mental capacities. And his idea of saving us was somewhat skewed. Loads of his trainees used what they learned to make a successful life of crime. Like Hank and Zane."
I nodded my understanding. "And like you three." I wasn't accusing them, just stating a fact. But Steele's hand tightened on the steering wheel anyway.
"Yes," he agreed, his voice clipped.
"How did he know my mother?" It was a question I didn't want to ask, but I knew the curiosity would eat away at me. "The way he spoke about her..."
"He was trying to piss you off," Steele said, his tone firm. "He likely met her once or twice with the Reapers, but that's it."
I frowned. "Hank was a Reaper?"
Why the fuck hadn't Zane said something? Did he know?
"No, he was just an associate. Hank was a freelancer, mostly hired muscle. Occasional hits. Very minor league." Steele sounded seriously unimpressed, and I agreed.
I sighed. "I suppose I should be grateful he was so minor league. Probably the only reason I'm not dead now."
"Or because you've got three of the best watching your back at all times," he muttered under his breath. I shot him a narrow-eyed look, and he just shrugged. "Hank being a shitty hit man helped too. I'm surprised he even passed Phillip’s training at all."
I looked out the window, propping my face up on my hand, then cringing when I touched sticky blood on my forehead. I needed a shower so freaking bad, but I doubted I looked anywhere near as bad as Steele. He really should have worn black before torturing a guy.
"Are you hungry?" He asked some minutes later. I arched a brow at him, and he shrugged. "I've been dealing with Hank since about ten o'clock last night, and Archer didn't leave me any snacks. I'm fucking starving."
Now that he mentioned it... yeah, I was pretty damn hungry.
"There's a drive-through a couple blocks south of my apartment," I suggested. "I don't think we should try entering a restaurant looking like this."
Steele quirked a smile at me, his eyes taking in the blood splatter on my face and neck. "Fair point."
We didn't speak again as he drove us back into Shadow Grove, and that was perfectly fine by me. Steele never felt the need to fill silences with idle chatter, which only gave more gravity to his words when he did speak.
The girl at the drive-through gave us a bored look when we pulled up to the food window, which almost set me off laughing. Here we were, drenched in blood and gore ordering burgers and cokes. She probably assumed it was fake.
Outside my building, Steele parked in a free space, and I clutched the warm bags of food to my chest as we made our way inside. I should have just thanked him for the ride home and told him to fuck off. But... my grudge could wait. We both needed to wash up and eat. And I needed to know what he'd learned from Hank.
The lobby was empty, luckily, but the same couldn't be said for my corridor. Just as we stepped out of the elevator, Cass's door opened. He and Zane stepped out, chatting, but their conversation cut short when they saw Steele and me.
A cruel sort of smile curved Zane's lips, and Cass just scowled.
"Well, well. Looks like you two have been up to mischief. Where was our invitation?" Zane was mocking, his gaze sharp, and I was starting to figure out why his brother disliked him so much. What the fuck had my mom been thinking?
Oh yeah. Bad-boy syndrome. Something I was all too familiar with.
"Nothing to do with you, Zane," Steele replied before I could say anything. Not that I had any snappy comebacks to that.
I killed a man today.
"Are you okay, kid?" Cass asked me in that gravelly rumble of his. "Not your blood, I hope?"
I shook my head. "Definitely not mine."
"Good." He jerked a nod, then brushed past us to stab the elevator call button.
Zane stayed a moment longer, that devilish smile playing across his face as I fished out my keys and unlocked my apartment door. I owed Zane a lot and had every intention of paying him back. But I could smell a fight brewing between him and Steele, and I'd probably had enough violence for one day.
"Oh, while I remember"—Zane snapped his fingers like the thought had just occurred to him—"I set up that meeting you asked about, Madison Kate. She can see you Monday at