“Is Kellach still in Ireland?” Pyro asked, his voice weary.
“Aye.” Daire leaned back against the door. “I thought I’d attend the meeting.”
Pyro shrugged a shoulder beneath a T-shirt stained with motor oil, ketchup, and something green. “Fine. Where are my guns?”
“Kellach is working on the holdup right now, and the new guns should arrive sometime within the next week.” The guns Daire had moved to the States and stored near the airport had somehow been confiscated by the Seattle Police Department. Aye, he’d called in the tip, and since Alexandra had been in Ireland, no way could the betrayal be traced to him. “When’s the next shipment of Apollo?” he asked.
Pyro flipped through a series of papers in front of him. “Tuesday.” He scrubbed down his face, his eyebrows rising when whiskers scrunched. “Our dealers are almost out of stock, and since they’ve been educating buyers about not taking too much of Apollo, we’ve only had three new deaths reported.”
The key to that sentence was the word reported. Daire lifted his chin. “Who’s supplying us?”
Pyro glanced up, his head swaying a little. “Who’s our gun supplier in Dublin?”
Daire forced a grin. “The supplier doesn’t like anybody knowing his name.”
“Neither does our contact for Apollo.” Pyro scratched his elbow and stared off into the distance.
One of the other members, a newly paroled longtime member named Jamm, tapped his fingers on the table. “You okay, Pyro?” he asked, his voice raspy after years of smoking without filters.
Pyro nodded his head. “Fine.” He glanced around as if surprised to find everyone at the table. “Uh, any other business?”
Jamm pushed away from the table. His dark beard reached his chest, while his hair had been cut short. Tattoos covered both of his arms to the wrists. “No. Just get some rest.”
Nobody mentioned the empty chair, although somebody would have to become vice president at some point.
Daire cleared his throat and reached for his phone. “We’re missing one of the prospects, and he left Short’s Bar last night with this woman. Any ideas?” He held out the phone.
Jamm took it and studied the screen. “We’re missing Logan?” His chest rose. “That kid is great with bikes. How long he been gone?”
“Almost twenty-four hours, and he’s not answering calls or texts,” Daire said.
Jamm twisted his lip. “With this chick, I don’t blame him.”
Pyro stood and grasped the table until he appeared steady. “Prospects are supposed to be reachable at all hours. Let me see.”
Jamm handed over the phone.
Pyro’s head jerked back. “That’s one of the Grizzly skanks.”
Daire reclaimed the phone and studied the picture. Tall redhead with presence and broad shoulders. Could be a bear shifter. “I’ll call Bear.”
“Hell no.” Spittle flew from Pyro’s mouth. “I’ve had enough of the Grizzlies. My nephew wanted to take them out, and I was too stubborn to listen. Enough is enough. Our men are hurting, and the only way to cure that is to draw blood.”
Daire slid the phone into his pocket. “I’ll talk to Bear first and see who the woman is. Our priority is finding our prospect.”
Pyro shook his head, his pupils so wide the blue was barely discernible in his eyes. “No. This is for Duck.”
“Amen,” Jamm said, smacking his hands together.
The other board members stood. A guy named Knife grabbed a blade from his back pocket. “For Duck.”
Shit. Daire couldn’t stop all of them without using plasma, and letting them know he was a witch was an incredibly bad idea. So he faked a smile. “I guess it’s war.”
Chapter 26
Zane Kyllwood didn’t particularly like witches, and he really hated sitting around and waiting in Daire’s penthouse. As a soldier, he was trained to go in fast and hard. This hanging out, studying deeds and maps, made him want to rip off his own head. Sitting at the table was not working for him.