Demon Marked (11 page)

Emma screamed, her back arching as another jolt of pain ripped through her body.

“I'll be right back,” Andre mumbled under his breath. The antivenom was really doing a number on her, worse than anything he'd ever seen. He couldn't stand helplessly by and watch her suffer anymore. He had to
do
something.

He turned and slipped through the heavy door leading into Little Francis's office. Crazy or not, Emma hadn't trashed her own apartment. She hadn't had time to wreck the place so thoroughly. Someone else had been there and been determined to find something. But what?

Even if Emma had hidden a body behind the pub that had later been picked up by fellow gang members, the Death Ministry wouldn't have trashed her apartment and left. If they were looking for answers, they would have stayed and cut them out of Emma's body—piece by piece.

So it must have been someone else. But who? And why?

“How's Miss Emma?” Little Francis asked around a mouthful of cashews. Andre's cousin—an exact replica of Uncle Francis minus twenty-odd years, right down to the curly black hair and barrel chest—had a passion for cashews that was probably unnatural and definitely unhealthy.

“She's going to be okay.” Andre silently willed the words to be true as he gestured toward the bowl of nuts on Francis's desk, changing the subject. “You know how much fat is in those, right?”

“Yeah. I heard, gym rat.” Francis smiled. “Real men don't care about fat. Real men don't even know what foods have fat in them and which don't.”

“Real men are ignorant. Good to know,” Andre said, unable to resist the dig. He and Francis had been digging on each other since Andre joined the family business as an apprentice bounty hunter when he was sixteen.

It was how they showed their cousinly love ... and made sure the other knew the competition for future alpha dog was still ongoing, despite the fact that Little Francis's father was the commander in chief. Andre would never want to run the family—women and practicing law kept him plenty busy—but he was among the increasing number of Contis who thought Jace would be a better replacement for Francis when the time came, even if he
was
technically a Lu. Jace had roamed the Southie streets for nearly a decade. He was skilled at dealing with thugs and was the smart choice to lead the Contis in this new era of gang-mob cooperation. If they didn't learn to work together and keep the bounty numbers high and the death toll of innocents down, the police and the National Guard would be swarming all over Southie the way they had in the early days of the emergence.

And that would be bad business for everyone.

Little Francis had picked up on the shifting winds of favor, but you'd never guess it bothered him. He was an expert at keeping his emotions close to the chest, at least whenever Andre was around to observe them.

“Real men aren't ignorant; they just keep their heads full of things that matter. Like running their businesses and knowing who's doing what in their territories.” Little Francis paused and reached for another handful of cashews. “So why don't you tell me what you know about Emma? How's she involved with the Death Ministry?”

“What?” Andre asked, feigning ignorance even as he cursed Mikey for opening his big mouth. Why did today have to be the
one
time Michael felt compelled to give his older brother the complete scoop? “I don't know her that well, but I seriously doubt Emma's involved with a gang. Pretty girls like her get their drugs from other places, small-time dealers.”

“Yeah. So I heard.”

Andre ambled over to the window, watching the hot summer sun glint on the peaceful waters of the river, taking his time before responding to the unspoken question in Francis's tone. “And I'm sure Jace made it clear to her that the Contis and friends of the Contis stay out of Death Ministry business as long as they stay out of ours.”

“Probably,” Little Francis agreed, though when Andre turned back to look at him, he didn't seem any more certain than he had a second ago. “I bet he made it clear the Contis don't care for demon drugs, either, but it don't look like that lesson took.”

Andre shrugged. “I guess it's like eating too many nuts, Francis. People don't always make healthy choices, no matter what people tell them.”

“You're a smart-ass, Andre.”

“No, Francis, I'm just smarter than you,” Andre said with an easy smile.

Francis scowled, actually looking pissed for a second before his expression cleared. “Well, cousin, if you're so smart, why don't you tell me why a bunch of Death Ministry stopped by our training warehouse near the old park this morning looking for the blonde who works at the Demon's Breath?”

“Looking for Emma?”
Shit.
Maybe the Death Ministry were the ones who'd trashed her apartment. And maybe Michael hadn't talked to his brother, after all. This was why it paid to play dumb and never assume the person questioning you had all the facts. “You're kidding.”

“Nope. Not kidding.” Francis abandoned his cashews, wiping his greasy hands on his dark jeans. “I don't kid about assholes with knives threatening my employees.”

“Of course not. Was anyone hurt?”

“Not this time, but they promised to come back and leave a few bodies behind if some guy named Greg didn't show up soon.” Francis rose from his chair, crossing to the liquor cabinet in the corner. “This could ruin that peace treaty we've been cooking up. If they go after our people, we'll have no choice but to retaliate.”

Andre couldn't help but notice that he looked tired. The stress of running the family business in his father's absence was taking its toll. With the Conti history of heart disease, he should be getting more sleep and staying away from the cashews and the alcohol. Especially at six o'clock in the morning.

“You want something?” Francis asked as he poured himself whiskey on the rocks.

“It's breakfast time, Francis. I think I'll pass.”

“It's happy hour when you've been up since two o'clock yesterday, smart-ass. If you hadn't called with your list of demands, I would be at home in bed right now, so don't give me any shit.”

“Wouldn't think of it,” Andre said, waiting until Francis took a sip of his drink before steering them back on topic. “So the Death Ministry lost track of some guy named Greg. What does that have to do with Emma?”

“Seemed Greg went missing last night, right after he stepped outside the Demon's Breath to have a few words with her.”

“That's crazy.” Andre shook his head in confusion, trusting his ability to pull off a lie with the best of them.

He
was
a lawyer. He usually made it a habit not to lie to family, but today he would make an exception. He didn't want Little Francis finding out Greg was dead, not missing. Not until he had a chance to talk to Emma and get her side of the story. The real story this time, not some drug-inspired hallucination.

“So they think she had something to do with his disappearance?”

“They do,” Francis confirmed. “And they want to talk to her. Real bad.”

His cousin's words made his blood rush in a way it hadn't in years. That part of him that had once been a card-carrying, gun-toting bounty hunter itched to have a weapon. If the Death Ministry was after Emma, he might have to be prepared to kill to keep her safe. Strangely, he knew he would, without a second thought. Sometime in the past few hours, Emma had become more than a casual acquaintance or a family obligation. He felt compelled to help her. Not just out of this mess, but with the demon drugs, too.

No matter how many times he'd taken Katie to the doctor or begged her to check herself into rehab, he hadn't been able to save her. But things with Emma could be different.... She was stronger than Katie; she had it inside her to kick the drugs if she had a little help, even just one person who believed she could do it. Andre hadn't expected to be anyone's “one” anytime soon, but despite the sister who loved her, this girl obviously felt very alone. She needed him, and the good man buried deep inside him couldn't turn his back on her.

“I don't have to tell you that this could start a street war between the Contis and the Death Ministry if it isn't handled properly.” Francis collapsed back into his chair with a sigh. “We need to smooth this over, get the Death Ministry to agree to our terms, and get back to making some serious money. Miss Emma needs to tell us everything she knows or thinks she knows about this Greg guy.”

“I'll question her myself,” Andre said. “But first I'll need to get her to a safe house as soon as she's ready to travel. I want her out of Southie.”

Francis nodded. “Already got a room reserved at the place near Columbus Circle, right next door to her friend.”

“You got in touch with Ginger?”

“Douglas, my new assistant, got her on the phone about twenty minutes ago. She's going to meet Antonia and Kelly at the diner down the street from the safe house. They'll get her settled in within the hour. Hopefully.”

“Why
hopefully
?”

Francis downed the last of his drink before answering. “I'm not sure this chick is going to show up. She might end up passed out in the street somewhere before she gets there. Douglas said she sounded wasted. He couldn't understand half of what she was saying.”

Andre sighed. “Great.”

Now he had two messed-up young women on his hands. Not that Ginger was really his responsibility, but she was someone Emma cared about, and so he felt ... obligated. Just like he'd felt obligated to help Katie's sad-sack group of druggie friends every time they ended up on the wrong side of a bar fight or carted down to the city lockup to sweat out their spark.

It would be stupid to get sucked into that kind of situation again, no matter what his gut said about Emma being tough enough to kick the Hamma habit. Katie's death should have taught him that addicts couldn't be saved. He should turn around, walk out of this office, and keep walking until he was back on the right side of the barricade. Let Little Francis handle Emma.

But he wasn't going to do that. There was a part of him that still believed that people like Emma, like himself, could turn their lives around. He had to keep believing that, or all those nights he'd sat through twelve-step meetings and prayed to get his own compulsions under control would be for nothing. He had to have hope. For himself, and now for Emma.

Besides, he didn't want Francis anywhere near her. He didn't want his cousin handling her. He didn't want anything male “handling” Emma except himself.

“I'm going to check with Dr. Finch and see how much longer he'll need to monitor Emma's progress with the antivenom.” Andre ambled toward the door, casually throwing his next words over his shoulder. “You want to catch a ride uptown with me when I'm done?”

“Nah, I'm going to stay at my new place.”

“New place? Where?”

“I got an apartment on the Southie side,” Francis said. “Figured it was time for me to come back where I belong. The head of the family has always lived in Southie. It's tradition.”

“Right,” Andre said, ignoring the implication in Francis's words. There would come a day when Andre would have to tell Francis to his face which way he'd be voting, but today wasn't that day. He had other priorities. “Then I'll stay here and wait. I've already had to cancel my court date, so—”

“I bet she'll be here another few hours. Dr. Finch doesn't mess around with his private clients. He likes to make sure they're good to go before he leaves,” Francis said. “You've got time to head uptown and attend to some business. Why don't you go check and make sure Antonia and Kelly don't need any help with this Ginger girl.”

It was as close to an order as anything Francis had ever said to him, and it made Andre inexplicably angry, despite the fact that he'd done his share of ordering this morning. “I do the lawyering, Francis. That's why I went to college.”

“Of course. You're the big-shot smart guy, Andre; everybody here knows that.” There was enough sarcasm in his tone to make Andre's jaw clench. “But if Ginger is sparking like the one out there, Antonia and Kelly might not be able to handle her. You might need to bring her back here to see the doc, too.”

“Don't you have someone who—”

“A bad batch of claws isn't something to mess around with.” Francis shook his head. “But I don't need to tell you that, right?”

“No, you don't.” Andre fought the urge to cross the room and punch the look of concern off his cousin's face. Real or not ... the fact that Francis had the balls to bring up Katie made him crazy. “I'll go by Columbus Circle and be back in a few hours. Will you be here when I get back?”

“You bet. I wouldn't leave Emma alone, even with Dr. Finch. I don't trust men with pretty young girls,” Francis said. “Especially family. You consider Emma family, right?”

“Of course.”

Francis smiled. “I figured you must. That's probably why she called you when she was in trouble, because she knew she could trust you.”

“What can I say? I'm a trustworthy guy.” Andre tried to infuse the words with his usual lighthearted tone and failed. He didn't like where this conversation was going or the predatory look in his cousin's eyes.

“Yeah. I'd say so.” Francis leaned forward in his chair. “And I could trust you to tell me if there was anything going on between you and Miss Quinn? Couldn't I?”

Andre stared hard at Francis, considering his next words carefully. There was a chance his cousin knew more than he was letting on, that Michael had indeed spilled the beans about the body he was supposed to pick up that morning. But if that was the case, Andre couldn't believe that Francis wouldn't have said something sooner. Surely his cousin would have been demanding answers about the missing corpse from the moment Andre walked in the room.