A New Empire: A Fog City Novel

by Layla Reyne

  He looped an arm around Hawes’s waist. “Just needed the right incentive.”

  “Well, then, consider me incentivized too.” Her playful tone vanished, as she shifted her attention to Hawes. “I’ll get this cleaned up, and then I’ll be in touch.” She extended a hand to him. “I look forward to doing business with you, Mr. Madigan.”

  “Likewise,” Hawes said, shaking her hand. “Until then.”

  She nodded, and Hawes signaled for the Madigan operatives to retreat. They scattered different directions—Helena, Avery, and Victoria out the exit beneath the stairs, a group out the terrace doors, another out through the kitchen. Chris and Hawes exited via the front door, side by side, and as soon as it shut behind them, he grabbed Hawes by the wrist and hauled him down to the shadowed promenade. He tossed the eyeglasses into the water, the comm units in after them, then pressed Hawes against the railing, caging him in. Hawes’s relieved sigh was music to Chris’s ears.

  “Better?” he whispered against the skin of Hawes’s neck. He kissed a path to the sharp hinge of Hawes’s jaw, flattening his tongue over it and soothing away the last of the tension there.

  “Almost,” Hawes breathed, then conversely pushed him back.

  A spike of worry hammered Chris, until Hawes used the space he’d created to unbutton his jacket and boost himself onto the railing. Jacket open, knees spread, eyes molten ice, Hawes was an invitation Chris hurried to accept, closing the distance between them again and capturing Hawes’s lips in a searing kiss. Hawes wrapped him up in arms and legs, and Chris was awash in possibilities. Warm, sweaty skin to run his hands over, a hard cock to rut against, the mouth he wanted to feast on until the sun rose behind them.

  “You in those glasses tonight about did me in,” Hawes mumbled.

  Chris spread his hands over Hawes’s chest. “Says the man wearing no shirt under his tailored jacket.” He coasted a hand up, into Hawes’s hair, and dove south with the other, cupping Hawes through his jeans and pressing the heel of his palm against the erection there. It swelled in his hand. Fuck, all he wanted to do was yank open Hawes’s zipper, go to his knees, and put his mouth on Hawes, suck him off right here under the stars, with the waves of the Bay lapping behind them.

  “Fuck, Dante.” Hawes pressed up into his hand, cock straining the fly of his jeans. “Need you to get me home and fuck me.”

  Chris didn’t think he was going to make it that far, and he wasn’t the least bit ashamed about that fact. He wanted Hawes, now. “I don’t need to get you home to make us come.” Curling a hand under Hawes’s thigh, he hiked the leg higher, shifting their angle so he could rut against Hawes’s taint while Hawes’s cock ground into his abs. “Come for me right here, baby.”

  Their hips rocked faster, driving them higher, so close to the edge. And then a ringtone cut through their ragged, grunted breaths, piercing the otherwise quiet night.

  Not just any ringtone.

  Braxton Kane’s.

  Lily.

  Chris ripped out of Hawes’s arms, panic freezing lust in its tracks. Hawes, equally alarmed, jumped off the rail and struggled to get his phone out of his pocket, his trembling hands making the task difficult. This—seeing Hawes shaking with fear for his niece—made Chris ache almost as badly for him as he had in the club, but it was a different sort of ache. The need to comfort and support his partner. He curled a hand around Hawes’s neck and gently knocked his flailing hand away. “Breathe, baby, then try again.”

  A deep, shuddering breath later, Hawes managed to get the phone out of his pocket. Chris steadied his hand, the two of them holding the device together as Hawes hit Accept and put it on speaker. “Is she moving Lily?” he asked, voice cracking.

  “No,” Kane replied, and they each released a held breath. Only to have it stolen again at Kane’s next words. “But Amelia just showed up at the house, with a bruised and bloodied Scotty Wheeler.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “It was all a fucking diversion.”

  “Not completely true,” Helena said, shifting in the passenger seat of the SUV. “It was also a show for Remy.”

  “An unnecessary one.” Hawes stared out the rear window as the city flew by, Holt racing to get them to the house in Pac Heights. After getting a similar call from Kane, Holt had come barreling out of the fire station in the SUV, squealing to a stop at the curb to pick up Hawes, then a few blocks down the Embarcadero, Helena.

  Traffic noise blared from the speakers, Chris switching off mute. “It wasn’t unnecessary,” he agreed. “Not to sell this.”

  “How the fuck am I supposed to sell that I kept Wheeler alive?”

  “She respects power. That’s how you have to spin it.”

  “Fuck!” Hawes braced his elbows on his knees and raked his hands through his hair, flattening the mousse-stiff strands. His hair was fucking ridiculous. This whole thing was fucking ridiculous. When were they ever going to get ahead of Rose? Was it even possible? Every time he thought they had the upper hand, Rose yanked the rug out from under them again. He’d had wins tonight: securing the captains’ allegiance, Remy’s cooperation, and Chris’s declarations. But learning that Rose had put a contract out on him and that she’d kidnapped Scotty were two massive losses.

  “When you get to the station,” Holt said to Chris, who’d taken off in the opposite direction, “I want a report on Jax.”

  “Kane said they were fine. They weren’t at the house when Scotty was taken.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re fine,” Holt replied. “Shelter kids are sensitive to things being taken from them. Wheeler being snatched out from under their nose might trigger some of those same fears.”

  “Got it,” Chris said. “I’ll make sure they’re okay.”

  “We’re at the house,” Helena said as they rumbled onto the driveway pavers.

  Hawes lifted his head, glancing out the front windshield at his childhood home, fearing it like he had haunted houses as a kid. Not that this house was dark; every main floor light and Holt’s lair lights were blazing, but it was spooky—deadly, even—for other reasons.

  “Kane still there?” Chris asked.

  Hawes swiveled in his seat to look out the back window, to the same spot where they’d waited the night of the MCS showdown. The same dark cruiser was there now. “Yeah, he’s still here.”

  “Tell him I’ll meet him at the station,” Chris said. “And keep me posted.”

  “Ten-four,” Holt said, then clambered out of the car, heading Kane’s direction without a second thought.

  Helena exited at a more human speed, and Hawes took an extra minute to slip a T-shirt and loaded holster on under his jacket. How fucked up was it that he was fine walking into a club full of armed gangsters without a weapon, but he was unwilling to walk unarmed into his family home? He had no idea what surprises awaited him in there, and he wasn’t willing to risk his siblings’ or niece’s lives. He composed himself, then climbed out of the car and waited with Helena at the back bumper.

  Her attention was on their brother, who was leaning against Kane’s driver’s side door, speaking to the chief through the open window. “Should he—”

  “It’s fine,” Hawes said. “Kane’s safe.”

  Her attention swung to him, a brow raised in question.

  “Part of the deal I made with Rose.” Granted, their grandmother wasn’t holding to the rest of the truce, but Kane’s role was independent of Hawes, which Hawes hoped insulated the chief. But they couldn’t push her too far. “His presence here tonight, though, is one more thing I have to explain.”

  She gestured toward Holt and Kane. “That one’s easy, if she noticed.” Then she pointed up at the house. “The other one, not so much.”

  “Chris is right. We’ll spin it.” He rested back against the bumper. “But how did she fucking find him?”

  “Mr. Hair must have missed a tail. Or Jax.”

  Hawes shook his head. “I don’t buy it.”

  “Neither do I.”


  “Do you have a file on you?”

  “Do I look like a manicurist?”

  Hawes held out his hand, palm up. She didn’t go into an op without knives, as in multiple. Sure enough, she dug the blade out from between the seams of her bustier. “Thank you,” he said, tucking it up his sleeve.

  Across from them, Kane’s car came to life, engine cranking and lights flashing on. Holt double tapped the hood, and Kane drove off, down the hill toward the station.

  “He good?” Helena asked, once Holt had rejoined them.

  “Not in the slightest, but he’s Perri’s problem tonight.” He glanced up at the house, then back to Hawes and Helena. “How are we gonna play this?”

  Hawes pushed off the bumper. “I have a starting point, spinning it as Chris suggested. We’ll improvise from there.”

  “Haven’t you improvised enough tonight?”

  “Only as much as we had to to accomplish the mission she gave us. Which we did. No more tests. She wants to force our hand with Wheeler, then we’ll force hers. I want this done.”

  “Agreed,” Helena and Holt said together.

  Did they still agree with him, however, once they reached the lair and got their first look at a tortured Scotty Wheeler? The agent was strapped to a chair in the middle of the room; Rose stood menacingly behind him.

  “You want to explain to me why the dead fed is still very much alive?” she demanded.

  “I needed information,” Hawes answered. “From what Perri told me, Agent Wheeler is the best at finding it.”

  Rose circled the agent enough to see his face. “You agreed to help him?”

  Narrow slits of brown, barely visible between bruised and puffy lids, shifted between Rose and Hawes. “I thought he was working for the good guys.”

  Hawes approached, risking Rose’s striking distance to squat in front of Wheeler. And to drop the file on the floor by his left foot, out of Rose’s eyesight. “You should have gone with that first instinct of yours.”

  Wheeler closed his eyes and gulped, selling it for Rose, as he moved his foot over the file.

  “You were getting me the info I needed,” Hawes continued, “and now we have a federal agent as leverage.”

  “As a hostage.”

  “I was trying to be kind.”

  “Fuck you,” Wheeler spat.

  “Was anyone working with you?” he asked, knowing Rose would if he didn’t.

  “No,” Wheeler answered. Too fast. He was a desk jockey, not a field agent. How had he even survived Rose’s torture this long?

  Hawes peeked at Amelia out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting in Holt’s chair in front of the bank of computers, Lily in her arms. Was she still on their side? How much had she told Rose about what she’d seen at Gillespie’s property? She cuddled Lily closer. Was that a sign? Was she willing to play ball for the good guys if it got her more time with her daughter? Chris would tell him to trust her. Trusting him, Hawes squarely settled his gaze on Amelia. “Was he alone?”

  “Yes.”

  Hawes slowly let his held breath out through his nose. Also seemingly satisfied with Amelia’s answer, Rose headed for the couch. “What did you need him to find?” she asked him.

  Hawes stood. “Information on the competition. And on Elliot Brewster.”

  Rose’s steps faltered. He’d actually managed to surprise her. He followed her to the seating area and claimed an armchair. “You were willing to work with Reeves,” he said, “to initially steal the explosives and move or sell them. When Reeves was eliminated, you moved on to your other partner. I wanted to know who that was, and you’d already been working with Brewster.”

  “You were supposed to trust me and do as you were told.”

  Not if he ever wanted her respect, or at least enough of it so she’d stop trying to kill him. Time to flex some of that power. “I don’t blindly take orders, from anyone. Not when the lives of our family and our people are on the line. We make decisions together.”

  “And this decision, regarding Brewster… Do you disagree with me? With the direction?”

  “I do disagree.” Before she could object or let her speculation run rampant, Hawes carried on. “Because there’s a better option on the table, and she’s game. We passed your test and hers tonight. Now let’s move the fuck on.”

  “What about the fed?” Rose said with a nod to Wheeler, who sat trembling in his chair. “You’ve got the information you needed.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s not still leverage.”

  “And if I asked you to kill him?”

  She’d posed that same question to him before, only then it had been about Chris, and Chris hadn’t been in the same room. He couldn’t answer differently now without giving away the ruse. He shifted in the chair and withdrew his gun, leveling it at Wheeler.

  The agent’s eyes widened, as much as they could before he winced, caught between fear, confusion, and pain. “Please, no.”

  “I’ll do it,” Hawes told Rose, “but I don’t think it’s the right call. Are you sure you can trust Tran?”

  “She’s the one who told us where he was.”

  Hawes was glad to be angled away from Rose right then. It covered his surprise. Whether it was a good one or a bad one, he wasn’t sure. Either Tran had purposely sent him in, or Tran was actually dirty. And Wheeler couldn’t signal him either way without signaling Rose. Didn’t matter, though. Hawes’s response to Rose was the same either way. “Holding him helps keep her in line. She hasn’t said a word about him—missing or dead—for a reason. And he can give us more information on Perri, if we need to neutralize him.”

  “I think it’s the right play,” Helena said.

  “Same,” Holt added.

  “Amelia?” Rose said.

  His sister-in-law’s green eyes flickered to him, then over his shoulder to Rose. “Holt and I can hack all day, but the fed can give us a more concrete direction to go in.”

  “All right,” Rose said, after what felt like the longest five seconds of Hawes’s life. “We’ll play this one your way. You’ve earned that much.”

  Hawes allowed himself two seconds to fume over the backhanded compliment before he lowered his gun and rotated back around in his chair. “Thank you. Now, can we talk about how to finish this?”

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “I want to be finished with the doubts, and with the ATF, so our family can move on and thrive. Same as you.”

  She rose, and Hawes worried for a moment that he’d overplayed his hand. But then Rose held a hand out toward the stairs. “I’ve got the plans for the next phase laid out in the dining room.”

  He hadn’t overplayed his hand at all. He’d played it just right.

  Chris beat both Kane and Tran to the station, but not Jax. Their bike was parked in the back lot, the fender still warm to Chris’s touch. The duty cop riding the night desk confirmed they’d arrived five minutes ago, and Chris hung a right at the top of the stairs, toward IT instead of Kane’s office. He crossed the threshold and spotted Jax at their workstation, hanging their leather jacket on the back of their chair. Before he could speak, though, the burner in his pocket vibrated. He dug out the phone, read the text from Holt, and cursed.

  “Guessing that wasn’t good news,” Jax said.

  Chris glanced first at Jax, then at the other IT officer in the mini bullpen. His glare, fueled by the anger Holt’s message had sparked, was enough to send the young man scurrying. Once he was out the door, Chris closed it behind him.

  Jax collapsed into their chair. “Is it about Scotty? Is he okay?” They looked worn out and torn up, like they hadn’t slept for days, and yet the nightmares had still caught up to them.

  Remembering what Holt had said, Chris sat in the chair across from them and scrubbed the simmering anger from his voice. That ire was reserved for Tran, not Jax. “Hey, this wasn’t your fault.”

  “He’s a nice guy. I left… I didn’t think…” They picked up a pencil and began bouncing
the rubber end against the desk.

  “Tran did this, not you. That’s what Holt texted. That Tran was the one who sent him in.”

  His words seemed to make the guilt plaguing Jax worse, the pencil bouncing faster. “I think,” they said, “that Scotty actually did this.”

  Chris shot to the edge of his seat. “He what?”

  “We found a series of suspect cash transfers, but we need to be hooked directly into the Madigans’ system to access the most recent ones, which is the last piece we need to tie Rose to Brewster and the explosives… And to Isabella.”

  Fucking hell, now Scotty wanted to play cowboy?

  “I’m sorry,” Jax said. “I should have realized and stopped him.”

  “Listen to me, Jax. This isn’t your fault. He went in with his eyes open. That’s good.”

  “She could still kill him.”

  Chris reached out and laid a hand over theirs, stilling the pencil. “We’ll get him back. For now, we’re gonna have to trust Hawes, Helena, and Holt to keep him alive. You trust them, don’t you?”

  “I’d trust them with my life.”

  “Then trust them with Scotty’s.”

  They took a deep breath and laid down the pencil. “All right.”

  Before either of them could say anything more, Chris’s other phone buzzed with a Where are you? text from Kane. He tapped back an On my way as he stood and turned toward the door. “Let’s go fill them in and plan a rescue.”

  “Wait!” Jax said. They rounded the desk, a flash drive in hand. “This is everything we found about the night Isabella died, including the missing footage from the scene.” They held out the flash drive, and Chris took it warily, as if it might bite. And then they went and doubled the fun, holding out a second flash drive, this one with a sheet of paper folded around it. “And I think maybe this is the last piece of the story.”

  He recognized the slip of paper. On the outside, in Tran’s handwriting, was the name of Remy’s captain. Except, as he unfolded it from around the flash drive, he saw the writing on the inside too. I’m trusting you, Dante, in a different hand.