"You... you don't seem angry," I said, swallowing hard.
"You're in my business, you find that anger ain't worth the time and energy it takes. If you expect everyone to fuck you over eventually, life is easier. You just gotta hope they hold off until after your plans are finalized."
"Is that why you're here?" I asked, feeling my heartbeat stutter. "Because your plans are finalized?"
God, what kind of plans did he have?
Were my loved ones going to be involved in some way?
Were we never going to be safe from the cartel?
"Something like that. Isn't that right, Val?" he asked, petting behind the puppy's ear.
"Val," I repeated. "The folder said Jean."
"Yeah, named him after Jean Valjean. You know... Les Mis?" he added.
I felt like my brain was short-circuiting or something. Because I couldn't seem to make all his words fit together and make sense in my head.
I mean what scary cartel leader named his dog after a character in a nineteenth century French novel?
"What?" A asked, giving me a knowing smirk. "Just because I'm a bad guy, I can't pick up a book?" he asked. "That's a little prejudiced of you, lil' mama."
"I, um, I'm having a hard time thinking straight right now," I admitted.
"See, I told you your ugly fucking face was gonna scare her," A said, teasing Marco, who was a good sport, only and only let out a snort.
"I just... why are you here? If you're not mad at me?"
"Can't a man get his puppy in for his rabies shot without having an ulterior motive?" A asked, shrugging, but I had a feeling he was deflecting. I just didn't understand why. Was he trying to distract me? Buy time for his men to be able to carry some wicked plan out before I could warn them?
"I, ah, of course," I agreed. Normally, the techs did the vaccinations, but we had one call out, so I'd brought the vaccine in with the chart.
"So how is Val doing?" I asked, moving closer to the table even if every instinct was telling me to stay the hell away from A.
"He's good. Good. Settling in nice with the rest of the pack."
"How many do you have?" I asked, checking Val's teeth, running my hands along his body, giving him some scratches when I got to his belly.
"Ten."
"You have ten dogs?" I asked, looking over at him. It wasn't uncommon these days to see families with three to five. Especially among the younger population since they were deciding not to have kids, so they doubled down on dogs, but I don't think I had any patients who had ten dogs unless they were breeders.
"Well, they all have jobs," he added, giving me a long look. It didn't take too much deducing to figure out what a pack of ten dogs might be used for. Protection.
I remembered my aunt who runs the paramilitary camp saying that time after time, when criminals were asked the biggest factor in deciding to break into a house or not was whether or not they had a big dog. Since security signs were often bullshit, and people forgot to set them, and most locks were laughably easy to get into. Even deadbolts. But a dog? A big dog snarling at you when you came up to the door? That was a big enough deterrent to decide to head to the next house.
Judging by Val's fat feet, he was going to be a pretty big guy.
And if A had ten of those pretty big guys, yeah, I could see them being a pretty good first line of defense in protecting whatever sort of criminal empire he had going.
If they didn't work, there were always the guns.
"Do they need to come in for vaccinations?" I asked, pretending like I was just asking casual questions as I checked Val's teeth, but the words of the Henchmen were playing in my head over and over.
They hadn't thought I'd heard them, of course. But I had. And the comments stung.
About how I wasn't "one of them."
How I wasn't someone who thought to gather whatever information they could in whatever situation they found themselves in. No matter how scared they were.
I didn't want to be a biker.
I didn't even want to be cynical enough to view every new person in town like a possible bad guy, some threat to the club that my loved ones had fought so hard to keep going.
But that said, I did want them to know I could handle their life. Namely, I wanted Niro to think that. I liked that he saw me as sweet and soft because I liked being those things. Still, he needed to know that I could act when I needed to, that I could think past my fear, that I could bring them all useful information if I found myself in another dangerous situation.
"They got vaccinated back in our old town," A supplied, smoothly catching the chart as I nearly knocked it off the table. I wasn't sure if having lightning-fast reflexes was something the Henchmen would want to know about, but I noted it regardless. Along with the tattoos and scars I had somehow missed the last time.
There was a bold "AC" tattooed over the top of one of his hands, a skull on the other.
And there was a ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Silver or white gold with a rectangular top encrusted in diamonds with one ruby teardrop in the center.
Again, maybe it was nothing, just an eccentric taste in jewelry, but it could have meant something too.
So in case I got to walk away from this, it was all information I could share with the Henchmen.
Maybe it wouldn't lead anywhere, but at least they would know I tried, that I had kept my cool and been aware enough to try to get some information back to them.
"If you want, we can contact the old vet and have the records sent over. If you plan on bringing the whole pack here for their care," I added, squeezing the puppy's rump skin playfully a few times before injecting his rabies shot, getting only a small whimper.
"Maybe. We'll see how it all shakes out, Doc," A said, shrugging.
"Can I give him a treat?" I asked, reaching for the glass jar.
"Sure."
"Are you, ah, liking Navesink Bank?" I asked, breaking up the chewy treat for Val.
"I'm thinking it will do," he agreed, confirming my fears.
There had been some whisperings about the cartel just passing through, just taking out local competition, but maybe settling somewhere else in New Jersey.
For some reason, I hadn't ever bought into the theory.
And A was confirming it.
That couldn't mean anything good, right?
I mean, they'd shot one of the Vultures.
They'd kidnapped me.
They'd shot other men that day too.
Three different organizations impacted by one move they made.
What could that mean for the future?
"There are some really nice areas around here too," I told him, getting the puppy another treat. Stalling. "I actually really liked it in New York State too."
"You hear this, Marco?" A asked, tsking his tongue. "Sounds like lil' mama don't want us in this nice little town of hers."
"I didn't say that!" I insisted, voice squeaky. "I just... there are a lot of people here. A lot of established, um, businesses. It seems strange to want to stay here."
"Way I hear it, things have been quiet around here as of late," A said.
"If you call kidnapping and torture and shootouts and more kidnappings quiet, I guess," I agreed, shrugging.
"From where I'm from, lil' mama, that's a quiet Tuesday night," he told me, voice low, a little colder, darker than I'd heard it before. But it was gone as soon as it started as a big grin broke across his face. "What's not to love about Navesink Bank? Close to the beach, to the city, got all kinds of restaurants and bars. Lots of locals to get to know. And if they don't like us here, lil' mama, we will just have to deal with that, won't we?" he asked, that coldness slipping into his voice again. "So, we good?" he asked, reaching to grab Val.
"I, ah, yeah, we're good. He would need to come in about three months from now to be neutered."
"In my world, Doc, we only chop off balls to get a point across," he told me, tucking the puppy under his arm, giving Marco a nod, then movi
ng toward the door. "You and me, lil' mama," he said, turning back in the doorway. "We're good. For now. Don't make me regret going easy on you, yeah?" he told me.
And just like that, he was walking down the hallway toward the front desk.
"Andi, we were going to..." Finn started, coming in from the back door, getting one good look at me, even through his hungover-heavy eyes, and cursing under his breath. "Get back in the room. I'll get Pagan."
I didn't need to be told twice.
So I got back in my room, shut, and locked the door.
Then waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"Andi," Niro's voice said, soft, reassuring.
I practically flew at the door, fumbling with the lock, pulling it open.
"He has tattoos. And this distinctive ring. And he seems like he's staying in Navesink Bank. Oh, and he has ten dogs. And—"
"Alright," Niro said, holding up a hand. "Okay. We will get to that. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"
"I'm fine. He, ah, he just kind of said we are good now, but not to make him regret his decision."
"Okay," Niro said, grabbing me, pulling me close, then tucking me under his arm. "I want to know how the fuck they got in."
"With an appointment," Pagan said, sighing. "We checked the schedule for the next two weeks before we let her come back here. This bastard had a standing appointment from five days ago."
"A flag didn't go up?"
"He put his name down as Aaron Smith," Pagan said, scoffing.
"And when he showed up looking like the bastard we were looking for?" Fallon asked, appearing out of nowhere.
"Are we supposed to profile every Latin man in the town?" Finn asked, not shrinking down in the face of his brother's disapproval. "Should we go question Antonio at the taco truck while we're at it? Donny at the garage?"
"It's fine," I insisted. "I'm fine. And he just wanted to talk."
"He wanted to prove that he can get to any of our loved ones or us whenever he wants to," Fallon corrected.
"Except now we know more about him," Finn insisted. "We even have him on the cameras.
"And Andi has some information to share," Niro added, giving me a squeeze.
"Yeah?" Fallon asked, looking over at me with a condescending sort of arrogance that made it seem like he didn't believe I had anything of worth to share. "Like what?" he asked as the door opened and more of the OG Henchmen made their way in.
"I think the hand tattoo was significant. I mean, who gets letters on their hand if it doesn't stand for something, right?" I asked.
"What'd he have?" Adler, one of the older guys, asked. He'd been someone who floated around a lot before deciding to "retire" into something "low-key" like an outlaw biker club.
"It was an A and a C."
"In that order," Adler clarified.
"Yes. And if it helps at all, they looked like this," I said, grabbing a folder and a pen, scribbling. I was no artist, but I got the basics right. "In black," I added.
"What? Look familiar?" Fallon asked Adler.
"I'll have to confirm it with the experts up at Hailstorm, but this looks like the Alcazar Cartel," he explained.
"What level of worried should we be?" Fallon asked.
"The Alcazar Cartel used to be part of the Soto Cartel. They were a big player back when you were getting the first stirrings in yer boxers," Adler added, noting Fallon's confusion. "They were out in the Southwest and into Mexico."
"Heroin?"
"Yeah. But the Sotos were disorganized as fuck. Four brothers as the lieutenants who were always puffing chests to see who would be the next Drug Lord. Meanwhile no one could seem to get control over the hitmen, so they were killing for the fuck of it."
"Who might A be then?" I asked, finding myself more fascinated than I should have. But, well, I'd grown up in a town with bikers and paramilitary and the mafia and loan sharks, so I knew about how all those organizations ran, but cartels were new for me.
"Alcazar, obviously," Adler said. "Last I heard about the Sotos, one of their Falcons, that's the lowest member in the hierarchy," he explained when everyone drew a blank. "They're the eyes and ears of the cartel. Anyway, one of 'em got sick of the shite, and rose up, took all their arses out. He took the money, some of his street buddies, and started his own organization."
"So, back to the how concerned we should be question," Fallon said.
"Depends on what he wants," Adler said. "He's a vicious bastard. He won't let anyone get in his way. But if all he wants is the H trade in the area, and we don't get in his way, seems like he will let us do our thing while he does his," he said, waving toward me. "She wouldn't be alive if he was looking to make a move."
"Alright. Let's get everyone back to the clubhouse," Fallon said, making a circling motion in the air.
"I have patients," I reminded him, wondering where they'd relocated the ones who must have already been in the waiting room.
"This is more important," Fallon said, shrugging.
"My career is important too."
"You're really going to be stubborn about this? After he got in here?"
"Yes, I'm really going to be stubborn about this," I told him, my chin inching up even if my insides felt like they were shaking. I'd never been any good at confrontation, at standing up for myself. I don't know what had gotten into me, but I had a sneaking suspicion it had something to do with the man standing at my side like a sentry.
"Fine," Fallon said, waving at Niro. "You stay. And Adler. Pagan. Finn, come back with me," he demanded of a brother who clearly didn't want to be ordered around, but fell into step behind his brother anyway.
"I didn't mean to inconvenience everyone," I insisted when they were gone.
"Rather be here than anywhere else," Niro insisted.
"And I get to spend my day making pussy jokes," Adler decided, giving me a wicked smirk. "I'm happy with that."
So I went ahead and went back to work, barely able to contain my amusement when Niro came back into an exam room while I looked over an elderly cat, wearing a pair of the light green scrubs the techs all wore. It was meant for our male tech—a guy about four inches shorter and fifty pounds smaller than Niro, making his top stretch so tight over his chest that I was sure if he so much as flexed a single pectoral muscle, the thing would tear like some cheesy pro wrestler's when he got in the ring. And the pants? It looked like he was expecting a flood at any moment.
"You look ridiculous," I declared when the patient left the room.
"You're just jealous because that lady was eye-banging me," he declared, lips twitching.
"She was eighty-three years old," I told him, laughing. "And here with her high school sweetheart that she's been married to for sixty-two years."
"Regardless, her eyes were on my cock the whole time," he told me, making my gaze move in that direction.
"Oh," I said when I realized you could pretty much make out the whole shape of him.
"Hey, baby?" he called, voice rumbling, but teasing at the same time. "Any chance you're going to stop staring at my cock? Because if you keep looking, I'm going to be testing the stitching on these pants. And I don't think they're going to hold," he added, making my gaze slip upward, finding a mix of amusement and desire in his eyes.
"Well, if you are going to walk around like that, what do you expect?" I teased.
"Are you slut-shaming me?" he shot back. "Because I might be okay with that," he decided.
"Stop looking at me like that," I demanded when his smile went far too wicked for both our good.
"Can't help it."
"I'm a mess," I told him, waving at my blue scrubs that I'd managed to spill my tea on three times, a fact I was actively trying to hide with an enamel pin I'd been gifted from my Uncle Cyrus for my last birthday that said It's all fun and games until someone ends up in a cone with a picture of a beagle in an Elizabethan collar. It wasn't quite big enough to cover the stain but I was not going to wear the other one he'd
gotten me that had a dog scooting and said Sorry I am dragging ass today.
I hadn't bothered with a stitch of makeup, and my hair was in a messy knot on the top of my head because I found puppies liked to try to tug it, cats liked to bat it, and on the rare occasion we had a bird in the office, they liked to preen it.
"You're beautiful," he countered, coming closer, sliding his hands around my back, slipping them down to squeeze my butt. I'd learned that, apparently, Niro was an ass man. Which was not something I ever had reason to know about him before. But he was constantly grabbing and smacking mine whenever he got a chance.
"You need to stop," I told him, pressing a hand to his chest, but making no actual attempt to push him away.
"Do I?" he asked, leaning down to press his lips into the side of my neck. "Looks like we have a closed door, and a room all to ourselves."
"There is a full office out there," I reminded him. "Including Adler. And your father."
"Guess you'll have to be real quiet then, huh?" he asked, smiling against my neck as his fingers slipped from my butt and between my thighs.
"There are patients."
"Not for another twenty minutes. How many times do you think I can make you come by then?" he asked.
It was pointless to pretend I was going to put up any kind of fight, regardless of the unprofessionalism, or the fact that people who had watched me grow up were stationed around to keep me out of harm's way.
I had nothing even resembling resistance when it came to Niro.
He reached out, locking the door, then turned me, pushing me up against the storage cabinet, lips claiming mine.
There was no time for soft and sweet.
His hands were as hungry, as demanding as his lips, reaching up under my top, finding my nipple, and rolling it to a tight point as his tongue moved over mine, dragging a quiet moan out of me, making Niro still, his mouth and hands immediately stopping.
"Every time you make a noise, I'm going to stop," he told me, as he pulled back, eyes dancing at the idea. We were both acutely aware that I was not anything resembling quiet when he was touching me. His hand often closed over my mouth, or he pushed my face into the pillows, the mattress, trying to muffle me as I came.
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