“Where the fuck are you?” I ask J. “The cops haven’t shown up. Who the fuck gave that tip? Because if that was bullshit, someone’s head will roll.”

“He’s a reliable source. I’m on my way. Be there in five, boss.”

V still can’t find Keira. Temperance’s car is gone. J is on the way, and I’m losing my fucking mind.

The necklace. Her GPS tracker. Keira still has it on.

I pull up the app and wait for it to load for what seems like a million years.

No signal. I forgot that here on the casino floor, we’ve blocked all wireless and internet access.

Fuck. Fuck.

I rush out of the casino and through the hallways to my office. Once there, I attempt to get the app to load on my phone and bring up my computer screens at the same time. When I finally get it to load on my desktop, J enters my office.

“This doesn’t make any fucking sense,” I whisper. The location is one I know, a place I visit at least twice a year. It has to be wrong.

“Did V find her, boss?”

“No. V didn’t fucking find her. I just did, and I need you to tell me what the fuck is going on.”

I look up at J’s face, her pale blond hair tumbling down around her shoulders rather than up in the tight bun she normally wears.

“Calm down, Mikey. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Don’t you fucking call me that. You know better, J.”

* * *

Seventeen years earlier

My pager vibrated with a number I recognized all too well, followed by the digits 911.

Fuck, what the hell kind of trouble had Hope gotten herself into now? I knew she struggled. We all fucking struggled because of the shit we’d been through.

The day Hope Jones had walked up the steps to the foster home from hell, I’d known nothing would ever be the same. It was a gut thing.

The first man I’d ever fucking killed was that piece of shit, Jerry, who had his dick out, ready to rape a fourteen-year-old girl. I’d hoped getting her out of that house before he could touch her would put her on a better path, and it did—for a while.

Those years I spent on the streets, there wasn’t much I could do except watch to make sure Hope and Destiny didn’t leave their new home bruised or looking the worse for wear. I watched over them both the best I could. When Morello brought me into the organization, he owned my life. Eventually, I gained a little more power, and I used that power to make sure Hope graduated from high school and was able to get custody of Destiny.

I’d paid their bills for years, and not just because Hope hadn’t gotten a degree yet. I felt responsible for them. You didn’t watch out for two people for this long and just forget about them.

At least, I didn’t.

Maybe that was the problem. I should have made Hope take on more responsibility for her own damn life. She’d been trying college for years and still didn’t have a diploma to show for it, but I didn’t make her get a full-time job instead.

Mostly because I wanted her around for Destiny. Hope might not be the best example, but she was a hell of a lot better than anything I had growing up.

Plus, Destiny was smart as hell, and she had a future that both Hope and I wanted to protect.

I left my office, the same office where I ended Morello’s life for touching another girl the way Jerry dared touch Hope, with brass knuckles and a Zippo lighter in one pocket, a switchblade in the other, and twin .45s strapped under my suit coat. I didn’t bring a fucking knife to a gunfight anymore.

Hell, I didn’t even have to go to the gunfight anymore. But this wasn’t something I was willing to delegate. Hope and Destiny had always been personal.

It only took me ten minutes to get to the house I’d bought for Hope. Inside, dishes shattered and a man yelled.

Destiny was cowering outside under the front steps, rocking back and forth. She was almost eighteen, but curled up and terrified, she reminded me of the five-year-old I first knew.

“What the fuck is going on?” I asked her.

“I don’t know. He’s . . . he’s really pissed. Hope woke him up by accident, and he started going off. She got between us, and I ran. I can’t hear her anymore, Mikey. I’m scared.” Destiny sniffled back tears. “Why can’t I hear her?”

I was already taking the steps two at a time, too focused on the situation to tell her not to fucking call me by that name. Michael Arch died when he was thirteen.

I burst through the front door, my gun drawn and sweeping the room.

I wasn’t the only one with a gun in this house, though. A man stood behind the kitchen island, tossing plate after plate onto the floor as a revolver hung from his right hand.

“Stupid fucking bitch. You know better than to make noise when I’m sleeping.” He threw another plate.

Destiny was right. I couldn’t hear Hope, and I wasn’t going to fire a shot until I knew where she was, even though all I wanted to do was put a bullet in that fucker’s head for scaring the hell out of Destiny.

“Turn the fuck around, asshole.”

He swung drunkenly around, his ancient-looking revolver coming up as he pointed it at me sideways, gangster-style. Fucking idiot.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Where the hell is Hope?”

“None of your fucking business.”

He lifted his other hand and cocked the hammer, which was when I noticed something dark dripping from the pistol’s grip.

Blood. I’d seen enough in my life to recognize it easily.

“Put that gun down, right the fuck now, or I won’t shoot you. I’ll fucking skin you alive while you scream for mercy.”

“Don’t you talk to me like that. You’re worse than that mouthy bitch, but I shut her up just fine.”

I moved toward him, the scent of sour sweat, body odor, and booze getting stronger with each step.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’—”

I pulled the trigger on my .45 before he could finish his sentence, and he screamed as the revolver fell from the dangling, mangled appendage that used to be his hand. The gun landed on the floor and discharged. Fucking hell. That shouldn’t be possible.

“You fuckin’ shot me!” He waved around the remains of his hand as blood spurted wildly, and then his gaze dropped to the floor. “And her!”

My heart, the black hunk of coal in my chest, stopped beating for a second.

“What?”

I dashed around the counter and found Hope’s prone body on the linoleum, curled up in a defensive position like he’d been kicking the shit out of her. Shattered glass from the plates covered the floor, and blood dripped from little cuts on her arms and legs. But that wasn’t all.

Destiny charged into the house, a baseball bat in her hands. A fucking Louisville Slugger. It wasn’t the same one I’d used, but it was still all too similar to my first murder weapon.

“Don’t let him hurt her again!” she screamed from the doorway, ready to come to her older sister’s defense.

I didn’t know if my presence gave her the courage, or if she’d had to do this before. The word again slammed into my brain as my gaze locked on the massive hole in Hope’s chest, and her blood-soaked hair where it looked like he’d pistol-whipped her. Both wounds oozed puddles around her body. Her chest didn’t move.

“You fucked with the wrong women, asshole.”

I fired, blowing off most of his other hand, and Destiny sprinted for the kitchen. I caught her around the waist, trying to stop her from seeing what I saw.

Her sister’s dead body.

There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that Hope was gone.

The only thing I didn’t know was who killed her—the piece of shit writhing on the floor next to her, two pulpy stumps at the ends of his arms, or me because I shot the pistol out of his hand.

The possibility twisted my stomach.

I’m so fucking sorry, Hope.

My attention split, I underestimated how flexible Destiny was and she slipped out of my arms.

“No, Desi!” I grabbed her just as her bare foot landed on a shard of glass. I scooped her up into my arms and turned her face against my chest.

“Let me go!”

“No. You don’t need to see that.”

“But Hope—”

“Hope is dead, Desi. I’m so fucking sorry.” My voice was hoarse with more emotion than it had held in years.

“No!” She screamed as I carried her out of the house, her tears soaking my shirt. The screams turned into heartbreaking sobs. “Please. No. No. No.”

Destiny was all but limp when I got to the car. When I sat her down in the front seat, she sprang into action again, clawing me, trying to get back to the house and Hope.

I gripped her skinny shoulders and shook her to get her attention. “You’re not going back in there. Understand me?”

“Mikey—”

“Mount,” I said, correcting her out of habit because she couldn’t seem to forget the past. Well, fuck, neither of us were going to forget today.

“Hope . . .”

I met Destiny’s tear-filled gaze. “Pull it together, Desi. Right now. Hope is gone.”

“She can’t be dead.” Destiny’s voice was filled with such heartbreak, what was left of my own heart cracked along with it. She sniffled and wrapped both arms around her legs, curling up into a ball in the front seat, rocking back and forth.

“I’m so fucking sorry, but she is. You’re not, though, and we’re getting you the hell out of here. I’m gonna take care of you, just like I always have, Desi. You understand me?”

Destiny’s head bobbed as she rocked. Her tears stopped falling as she bit her lip and nodded. It showed incredible fortitude for a teenager to switch off her emotions so quickly.

“Please don’t leave her in there with him,” she begged me. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not leaving her behind. I’d never leave her behind. Can you be strong for me?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Please, just get her.”

“Breathe, Desi.”

She nodded again, still rocking, but hauled in a deep breath.

I shut the door and headed first to the shed next to the house. It took me all of thirty seconds to find a can of gasoline. I ran inside and up the stairs, then poured it on every flammable surface except the bedroom quilt. That I tore off the bed before I ran downstairs and carefully wrapped Hope’s body in it.

The piece of shit beside her had already lost consciousness. I’d never know what truly happened before I got here, but it didn’t matter now.

I grabbed the Zippo in my pocket, then lifted Hope into my arms and headed for the door. Before it slammed shut behind me, I flipped open the lighter and struck it. When I tossed it onto the living room floor, the gasoline ignited. I strode toward the car, heat from the fire on my back, and Destiny’s stricken face staring at me through the window.

Hefting Hope’s body higher, I opened the back door and laid her inside across the seat. “Don’t you fucking look back there, Desi.”

She jerked her gaze forward as I shut Hope inside. I flung open the driver’s side, dropped into the seat, and turned the key.

“You’re not going to fucking LSU anymore, Desi. You’re getting a hell of a lot further out of this town.”

Sirens wailed in the distance as I burned rubber on the cracked pavement, leaving the burning house behind.

Destiny sniffled, reining in her grief the same way I shut down mine. “I want to stay with you.”

I didn’t look at her as I blew through a stop sign. “No. Not an option. Pick any college you want, and you’ll get in. But you’re not staying here. I want you as far away from me as possible.”

We were almost back to the Quarter when Destiny finally spoke again.

“I heard MIT has a really good computer-science program.”

I turned to look at her. Resilient as fuck. Another flower growing between the sidewalk cracks. “Then MIT it is.”

We never talked about Hope again. Before I shipped Destiny off to MIT, I tried to bring up her sister, but Destiny shut down completely, like a broken toy.

I never told Destiny that I buried Hope in a mausoleum outside of town, and made sure she always had fresh flowers on the anniversary of her death and on her birthday.

I also never told Destiny that I hadn’t forgiven myself for what happened that day. For not protecting them better. For not getting there sooner. For not knowing whether I killed Hope.

Instead, I focused on the future, making sure Destiny’s was settled. That was all I could do.