“Well I didn’t order that, my friend, I assure you. I’m—” Julio closes his eyes, exhaling sharply. He pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “I know. I’m—” Doesn’t look like Rebel’s in the mood to be letting Julio fit a word in edgewise. Julio’s cheeks drain of color as he continues to listen to whatever the man on the other end of the line has to say for himself. “Yes, I agree, my friend. I totally agree. It’s unaccept—”

A muffled roar erupts out of the cell phone’s speakers, and then…nothing. Julio lowers his phone in order to look at the screen. Unaccustomed as he is to having people hang up on him, the look on his face indicates that he can’t believe it’s actually just happened to him.

“How goes my cousin, Signor Perez?” Michael asks.

So it’s true then. I can’t believe Michael’s been keeping that shit under lock and key for so long. And why the hell has he been working for me when he would be a big fucking deal in his uncle’s organization? The smug bastard does a good job of hiding the smirk that’s desperate to bloom and flourish on his face, but the tone of his voice is too satisfied to conceal. Julio’s just the sort of person to kill someone for being a cocky shit, and yet he doesn’t kill Michael. He instead inhales deeply, thoughtfully setting his phone to one side.

“He was decidedly unhappy at the condition of his only nephew’s bruised face,” he says slowly. He looks up at Michael. “I have to apologize for the mistreatment you’ve suffered at the hands of my men. If I’d known, then…”

Michael just nods. “An easy misunderstanding, I’m sure.” He holds up his hands, jerking his chin toward the restraints. “I’m assuming you have no problem with removing these now, though? They’re a little tight.”

Julio goes purple. With horror, embarrassment or fury, I don’t know, but he signals to Teo all the same. “Uncuff him.”

Teo, the ever-obliging employee, does as he’s told without blinking. Michael massages his wrists, that smug fucking look still on his face. “I wonder,” he says. “If you might have a bathroom I could use? I’ve been stuck down here for three days. A shower really wouldn’t go amiss.”

Most men would flee for their lives after escaping an ordeal down in Julio Perez’s cellar, but not my guy. By the glint in his eye, he seems dead set on sticking around. Julio’s double chin wobbles; he’s mad after all but he can’t say a word about Michael taking liberties. “Of course, my friend. Of course.” He stands and gestures toward the door, still twitching with what I can only imagine to be affront.

Michael goes to follow, but first he turns to me. He holds out his hand. “Sorry to hear about your trouble, man. If you need any help with this Charlie Holsan guy, just let me know. I’m sure I could pull a few strings.”

I wanna slap the cheeky fucker upside the head. If I’d have known he was Rebel’s cousin, I may have asked him to try and pull fucking hard on those strings a while back. Maybe not, though. Dancing with Rebel is like dancing with the devil. I wouldn’t want to owe the man a thing. I shake Michael’s hand, squeezing way harder than necessary. In return, Michael provides me with a saintly smile and saunters out of Julio’s killing room like he just had a pampering weekend in the Ritz.

“What the hell was that?”

When Zeth comes back to the room later on in the day, he doesn’t look happy. In fact, he’s furious. He’s had nearly eight hours to calm down since Julio’s office this morning—he must have been itching to find me and ream me out ever since then. He stalks into the room and stands in front of me where I’m laying on my stomach on top of the bed, phone in hand. He leans down, placing his hands either side of me, glaring at me with a level of intensity that makes goose bumps break out across my skin.

“What are you doing, Sloane?”

“I’m texting my dad to make sure your friend is still alive. That okay with you?”

The anger temporarily fades from his eyes. “And is she?”

“Yes.”

“Give me the phone.”

“What?”

“Give me the phone.” He goes to take it from my hand but I sit upright, holding it protectively against my chest.

“I don’t think so. I’ve had enough of you stealing my phone.”

“Sloane, just…” He stops himself. Scrubs his hands across his face and then over his head, growling deep in his throat. “Just tell me what she’s been doing.”

“She’s been helping my dad prepare for his church youth camp.”

The expression falls straight off Zeth’s face. I may as well have just been speaking Swahili; he clearly did not comprehend a word of it. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Church. Youth. Camp.” Those are the three words that matter here, I should think. I haven’t told him that my dad’s planning on actually taking the girl with him on the camp yet, either. I don’t know how well that’s going to go down.

“And she’s okay with that?” Zeth asks.

“She says she is in the text she sent me.”

“Oh my god, just give me your fucking phone!” He lunges for it again and this time I let him have it. He seems genuinely worried about the girl and me being pissy with him is only making matters worse. I shouldn’t do it. I should be doing everything I can to soothe him after the stunt I pulled earlier, but instead I feel like baiting him. Pissing him off some more. Seeing just how far I can push him. The problem is I’m still mad at him. Still mad because of this morning when he showed a side of himself that I just didn’t ever think could possibly exist. A sweet, vulnerable side that made my chest hurt.