windows were below grade and set within wells, making access through them impossible for a man his size.

According to Calvin’s file, Brock didn’t have an alarm system, though, which meant entry through a window on the main level, if done quietly, wouldn’t raise any alerts. But before taping any glass and smashing it, Calvin did something very simple first. He infiltrated the property via the yard.

After ascertaining that there was no one in the kitchen, he tried the back door. The door opened with hardly any sound. Not that anyone would have heard over the blaring of the television in the other room.

Creeping across the tile floor doing his best to make sure his boots didn’t make a scuff, Calvin held his gun in his left hand, which tended to screw with most people who expected a righty. The academy had taught him to be ambidextrous. He slid past the wooden table and the matching chairs, sporting flowered cushions that he suspected was a remnant of Lily’s touch, as were the ceramic canisters and other kitchen decorations bearing spotted cows. Real men went stainless all the way.

The canned soundtrack of audience laughter came from the front of the house, through the kitchen, and past the dining room with its dark mahogany surfaces. Calvin made it to the living room without the man in the fat, upholstered, reclining chair being any wiser.

Easing forward, Calvin had the gun pressed against the back of Brock’s head before the guy said in a slurred voice, “Go ahead. Shoot me. I deserve it.”

Given Calvin had expected him to beg for his life, maybe throw out a few profane motherfuckers, the pity party request took him by surprise.

“Where’s Zoe?” First things first. He needed to locate Lily’s daughter.

“Gone.”

“What do you mean gone, asshole? If you harm a single hair on that little girl’s head…” Hell couldn’t devise a punishment for Brock that would hurt as much as Calvin would. I’ll torture him slowly, and make him scream.

“I would never hurt her!” Brock squirmed in his chair, turning around enough so that the barrel of the gun resided between his eyes. He glared at Calvin. “I love Zoe. She is my kid.”

“Then where is she?”

The bravado faded. “They took her. Took my ladybug.”

“Who did?”

At this, some of the anger returned to Brock’s face. “They did. The fuckers you wouldn’t leave alone. They told me to do something about you and your fucking poking. And so I did. That night of the ball, I told you to stop meddling, but you just couldn’t walk away. You just kept pushing and interfering in things you shouldn’t.”

“So your partners took Zoe? That makes no sense.”

“They took her because I told them I was done. I wanted out.” The resignation once again hit Brock, and he slumped back in his seat. It didn’t mean Calvin eased the pressure on the trigger of his gun.

“They won’t allow you to quit.”

“Nope. And not only that, now I have to prove myself to get her back.” Brock took a swig from the brown bottle clenched in his fist.

“Prove yourself how?”

“They want me to kill Lily for starters because, apparently, my lovely ex-wife couldn’t keep her fat fucking mouth shut.”

“Only because she was attacked in her own house.”

“What?” Brock didn’t feign surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“Even if she hadn’t talked, we were coming after you.”

“Who is this we? The boss keeps saying there’s a gang coming after them. Some bullshit about some classmates wanting to wipe him out because he knows too much.”

At those words, Calvin couldn’t help but ask, “Your boss? Who is it? Is he the one who has Zoe?” And which of his classmates had gone off the rails? They hadn’t all kept in touch after graduation, so he wasn’t sure how to figure out whom they needed to target—and eliminate.

“If you want a name or face, you can forget it. He’s too smart for that. We only ever saw him wearing a black hood. I can’t even tell you what color his eyes are. Hell, for all I know, it’s a girl under there with a deep voice.”

A shrouded leader. The circle got even more convoluted. And fascinating. Who was this foe with a grudge?

“I need an address.”

“It won’t do you any good. The place is well guarded.”

“I don’t give a shit.” He poked the gun at Brock. “Get up.”

“Why? Won’t shoot a man sitting down?”

“I’m not shooting you, but you are coming with me on a car ride.”

“Need a place to dump the body? I can show you the spot we usually use.” Said with a sarcastic laugh as Brock rose from his seat with a stagger.

“I’m not killing you. Not yet, but we are going to get Zoe, and then I’m going after your boss.”

“You won’t be able to save her by yourself. The warehouse is fortified. One man can’t penetrate it.”

“I’m not just any man. And who says we’re going alone?” Calvin had friends, lots of them, and they loved to bring toys—and mayhem.

They wouldn’t blow anything up until a certain little girl was safe. But then…

His phone buzzed in his pocket, the silent vibration sending a forbidding feeling through him. Holding the gun on Brock—because he didn’t trust the fucker at all—he pulled it out and frowned.

The alarm text noted the front door on his house had opened and stayed open. Lily had gone out. But why?

He fired a text off to her, one-handed; the other still aimed the gun. An assassin knew how to multi-task.

“Move outside,” Calvin ordered as soon as he hit send.

Brock did as told, if in a lurching, drunken fashion. The idiot protested when a click on the key fob opened the trunk and Calvin ordered him to, “Get in.”

“Fuck y—”

Whack. The clubbing of his gun on the back of Brock’s head silenced his feeble protest. The man only lived because Calvin still needed him. Calvin dumped the body in the trunk and shut it. Leaning against it, he texted Lily again, and then immediately called her phone. It went right to voicemail.

He dialed Mason. Forget a hello. “Are you at my house yet?”

“Just pulling onto your street.”

“The alarm’s going off.” And more worrisome, he couldn’t get a hold of Lily.

Was that why she’d left his place? To grab her phone? It occurred to him that her track pants and T-shirt didn’t have a spot to stash her phone.

“Your front door is wide open. And so is hers.” Mason’s grim announcement made Calvin’s blood run cold.

“Check her place first.”

Having trained at the academy, Calvin had had panic drilled out of him a long time ago. He was the man with ice in his veins. Who never rushed.

That all changed the moment Mason announced, “She’s gone. And they left you a note.”

We have the woman and the girl. We want you. Come alone, or they die.

They’d also kindly provided an address.

It turned out Calvin didn’t need Brock after all, which was why he left him in the trunk. But being a man who lived by the rules of darkness, he didn’t obey the part of the note that said to come alone.

And let his friends miss out on the fun? Like fuck.

Screw with one Bad Boy, and you screwed with them all.

Screw with Lily and Zoe, and you wouldn’t live to see the dawn.