by Tate James
When I entered the right room, I found Zed crouched down on the floor having a conversation with the leader of the Death Squad, who sat against the wall.
No one else was in the room, though, and I arched a brow at Zed in question.
"One of Vega's boys thought he could mouth off," my second told me. "Serge and Malik are a couple doors down showing him the error of his ways while his buddies watch."
"Just kill them." Vega's voice was dull and hopeless. "We fucked up. We know the consequences for breaking the rules of neutral ground."
I propped my ass against a stack of boxes and looked down at him with disgust. "Pull yourself together, Vega. You're better than this. Someone set you up, and I want to work out who. Start from the beginning and don't leave out anything."
Vega drew a deep breath, his shoulders losing a bit of their slump as he started his story. There wasn't much to tell, either. Someone had hijacked his drug shipment at the hand-over point. The entire truck was taken, and the three Death Squad assigned to taking possession—including Vega's cousin, Tito—were gunned down.
"What led you to think it was the Reapers?" I asked when he paused for breath.
Vega winced. "One of my guys got an anonymous tip."
My brows shot up. "Are you fucking kidding me? You came here, to my club, and started a fight with a rival gang leader on the information of an anonymous tip?" Incredulous didn't even begin to describe where I was at.
He hung his head in disgrace. "I know. My only excuse is that I was blinded by rage and grief over Tito..."
I shot Zed a look, but he just shook his head and shrugged.
"Jesus Christ," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "Who got the tip?"
Vega grimaced. "Adrien."
"Your second?" I didn't know the man well; Vega was a lot like Cass in that he preferred to run things hands-on and not rely too heavily on his second. I'd met Adrien in passing but didn't have a good grasp of what sort of guy he was.
"He’s the smartass currently taking an ass-kicking from Serge," Zed added, and I straightened up with a nod.
I let myself out of the room and easily found the storeroom where one of my head security guards was beating the crap out of Vega's second.
"Boss," Malik acknowledged as I entered the room. His gun was drawn and pointed at one of the other guys, who looked like he was about three seconds away from doing something stupid.
"Serge," I said, interrupting the other guard before he delivered another blow to Adrien. "I have a question for your friend here."
"Yes, sir," he grunted, hauling Adrien up by the front of his shirt, and nodded for me to proceed.
I gave the bloody, semi-conscious guy a tight, cold smile. "Adrien. I understand you had a tip-off. Care to tell me who that call came from?" There was no need to elaborate more than that; he knew perfectly well what I was asking to know.
He knew, and he laughed.
The sound of my gun firing a bullet through his skull reverberated through the room, making a couple of guys cringe and cover their ears. I'd grown used to the noise, though, and the way the ringing in my ears fade in its own time.
"Shit, boss," Serge muttered, dropping the dead man to wipe his bloody hand on his pants. "Didn't feel like questioning him first?" It wasn't judgment, more amusement.
I scowled. "He didn't know anything more than I already know. The prick who orchestrated this is too fucking smart to give away anything useful to cannon fodder like him." I scanned the remaining Death Squad guys, then put my gun away. "Give these three a warning about breaking the rules of neutral ground, then send them on their way."
Without waiting for a response, I made my way back to the room where Zed was keeping Vega company.
"I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt here, Vega, and accept that your grief made you temporarily stupid as fuck." I paused, tapping my toe against the concrete floor as he peered up at me with sheer relief on his face. "But this can't go unpunished."
He nodded frantically. "Yes, of course. Absolutely. I deserve it. Hades, you have to understand I would never—"
"I do. That's why you're still alive, Vega. But you'll be taking one of my guys on as your new second. He's going to audit your whole crew and weed out any other turncoats. Clear?" He babbled understanding, and I kept talking over him. "You're also being taxed fifty percent for five months. Do you have anything else to tell me?"
He shook his head. "No, sir. No. I swear I'll make this up to you."
I stared down at him another moment, then gave a tight nod. "I know you will. Zed?" I tilted my head to my second, and he cracked his knuckles.
"Yes, sir," he replied with a slightly feral grin. He was just as bloodthirsty as me most days, and today I could tell he had some tension to work through.
I flicked another glance at Vega, then nodded to Zed. "Make it look good. We don't want Maurice getting ideas that I've gone soft."
Zed's lips kicked up, and Vega paled further. But he couldn't complain when he knew he would come out of it alive, and he knew he was going to have to take some damage for breaking my rules. Not just monetary, either. If he was leaving my property with his heart still beating, then he would damn well be wearing the visible consequences of his actions.
I wasn't sticking around for the show, though, and started back toward the stairs that would carry me above ground once more. A couple more Anarchy security guards passed me in the tight corridor, and I made it all of four steps past them before I paused, frowning.
"Hold up," I barked, spinning around to face the guards.
They stopped and turned around at my command, and I squinted at the guy on the left. He was in his late twenties or early thirties with a short, sandy-blond beard hiding his lower face, but his eyes flicked to the side nervously as I scrutinized him.
"What's your name?" I asked him, stepping closer. I tried to recognize all my employees by sight, but with almost two hundred just within the Timberwolves, it wasn't always possible. Add Copper Wolf staff to that number and the faces started to blur together a bit.
The other guy stammered out his own name, but I waved him off.
"Not you, Rixby; I know you. What's your name?" I addressed blondie again. "I haven't seen you around Anarchy before."
"Uh, Puck, ma'am. Adam Puck. I just started a couple days ago." He stammered, and his tongue nervously wet his lips.
Rixby cringed when Puck called me ma'am and took a deliberate step away from the other man like he wanted to physically show me that they were not friends.
I flashed him a knowing smile, then flicked my gaze back to the nervous blond guard.
"Hm, I see. Who hired you?" Because someone owed me some answers.
He licked his lips again. "Ah, Alexi himself. Ma'am."
I held his gaze, drawing a deep breath through my nose. "Rixby," I said, not taking my eyes off Puck for a second, "I'm going to need you to call Alexi in."
"Yes, sir," the other guard responded, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
Puck shot a nervous look at Rixby, then back to me. "Is there... is there a problem?"
I gave him a tight smile. "Yes, you could say that. But I'd really like to hear from my head of security directly as to why there's an undercover FBI agent in my employment. Do you happen to have the answer to that, Adam Puck?"
The blond liar blanched, then bolted. He shoved straight past me, sprinting toward the end of the corridor where the stairs would take him out to ground level. It was the only way out—that we'd found so far—so his only hope for escape.
Also a pointless effort because I had more than enough time to pull my gun and shoot him through the knee before he even came close to the stairs and freedom.
"Holy shit," Rixby breathed, his face a picture of shock. "I didn't expect that. How'd you know?"
I flicked a quick look at him as the imposter howled in pain further down the hallway. "That he was FBI? I've seen him before. The beard was new, but I recognized him from the team w
ho investigated last year when Archer's wedding got shot up. I didn't expect him to bolt, though. The FBI needs to train their operatives to grow a pair and stand their ground."
Rixby gaped at me in awe. "You're scary impressive sometimes, boss."
I scoffed a laugh. "Sometimes? I'm insulted." The screaming was dying down along the corridor, so I made my way closer. "Go grab Zed for me, Rixby. And tell Alexi to hurry the fuck up."
"Yes, sir," the young guard replied. "You need help here first?"
I shook my head as I reached Adam Puck's bleeding form. He was too quiet all of a sudden, and there was something about the way he was lying... He seemed to be trembling. Or convulsing.
"Shit," I breathed, using the toe of my stiletto to roll him over. Foam coated his mouth, bubbling over and dripping down his face as his eyes rolled back in his head. Motherfucker had just taken a poison pill.
Fury washed through me at the lost opportunity, and I let out a short scream of frustration and kicked the son of a bitch in the side. It didn't matter—he was already dead—but it helped me get a rein on my temper.
"Fucking fuck," I hissed, putting my gun away, then running my hand through my hair in agitation. Not only had an undercover agent made his way into my organization, but he'd been equipped with a cyanide capsule? I wasn't high profile enough of a target to warrant that level of planning... not from the FBI anyway.
But if Adam Puck—whoever the fuck he really was—had infiltrated my team as a double agent, who was to say he wasn't double-crossing the FBI too?
Ugh. What a goddamn mess.
27
Alexi was less than useful in working out how the fuck the FBI had wormed their way into our house. He showed us all the vetting paperwork done on "Adam Puck," and it’d been verified by Zed himself.
Trouble was, it was a forgery of Zed's signature. Luckily for me, one of my new Timberwolves, who I'd acquired as a favor to Archer a year ago, had come with a whole host of useful skills. Spotting a forged signature was one of those skills.
"It's damn close," Dallas murmured, increasing the image on his screen so much that it became a blur of pixels to my eye. "But no forgery is foolproof. This wasn't signed by Zed."
"Obviously," Zed growled from across the room. We were in my office at Copper Wolf headquarters, and Dallas was using my computer to review the signatures.
Dallas shrugged and closed the images down, then sat back in my chair. "I can't really give you much more than that. They used a standard blue-ink ballpoint, and they're-right handed. That's about it."
"That's plenty," I told him with a small smile. "I trust you'll keep this to yourself."
He jerked a nod. "Of course, sir. As always."
I indicated to the splotch of what I guessed might be baby snot on his black T-shirt. "I'll let you get home. I hope baby Maddox is behaving for you."
Dallas grimaced, but it was immediately followed by a fond smile. I got the impression he was the most doting father out there, even with his less-than-legal day job.
"He's going through a sleep regression now and only sleeps on Bree, so she's having a hard time. We'll get through it, though." He arched a lopsided smile at me, then nodded to Zed, who was trying to bandage his own split knuckles and doing a crappy job of it. "Need me to help with that?"
Zed just glared death at our resident hacker, and Dallas raised his hands defensively.
"Never mind then. I'll go." He hurried out of my office, and I crossed over to where Zed was sat with an open box of medical supplies. He'd made a hell of a mess of his knuckles on Vega's face, but it wasn't anything Zed wasn't used to.
"I can handle it," he snapped when I reached for the bandage he was fumbling.
I firmly took his hand in mine, pressing down on his split knuckles as I placed it in my lap. "I never said you couldn't," I replied, grabbing the bandage roll from the couch beside him and tearing open a fresh dressing.
Silently, I dressed his injuries, winding the bandage around the dressing patch to hold it in place on each hand then securing the ends.
"You always do it too loose," I told him with a teasing smirk.
He just glared at me, then gathered up all the wrappers and disposed of them in the trash basket under my desk.
"I do not," he muttered, returning to the sofa, then dropping onto it once more with a heavy sigh. "FBI, huh? Are you certain?"
I jerked a nod, sitting sideways to face him and leaning my head on the back of the sofa. We'd been up all night dealing with the drama at Anarchy, then spent all damn day in my office working through how this slipup had occurred in the first place. It was almost dusk again, and we both had heavy dark circles under our eyes.
"After that mess at Archer's wedding, remember the FBI sent in a couple of investigators to tick their fucking boxes because of public exposure?" I yawned, covering my mouth with my hand, then blinked sleepily at Zed. "I stopped by the church briefly to check on things while they were there. He wasn't one of the lead investigators, but I spotted him smoking beside their van. You know I never forget a face that might try to bite my ass later."
Zed huffed a short laugh, sliding down the sofa until his head rested on the back too. "True that. Wanna hear the information we got out of our good friend Detective Sambal?"
Fucking hell, I'd totally forgotten telling him to squeeze the local law enforcement. "I'm assuming if it was anything useful, you'd have told me already."
He grimaced. "You guessed it. He had no fucking clue who was pulling the strings now, only that they were paying in a currency we aren't willing to provide."
I sat up with a jerk. "No."
He nodded, yawning as he ran a hand over his face. "Unfortunately, yes. So, whoever is behind this isn't just flouting your rules about angel dust. They're also paying off the scum of SGPD with child pornography."
My stomach churned, and a shudder rippled through me. "We need to find this fucker, Zed. We need to end this. Soon."
"We will," he agreed. "He had the element of surprise, but we're on his trail now. No one gets the better of Hades, remember? You're a force to be fucking reckoned with."
I groaned, dropping my face into my hands. There was nothing to say back to that. Zed didn't want to hear my feelings of self-doubt or exhaustion. He wouldn't want to know how tired I was of being me.
He sat forward too, shifting on the sofa beside me, and swept my hair over one shoulder.
"Remind me again where we're going on vacation?" he joked, his bandaged hand cupping the back of my neck. His fingertips rubbed small, firm circles in my tense muscles there, and I exhaled heavily as I turned my face to look at him.
"Maybe when we're dead? I'll leave instructions in my will to be buried somewhere exotic." It was funny because it was probably closer to the truth than a joke.
Zed just rolled his eyes and continued rubbing my neck.
"That's probably not doing wonders for your split knuckles, idiot," I muttered, but leaned further into his touch, nonetheless.
He huffed a laugh. "Oh, sorry, want me to stop?" So damn sarcastic.
"Hell no," I groaned. In fact, I shifted around until I was lying down with my head in his lap, then yawned again. "Just get that knot at the base of my skull, then you're free to go."
"Yes, sir," he chuckled, digging his thumb into the tight spot in my neck.
Next thing I knew, I was waking up to sunlight filling my office. My cheek was resting on Zed's chest, his heartbeat slow and steady and his arm banded around my back.
I didn't immediately get up—I couldn't explain why—instead just lay there for some time, listening to his deep breaths and soaking in the way my whole body had totally relaxed, like that small massage he'd given my neck had alleviated years of tension from my limbs.
He stirred a few minutes later, his fingers flexing against my back as he woke slowly. Then he must have realized where we were—how we were sleeping all snuggled together—and his whole body stiffened up.
Wanting to spare us t
he awkwardness of the situation, I yawned dramatically and sat up. Zed's hand seemed reluctant to release my waist as I did so, but maybe that was just him still waking up.
"Yeah, uh, I think we both needed that," I told him with a small laugh. My hair must be all over the damn place because when he sat up, he reached out and combed his fingers through it with a slight smile.
"We did," he murmured, his voice thick from sleep.
Something about the way he looked at me, though, gave me the impression he was talking about more than our over twelve-hour nap on my office couch.
Weird.
Wrinkling my nose, I stood and smoothed my skirt down as well as possible. My shoes had been kicked off at some point, so I slipped my feet into them and headed for the mirror beside my bookshelf.
"Fucking hell, that's a good look." I wiped a finger under my eyes to try and clear some of the black smudges of mascara, then gave up. Stupid waterproof makeup.
Zed just grinned, standing up and stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. Dammit. Seph had definitely gotten into my head because I found my gaze automatically drawn to that strip of skin above his jeans when his shirt rode up.
"Boss, did you just check me out?" Zed asked, and I jerked like I'd been electrocuted.
"What? No." I cringed inwardly but kept my face smooth. "I should get home and let Seph know I'm still alive." I grabbed my gun and holster from where I'd left them on my desk the night before and shrugged it on.
Zed did the same with his weapons, which he'd left on the lamp table beside the couch, then grimaced as he flexed his fingers. "Fucking Vega has a hard face, I'll give him that. Come on, I'll buy you breakfast; Seph will already be at school."
I started to decline, but my stomach rumbled loud enough to raise the dead and I grimaced. "Yeah, good call. I'm not eating that health food bullshit though; take me somewhere that serves bacon and coffee."
He just laughed at me, shaking his head, then packed up the first aid kit that we'd left out on the coffee table and put it back on my shelf where it lived.