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message.
    “Don’t leave the house, Ronnie,” I said to her back.
    “Sure,” she answered without turning.
    Fuck.
    Grub was still out of it when I returned to him. I bound his wrists with two cable ties I’d grabbed from my office, and then released the towel tying him—by the neck—to the pole.
    He slumped to the pavers, blood still leaking from his face.
    A grim smile stretched my lips. Regardless of what he said to Rufie, my message to the new Trinity leader was clear—mess with me and you’ll pay for it.
    I hauled Grub to his feet, slung him over my shoulder, and carried him to the front gate of our compound. I dumped him outside the gate and then closed it.
    He knew what he had to do.
    He also knew what I would do to him if he was stupid enough to try and come back inside. He’d delivered Rufie’s message to me, now he had to deliver my response.
    Just to make sure Grub got on his way quickly, I’d called Lila Winchester’s assistant, a man who knew ten different ways to kill a person with a spoon, and arranged for him to collect Grub and deposit him—aka, throw him from the car—somewhere on the highway at least twenty miles away from here.
    When I walked back into the house, Ronnie was not in the living room.
    Or the kitchen.
    Or the bedroom.
    Fuck.
    I hurried downstairs. If she wasn’t in the gym, I didn’t know what I was going to—
    Soft grunts rose up the stairwell. Breathless grunts. Grunts of exertion.
    What the fuck?
    “Ronnie?” I called, charging down the last few steps and into the gym.
    My feet tripped at what I saw.
    Ronnie stood in the middle of the workout area, her back to me, the tonfa in one hand, one of my sais in the other.
    I stood motionless, watching her move the weapons. Fluid if somewhat lacking in form, she swung them with an aggression I couldn’t help but admire, even as it tightened the knot of guilt making itself at home in my gut.
    It took me longer than it should to realize she was watching a YouTube video on her cell as she moved.
    Teaching herself how to fight.
    How to defend herself.
    Fuck, I hated myself right there and then.
    “Ronnie?” I said again.
    She startled, whipped around to face me, the tonfa extended out in a defensive position.
    A ragged breath burst from her as her stare locked on my face. “You scared the shit out of me, Pratt,” she complained and reached for her phone to pause the video. “Is the grub gone?”
    I chuckled at her question. “The grub is gone.”
    I crossed to where she stood, smoothing my palms over her hips to tug her closer to my body. “We’re good now.”
    I wanted to believe that. Unfortunately, I knew the reality of the situation. Still, if I could make Ronnie believe it…
    She didn’t.
    “Bullshit,” she said, wriggling out of my arms and stepping backward. “Don’t treat me like I’m dumb, Lucas. After all these years of you lying to me about who you are, I’ve become quite attached to your truth. Don’t fuck that up now by spinning shit.”
    That knot in my gut twisted at her blunt order. Truth. Okay. Truth it was. I loved her too much to spin shit to her.
    “What’s going on?” she asked, her expression set. “Trinity, yes?”
    “Yes.”
    “How? I thought you said they all thought you were dead.”
    I let out a sigh and dragged my fingers through my hair. “Rufie—a sociopath of the highest order—is the new leader of Trinity.”
    She raised an eyebrow but didn’t move.
    With another breath, I crossed to the nearest weight bench and dropped onto it, elbows on my knees, hands hanging between my legs. “Two weeks ago, he stepped up behind Loco—the leader who’d told the rest of the gang I was dead—and slit his throat. The Trinity members who opposed him faced two choices—swallow his shit and live, or not.”
    Ronnie’s eyes widened a little.
    I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. “According to Grub, more than half of those loyal to Loco elected the latter option. Their endings