Conquering Oz (Reign of the Underground #3)

Chapter One

Hands down without a doubt…

“Guilty!” Elodie Martin said in unison with her best friend sitting beside her. They’d been huddled on the couch, completely engrossed in a true crime documentary for the last two hours. It had become their Friday night ritual, especially when Madalyn’s husband was working. Long gone were the days of bars, clubs, and stumbling into the house at sunrise. Hello, forty!

“Remember just breaking up with someone when you no longer wanted to date them?” Madalyn chuckled and shook her head.

“Ah, the good old days.” Elodie smirked at her friend. “I keep waiting for someone from high school to show up on my television.”

Madalyn laughed. “Crissy Olsen better hope they never need character witnesses. She was a stuck-up bitch.”

How was it possible her friend couldn’t recall what she ate for dinner last night, but she’d never forgotten her high school archnemesis? Elodie snickered. It makes sense. I remember mine.

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be asked to speak on her behalf, Madz.”

“True, but I’d volunteer.” Madalyn leaned forward and grabbed the remote. “Do you have time for another one?”

Elodie would’ve loved nothing more than hanging out a bit longer with her friend. Madalyn’s home had been a sanctuary while Elodie’s small apartment had become a prison of sorts in the last few months. Because of her many financial troubles, she was no longer able to afford the storage unit that had housed her late mother’s belongings. They’d now taken up residency in her living room. A daily reminder of what she’d lost.

Two years and it still hadn’t gotten much easier. It was hard to lose someone she’d known her whole life. Elodie had been especially close with her mom. And secrets had a way of binding people. Elodie barely left the house for the first year after her mother’s passing. It was a dark time. Watching murder mysteries probably wasn’t the best way to heal. But it gave her a much-needed distraction.

“Elle?”

Elodie straightened and forced a smile. “I’m opening tomorrow.”

Madalyn tossed the bag of corn chips on the table and sunk into the couch, eyeing the credits.

“It’s ten thirty on a Friday night. You have to leave, and I’m ready for bed. We’re so freakin’ old.” Madalyn sighed, resting her clasped hands over her belly. Elodie couldn’t help but smile. Not at her friend’s comment, which unfortunately was factual. Elodie’s joy came from where Madalyn’s hand laid. Her best friend had wanted this and waited a long time for it. You’re gonna make an amazing mom.

The idea of Madalyn becoming a mother was bittersweet. She’d talked about getting married and starting a family since they’d been in college. But she hadn’t had the greatest taste in the opposite sex. Madalyn had just about given up and sworn off men when a chance encounter at a small café led her to the man of her dreams. He was handsome, strong and smart. His serious nature complimented Madalyn’s dramatic, hilarious way of looking at life. They were polar opposites, yet somehow they were perfect together.

“Remember when we used to party in that abandoned warehouse? Or the concerts we would sneak into at the club? Why don’t we do stuff like that anymore?” Madalyn asked.

Elodie chuckled. The older they both got and were thrust into true adulthood, the more they reminisced about the past. Little responsibility paired with lots of fun and freedom. Good times.

“Because we’re not sixteen. We don’t have curfews, so the allure and rush of getting caught isn’t there. And unlike back then, we could actually get arrested for the shit we did as teenagers.”

Madalyn side-eyed her with a small smile playing on her lips. “You would definitely be somebody’s bitch in jail.”

Elodie scoffed, though there might have been an underlying truth in her statement. Elodie was a lover, not a fighter.

Madalyn scooted to the corner of the couch with her toes peeking from the edge of the blanket. “I’m serious, though. We used to go out for drinks, dinner, movies, parties. We were so much fun.” Madalyn glanced around the room, sneering. “Now, look at us. The highlight of our Friday night is deciding if an accused murderer is guilty. Which he is, but we should be out, getting dressed up, and hitting downtown.” Madalyn gasped and straightened. “Do you remember that time, I think our junior year, my sister and her friend loaned us their IDs, and we got into the club on Dolan Street, right off Main?” Madalyn’s face lit up. “That night was epic. Do you remember?”

Oh, I remember.

“How could I forget? You threw up on my new shoes in the bathroom.” Elle twisted her lips in disgust. The memory heightened her senses, and she could almost smell a faint whiff of vomit in the air. If that night hadn’t solidified her friendship with Madalyn, nothing would.

“Yeah, but up until that point” —Madalyn cocked her brow, and her lips twitched— “it was great.”

Elodie snickered, grabbing her glass of wine and finishing it off. Madalyn wasn’t lying. For years, they’d had lots of fun. Their friendship spanned over three decades. From Elodie’s first day of third grade at her new school, they’d been inseparable. It was strange how that had happened. By nine, most young friendships had built a few years of shared history. Cliques were formed, not usually open to outsiders. Madalyn was different. She’d welcomed Elodie into the fold at a time when she’d needed it the most. Their fates were sealed. Best friends until the end.

Elodie checked the time on her phone. 10:42pm.

“I really have to get going. What time is Chris coming home?”

“Midnight.” Madalyn yawned and covered her mouth. “I’m going to wait up for him.”

By the looks of it, Madalyn would be passed out on the couch before Elodie backed her car out of the driveway. Still, she had no doubt her friend would try. Elodie battened down her own yawn. If Madalyn caught sight of it, she’d spend the next ten minutes trying to convince her to sleep over.

Elodie’s home was only about fifteen minutes away on the other side of Lawry. Thankfully, she lived in the tiny apartment above the boutique she owned. It wasn’t glamorous. But it certainly made showing up for work on time an easy task during the past three years.

“Want to come by tomorrow night? Chris’s working a double.”

Elodie widened her eyes. “Again?”

Her friend’s husband was a local police officer with the Lawry PD.

Madalyn shrugged, placing her hand over her belly. “He refuses to pass up the overtime. He wants to be home as much as he can once the baby is born.” Madalyn sighed. “What do you say? Tomorrow?”

Yes! Unfortunately, Elodie had already committed to a previous engagement. To honor me—yay.

“Can’t.” Elodie sighed. “I’m going to my surprise birthday celebration. The girls arranged it.”

The girls. Not hers. Well, not really. They worked for Elodie at the boutique. Other than taking them all out for a few dinners, and listening and offering advice during working hours, they weren’t necessarily friends. Aside from the obvious, being their boss, there was a significant age gap. Saylor, Isla, and Emma were all in their early to mid-twenties. They were worlds away from Elodie, who would be celebrating her fortieth.

Madalyn snorted. “Is it really a surprise if you know about it?”

“ They all think it’s a surprise, so I’m going along with it.”

Elodie could’ve sailed past forty without any fanfare. She would’ve loved nothing more than to skip her special day and just work, get take-out, binge watch a new crime series, and pass out on the couch after one too many glasses of wine. She muffled her moan and tried to hide her disappointment of actually being forced to celebrate.

Madalyn’s right, I am old.

“What are you doing?” Madalyn asked.

Elodie pressed her lips together, and her shoulders sagged. “Dinner and dancing.”

She waited for her best friend’s response, and Madalyn didn’t disappoint. Her brows shot up to her hairline, and her jaw dropped. “You hate dancing.”

“Yes, I do.” The bane of my existence.

Elodie had an adventurous spirit and would try most things at least once. But dancing was her least favorite activity. Occasionally, she’d given in to a slow dance at a wedding, if heavily guilted. Being on display in the middle of the dance floor with her less than stellar moves and awkward rhythm was not her idea of fun.

“But I love the girls.” Elodie pushed up from the couch and stretched her arms. “Which is why I’m allowing them to” —She raised her hands and gestured in air quotes— “‘ surprise me’ with a birthday celebration. They went through a lot to plan it.” Elodie smirked. “And I know this because none of them know how to whisper or sneakily make arrangements out of earshot.”

Saylor, Emma, and Isla had all been with her for about three years. They were hired around the same time and became fast friends. Elodie’d had a few workers in the past come and go, but these three were solid and loyal. They loved the store almost as much as she did. It was just more added pressure with the boutique in financial turmoil. They relied on their income. Sure, they’d find other employment, but Elodie felt a certain responsibility for them. Losing the store wouldn’t affect only her, and the thought of letting the girls down gnawed at her soul.

“Are you going to dance too? After all, they put a lot of effort into this, like you said. You owe them,” Madalyn teased. “Make sure one of them takes a video.”

Elodie knitted her brows and immediately shook head. “I’ll be the one who stays at the table and watches the drinks. Leave the dance floor to the twenty-four-year-olds.”

“At least you’ll have Charley. Something tells me she’s not a dancer either.”

While Elodie loved all her employees, she had a soft spot for Charley. The polar opposite of the other girls and a few years older. If painfully shy and timid was a category in a beauty pageant, Charley would reign as queen.

“Unfortunately, I overheard Saylor mention Charley couldn’t make it.” Elodie grabbed her pocketbook from the corner chair and rounded the back of the couch, leaning down to hug Madalyn. “If not for that overprotective husband of yours, you’d be coming with me.”

Elodie straightened and caught Madalyn rolling her eyes. “Marry an officer, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. I love Chris with all my heart, and he’s sexy as hell, but I swear he’s captain of the fun police.” Madalyn dramatically waved her hands over her head. “Ridding good times at every corner.”

Elodie muffled her laugh. The last thing she’d do was encourage Madalyn’s frustration with her husband. Usually, she was Team Madalyn. She liked Chris, but they were different types of people. He was very serious, and as Madalyn pointed out, extremely overprotective of her. He was especially stern when it came to Madalyn’s pregnancy. With good reason. At forty, Madalyn was considered high risk.

“He wants to make sure you and the baby are safe.” Elodie cocked her brow. “That makes him a really great husband and future dad.”

As much as Chris wasn’t exactly her cup of tea, he was a great guy. What he lacked in silly fun and spontaneity, he made up for with his devotion and love for Madalyn, and his concern, which extended to Elodie. They were a package deal and Chris accepted that wholeheartedly.

“I know.” Madalyn’s whiny tone and slumped shoulders were almost comical. “Did I tell you he’s cutting me off from sex?”

What? While the claim sounded ludicrous, she wasn’t exactly shocked. With Madalyn being high risk, of course there would be qualms. Elodie widened her eyes and flattened her lips, trying to hold back her laugh.

“Yeah, he’s worried about the baby and my discomfort. Do you know how frustrating it is to have a man as gorgeous as Chris and not be able to bang him?” Elodie held it together until Madalyn’s brows furrowed and her lower lip curved into a pout. “And I’m horny!”

Elodie burst out laughing, earning her a sharp glare from her best friend.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am.” Elodie grabbed her friend’s shoulder with a comforting squeeze. “And I’m sure as soon as you have the baby, he’ll start banging you again. Three months really isn’t that long.”

Madalyn scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Says the woman who’s getting laid regularly. How is the eighteen-year-old, by the way?”

Bitch!

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” Elodie squinted, shaking her head. “For the record, he’s twenty-four, not eighteen. And trust me, if I could go back in time, that night would look a lot different.”

Elodie had engaged in a few longer relationships in the past. She’d even lived with a boyfriend for a short while. However, none of her relationships had staying power. Once her mom got sick, she’d abandoned the idea of dating. She’d had too much on her plate taking care of her mother. After her passing, dating was the last thing on Elodie’s mind. The prospect of getting close to anyone was daunting.

In the last two years, she’d had a change of heart. Sort of. She wasn’t interested in a commitment, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t date and have fun. She kept everything casual.

“Why? Elle, you’re in your slut era. Embrace it,” Madalyn teased.

While Elodie wouldn’t have referred to it by that term, it wasn’t far from the truth. She hadn’t slept with every man she’d dated, but she’d indulged when it felt right. Some choices had been better than others. And some she regretted. Twenty-four-year-old Dalton was on the top of that list.

It was time to shut down this conversation. Elodie leaned down, kissed Madalyn on the cheek, and straightened.

“I’m out.”

“Drive safe,” Madalyn said.

Elodie was halfway across the room.

“Wait, I almost forgot.”

Elodie spun around to see Madalyn pushing up from the couch. Every instinct had her wanting to rush over and help, but she was met with a warning scowl. Elodie stayed rooted in her spot and held up her hands. Madalyn walked over to the table and pulled out a notebook, ripping a few sheets out.

“I asked Chris about that guy.”

Who? “What guy?”

Madalyn widened her eyes. “The mafia one.”

Oh, that guy . Elodie’s chest tightened, and her heart rate spiked, but she steeled her features. She’d casually mentioned it to her friend in hopes Madalyn would ask her husband. Elodie sold it as a local lore of an organized crime boss. Elodie didn’t know if any of it rang true. She’d done research on the man in question but hadn’t come up with anything concrete to prove her suspicions. After all, the idea of an actual mafia in Lawry seemed outlandish. It sounded more like a plot in a movie than a factual possibility.

But the memory doesn’t lie. If she hadn’t seen him with her own eyes, Elodie might not have bought into it. But she had, and had been given a formal introduction, confirming his identity. They had history. A painful one. I know what I saw.

Elodie brushed her hand through her hair, trying not to seem too eager for the information. “Did you tell Chris that I was asking?”

Keeping secrets from Madalyn wasn’t something Elodie usually did. But it was more than a secret. It was a pact formed years ago with the one person she’d vowed never to betray—her mom.

Madalyn stilled, glancing over her shoulder. “You told me not to. We were watching some gangster movie, so it was perfect timing. He didn’t give up much, but I jotted down everything he said. You know this guy’s like eighty, right?”

I know. Unbeknownst to her friend, Elodie had started her research on this man months ago and knew a lot more than she’d shared with Madalyn. It was mostly basic information she’d found on the internet. It wasn’t enough. She’d recruited Madalyn to slyly interrogate her husband. Being a police officer with the Lawry police department, he’d have insider information only privy to the authorities. Not that she’d thought he’d share, but Madalyn could be persuasive.

Madalyn offered her the three lined sheets. For a small amount of information, Madalyn was providing a lot.

“You took actual notes?”

Madalyn snorted. “I’m house-bound, Elle. I’ve got nothing else going on.”

The corner of her mouth curved as her eyes scanned the paper. One step closer. Elodie shoved the papers in her bag and hugged her friend again.

“Gotta run. Talk to you tomorrow.” Elodie opened the door and walked out. Madalyn followed but remained on the porch. Elodie had just unlocked her car in the driveway when Madalyn called her name.

“Elle?”

She peered over her shoulder.

Madalyn folded her arms and leaned against the porch railing. “You know what I found odd about this guy? For everything he was accused of, he never saw the inside of a courtroom. Charges were always dropped for insufficient evidence.” Madalyn chuckled, shaking her head. “Either this guy has the worst luck on the planet, or he’s that good at making shit go away.”

A shiver shot up Elodie’s spine, and her heart pounded as she stared back at her friend.

Sal Caruso is that good.

****

Bloody death had a very distinctive scent, coppery and pungent. For most people, it tickled the nose and forced the throat to constrict and spasm, usually bringing up whatever was in the stomach. It was a reflexive response to the odor and taste, combined with the scene. This would be someone’s worst nightmare. The kind of visual that would haunt them for the remainder of their lives.

For Lorenzo “Oz” Scavo, it was just another night in the Underground. He’d been in this life for so long, he was rarely fazed by anything. Not the blood, the death, and certainly not a man begging for mercy. Every action came with a consequence. A lesson these men were learning in real time.

Oz circled the room, glancing over at the lifeless bodies. Two men were sprawled out on the ground, another slouched against the wall, eyes wide open. There were gaping holes in all their heads and thick blood pooling and spreading across the concrete in the abandoned building. Most people witnessing the display would be shuddering, forced to look away only seconds before they were hunched over, vomiting.

Not Oz.

He had acquired an immunity decades earlier. It was a pretty simple technique. Mind over matter. A strong enough person would use their brain against their senses instead of using it in conjunction. Oz glanced across the darkened room at his men. Loyal, lethal, and honorable in their own right. Oz had personally selected each man. The strongest, the elite in the Underground. It was imperative they were the best of the best. Oz didn’t tolerate anything less.

Seven members of security lined the perimeter of the room. Their expressions mirrored his own. Emotionless. They’d been trained well.

Oz shifted his gaze to the center of the room. The last man standing. Or in his case, kneeling. He was bleeding from so many sites it was hard to see his actual wounds. His hands were clasped, resting on his thighs, though he wasn’t cuffed or bound. Praying, maybe? Oz scoffed at the thought. God doesn’t hear men like you. It always fascinated him how the people he dealt with, murderers, thieves, dealers, and the lowest of the lows deemed by society, were so quick to give penance when their own lives were at stake. It was a cowardly, desperate move and one Oz wouldn’t practice when it was his time. He’d take whatever was dealt, knowing he’d deserve it. He would never deny the demons and devil inside him. I’m not a good man.

Oz eyed the product lined up against the wall. A vast aggregation of drugs. Thousands of dollars in transport. His men had unloaded the shipment to the abandoned warehouse. It was as if they’d put it on display, showcasing the men’s grave mistake. It was a nice touch and one Oz respected. It was almost poetic, possibly symbolic. This was what they were dying for. Was it worth it?

The Underground had strict rules that everyone was expected to abide by. There weren’t exceptions for any associates. The Underground didn’t play favorites, allow concessions, or show mercy. It was how it’d always been, even long before Oz took over as king. Their rules were meant to be followed. Anyone willing to veer off course was met with consequences and a singular punishment.

Oz circled the room, shifting his eyes between the product and the man centered on the floor.

Drugs, guns, and ammunition were considered high-risk transfers for every state and every dealer. It was the reason, as a courtesy, everyone running a state should have knowledge of what was being transported. Even if it wasn’t directly tied to Oz. If they’d gotten pulled over and checked, the authorities would know there was a transport line through his state. It meant the Underground would hit the police’s radar, and then they’d be watching. That would’ve hindered Oz’s business and put them all in jeopardy. Unacceptable.

As it stood, Oz wouldn’t have given permission had he been asked. These men weren’t trained well enough for him to take the risk. Even if they had been, it was customary to be compensated for allowing the passage. Oz had not been. Everything about this transport had screamed inexperienced, indulgent, and most importantly, disrespectful. This was not how the Underground operated.

They were a well-organized illegal enterprise. There were rules, protocol, and expectations with little room for error. And you fucked-up.

Ridge and Cyrus, two members of his direct security, stood across the room near the door. All the security worked under Oz, but he had hand selected a few men to work exclusively for him. They’d been vetted and showed their loyalty and commitment to the Underground. And they’d come highly recommended. Cam’s crew. There were very few people Oz had taken under advisement. It made sense since he only trusted a select few. But her? Camille had been spot on. Aside from Nash, they were the closest to him on the team, along with Caine serving as lead. They’d all been in the Underground most of their adult life and came to Oz indebted for different reasons. Solid, trustworthy, and deadly warriors committed to the Underground. And Oz.

Oz stopped in front of the man. His head was bowed, and his clothes were drenched in his own blood. He’d taken quite the beating. Deservedly. Oz lifted his chin, and Ridge stepped closer, sidling up beside him and lowering his voice.

“We searched the van and found the transport, along with about thirty-two thousand in cash.” Ridge straightened. “If I had to take a guess, I’d say it was heading south to Polinski.”

Oz gave a sharp nod. He’d worked with every dealer in the surrounding states. There’d never been an issue. It was always a flawless transfer when everyone was in agreement and worked within the boundaries. But something had gone awry.

Oz lifted his chin, gesturing to the man. “Who does he run with?”

“Garner,” Ridge said.

He had a long standing and amicable relationship with Ted Garner. He was one of the biggest dealers moving product through the state. There’d never been an issue—until now. Oz cupped his jaw, running his fingers through his neatly-trimmed beard and eyeing the man. A casualty of a botched deal. But it’s the price you pay for taking the risk.

Oz folded his arms, glancing over at Ridge. The Underground had done transfers with Garner for over a decade without issue. Something was off.

“Garner set this deal up?”

Ridge cleared his throat. “Don’t know about the distribution, but his nephew, Karl, can be linked back to the sales. They gave him up.”

Sales. There was different terminology when it came to product.

Oz jerked his gaze and glared. “Pushing drugs?”

“Yes. It looks like they started with more product and made some sales as they moved through the state.”

Oz’s jaw squared. Not only were they doing an illegal transfer without his permission or compensation, they’d taken an even bigger risk with sales.

“Anything else?”

Cyrus stepped up beside Ridge and smirked. “It seems these boys were partying along the way too. Dipping into the product. Van is a mess with remnants sprinkled everywhere.”

Fucking idiots.

Oz studied the man. His head was still bowed. Oz didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. Whether the man was keeping his gaze down out of fear, or not wanting to see the massacre of his mates, it wouldn’t last long. Eventually, the silence would overcome him, and sheer panic would set in, forcing him to face his fate. Seconds ticked by before his body shook, and he lifted his head, looking Oz directly in the eye. His bottom lip trembled, his throat bobbed, and he immediately dropped his gaze once again.

Oz turned to his second in command. “He didn’t name Garner?”

Nash folded his arms, eyeing the man. “No. Just the nephew, Karl, who authorized the sales, but nothing coming directly from Garner. I’m thinking the kid is trying to make a name for himself.”

Oz scoffed. If that was the case, well done, asshole.

Oz didn’t know the man kneeling in front of him. He’d never laid eyes on him, nor the other three in the room. He didn’t know their names, if they had families, if this was a first dip into illegal activities, or if they were seasoned. None of it mattered. They had crossed the Underground. There was only one ending.

“Look at me.” Oz growled, waiting on the man to lift his head. Seconds passed by without any movement. Caine lunged forward, and as if the man sensed it, he craned his neck, blood streaming down his face as he looked up, meeting Oz’s stare.

“Consider my state” —Oz paused, hardening his gaze— “invitation only.”

Rules and boundaries were what kept the organization running smoothly under his reign. He was following in the same footsteps as the man before him. Oz had learned everything from Sal Caruso. Studied him from the first day they’d met. A mentor of sorts. And a father figure down the road. When Oz started working with Sal, he didn’t have a vision of someday taking over. But he’d earned it.

“It-It’s a m-misunderstanding, and I—” A sharp kick to his ribs from Caine had the man keeled over, spurting blood from his mouth. Oz didn’t even flinch. He never did.

Caine leaned over, grabbed the man by the back of the neck, and forced him to straighten. The man struggled, weaving side to side. He never let up on his grasp, forcing him to arch his neck and face Oz.

“No one told you to fucking speak.” Caine growled, his tone sending a message.

Oz waited and watched the huddled mass of a man shake in fear. You chose this.

“You had no issue coming into my territory without permission. I have to assume you knew the risks. Now you’re dealt the consequences,” Oz said.

The man opened his mouth and started coughing, blood spilling past his lips. He could barely form a coherent sentence and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His face strained, and he tried to breathe. There was no doubt Caine had broken a rib. Maybe two.

Oz sighed, sharing a look with Nash. He’d give it another minute, then end this debacle. Rarely did anyone give him worthwhile information. Oz never expected it. Most people associated with the Underground were willing to die for the sake of honor. But not all.

“It’s not our product.” The man spurted blood as he fell forward, bracing his arms on the concrete.

Oz narrowed his gaze. “No, it’s not. Now it’s mine.”

The man’s face paled as he struggled to talk. “I can’t walk in without the shipment.”

Fool. He wouldn’t be walking anywhere. His status as the last man standing was about to come to an abrupt halt. One of the most valuable rules for keeping the Underground safe—no witnesses. It was a lesson Oz had learned early on and never wavered from following.

“That won’t be an issue.” Oz gestured to Caine. One simple nod would end a life in less than five seconds. It was good to be King.

“Wait, wait…”

Oz slowly turned, facing the man. There was always a plea. One last ditch effort to save their own lives. Being in the Underground, Oz had heard it all. Weak, desperate people would betray anyone and everyone they held dear to save themselves. But not all people. Every once in a while he’d come across someone not willing to sell out another and protect themselves at all costs. Even when the price was their own life. That earned his respect, though it didn’t allow for any leniency. At least it was an honorable death. That had to account for something.

Through his blood drenched lips, the man spurted, “What if I have information?”

Predictable. Oz cocked his brow and folded his arms, waiting. He didn’t make deals with turncoats. But it didn’t mean he wouldn’t hear the man out. Knowledge is power. And power was something Oz had tenfold.

Sweat beaded across his forehead, blending with the bloody gash above his eyebrow. Oz’s men had worked him over good. Torture was their specialty, and Oz was always impressed with their expertise. Killing someone was easy. A gunshot to the temple, and death was imminent. Torture until the last breath was a talent. And my men are highly skilled.

The man’s throat bobbed. “Karl said we had permission.”

Oz straightened, sharing a look with Nash.

“From who?” Oz growled.

The man cleared his throat, stalling. It seemed there was another source he feared besides the Underground.

“I’ll only ask once,” Oz said.

The man gulped, choking on his own blood and trying desperately to clear his throat. “Killcreek.”

Motherfuckers.

Oz simply stared, and his stone-cold expression didn’t change, not even a muscle. It was a gift, and one he’d perfected over the years. Showing no emotion left the enemy blind and without an upper hand or any leverage to work the situation. Can’t anticipate the next move without some type of reaction to consider.

Oz turned to Nash, lowering his voice. “Find out how much the original haul was. Then track the GPS. I want to know if they stopped in Killcreek.”

Nash gave a sharp nod.

Oz straightened his back and rolled his neck. He circled back around the man, eyeing him in silence. Oz could read anyone through emotions and physical ticks. This man was easier than most. Oz saw it in his eyes. A sliver of hope that this information would work in his favor. Again, fool.

Oz turned to Caine. His gun was drawn, resting at his side. Oz lowered his chin and walked toward the door. He barely heard the whimpering plea, “No, please” before the gun went off, and the room was reduced to silence.

Oz didn’t look back, exiting the building and down the broken concrete stairs. His men would handle it, and he had total confidence. After all, he’d trained them. Nash came up beside him, matching his pace.

“I want Garner’s nephew.” Oz narrowed his gaze. “If he orchestrated this, he’s going to take responsibility. And you make sure it gets back to Garner that I know his haul went through my state without my knowledge.”

Everyone would be held accountable.

“Yes, sir,” Nash replied. “And I received a call from Trey earlier. He said he couldn’t get ahold of you. He’s asking for your availability.”

Oz had always made himself accessible to his brothers, Rogue and Trey. However, he’d been sidetracked during the last twelve hours.

“In regards to?”

“The poker house. They’re getting pushback from Killcreek. Ace doesn’t like the close proximity.”

For fucks sake, not this again.

Oz had bartered a deal between the Killcreek Drifters and the Underground for his brother Rogue’s poker house venture. But Oz was not surprised it wasn’t a smooth transition. There had been bad blood and tension for years between the two with no signs of a truce. Oz had found common ground with the MC, seeing their value. Rogue had not.

“I’ll talk to Trey. You call in Killcreek.” Oz stopped next to the open door of the SUV. “Not a word to Ace about tonight.”

Nash gave a curt nod.

The element of surprise was key to any meeting in the Underground.