Griffin (Kiss of Death MC #16)

Chapter One

Veda

Four months of work fit inside a hollowed-out pen pressed against my sternum.

Ten minutes ago, I decided this was the last night I would ever set foot inside Enclave éclipse.

The back office held its usual smells. Lemon furniture polish from the cleaning crew that came through Tuesdays and Fridays, the dry-paper musk of ledgers stacked four deep on the metal shelving, and underneath all of it the faint sour note of Carl Pruitt’s cologne, which he reapplied every afternoon at three like a man trying to mask his lover’s perfume before he went home to his beautiful wife.

Carl’s desk sat in the middle of the room, the dominant feature.

Oversized, mahogany veneer, the leather chair behind it big enough for a man twice his size.

The bottom drawer was the one I had photographed last, the one where the master ledger lived under a false bottom that any auditor with a ruler would have found in nine seconds.

Carl was not bright. He’d been skimming off his bosses for a year and change, and that, I suspected, was about to matter to Carl in a very huge, very permanent way.

I crouched behind the second shelving unit with my knees pressed together, trying to keep my breathing slow and shallow when I heard the front buzzer go. Then the hallway door. Then the murmur of voices that did not belong to Carl.

I froze when the office door opened and four men walked in.

Carl came first, walking on his own but not by choice.

His collar was already dark with sweat and his hair stuck to his forehead.

Behind him came two men I had never laid eyes on.

But the man who entered last almost made me whimper in fear.

I’d seen Iron twice before, both times here at the club and only from a distance.

He was broader up close. The tattoos that climbed up the side of his neck disappeared into his short beard and shaved head.

His gaze swept the room and stopped at the desk.

He noticed the open ledger on top of it that I hadn’t had time to put away.

He noticed the chair. He didn’t notice me, because I sat very still and I had picked my hiding place in week two for a reason. Thank God I had a small, wiry frame.

“Sit,” Iron said.

Carl sat. The leather chair sighed under him.

Iron walked to the desk. He looked down at the open ledger.

He looked at Carl. He did not raise his voice.

In fact, he used all the inflection he might if he ordered a cup of coffee.

“Someone’s been going through the books,” Iron said, still not raising his voice.

He tapped a thick finger on the open ledger. “These numbers are wrong.”

Carl’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I keep everything --”

“You’ve been skimming, Carl. That’s fine.” Iron smiled, a bare flash of teeth. “Everyone’s got their hand in the cookie jar. But someone else has been keeping their own set of numbers. And that’s not fine.”

“I don’t -- I swear to God, I wouldn’t --” Carl’s voice cracked.

Iron snatched Carl by the hair and slammed his face into the desk with a wet crack.

Carl’s nose sprayed blood across the ledger pages.

Iron hauled him up by the hair, Carl’s feet barely touching the floor, and slammed him down again.

This time the sound was different, duller, and Carl’s legs kicked once and then stopped moving entirely.

Iron let go. Carl slumped sideways in the chair, his head lolling, one hand flopping limply against the desk edge before he slid to the floor.

I pressed my hand flat over my mouth and watched Carl’s hand from my hiding place. I kind of felt bad but Carl was a swine and he deserved everything about to happen to him.

Iron turned to one of the other men. “Clear the hallway.”

The man nodded and left the room. Seconds later, I heard the thud of something heavy hitting the wall, a muffled shout cut short, then the scrape of something being dragged.

The door opened again, and the man returned with two of the hallway workers, a young man with a sleeve of tats and a woman with her dark hair in a tight bun.

Both had their hands bound behind them with zip ties, both looked like they’d been smacked around.

Terrified didn’t begin to describe the pair.

“Against the wall,” Iron said.

The two men pushed the workers to the far wall. The woman tried to speak, her words slurred through what was probably a broken jaw. “Please -- we didn’t --”

The shots came before she could finish. I couldn’t be sure because I didn’t have a direct line of sight, but I thought they’d both been shot in the head. Blood spread across the laminate wood flooring in a dark pool.

Iron’s men began pulling files from the cabinets, sliding hard drives into a duffel bag one of them had brought in.

They worked methodically, opening each drawer in turn, checking the contents before removing them.

One of them moved to Carl’s desk, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out the master ledger.

He handed it to Iron, who fanned the pages with his thumb, then nodded and set it aside.

My pen camera had gotten it all. Every page, every column of numbers, every name. Four months of surveillance distilled down to what would fit on a micro SD card.

Iron turned in a slow circle. Again, I couldn’t see everything but I imagined he gave the room a final once over. Then, without changing his tone, he said, “They’re still here.” The other men stopped what they were doing.

“Someone was in this room tonight,” Iron continued. “They were going through these books when we arrived. They’re still in the building.” He looked at the two men. “Find them.”

I held my breath. My fingers pressed harder against my lips. One of the men spoke up. “You want us to check the whole place?”

“I want you to find them,” Iron snarled. “Start with the offices and work out.”

The men nodded and left the room, moving into the hallway.

Iron remained behind, standing over Carl’s body with his arms crossed.

I could see him now. He looked down at the ledger on the desk.

There was no way to miss Carl’s blood smeared over the cover.

He turned his gaze back to the door, then at the window on the far wall.

One of the men returned. “Garage is clear. Kitchen’s clear.”

“Keep looking,” Iron said.

The man left again. Iron pulled out his phone, sent a text, then put it away. He paced the length of the room once, then again, his boots leaving prints in the blood on the floor.

I needed to get out. I needed to move. But Iron was still in the room, and the two men were searching the building, and if I stepped out from behind this shelving unit I would be exactly as dead as Carl.

The second man came back. “Rest of the building’s clear. You want us to check the roof?”

Iron shook his head. “They’re still here.” He looked at the door. “They’re good at hiding, but they made a mistake. They left this ledger open when they heard us coming in. They didn’t have time to put it away.” He tapped his finger on the desk. “They’re still in this room.”

My heart stopped for a full second, then kicked back into double-time. This was it. In mere seconds I’d be dead. Or worse.

The men looked around, confused. “There’s nowhere to hide in here except --”

“Under the desk,” Iron said. “Check under the desk.”

The first man dropped to his knees and shined a flashlight under Carl’s massive desk. The beam swept in a wide arc, illuminating the empty knee well. I was still behind the shelving unit, pressed flat against the wall, my knees pulled tight to my chest.

“Nothing,” the man said.

Iron’s jaw tightened. “Check again.”

The man ducked his head lower, shining the light into every corner of the space under the desk. “I’m telling you, there’s nobody there.”

Iron nodded, finally satisfied. “Get the rest of the files. Then we burn the place.”

The two men returned to the filing cabinets.

They worked quickly now, pulling out folders and stacks of paper, dumping them into the duffel bag.

One of them returned to the hallway and came back with a plastic jug.

He unscrewed the cap and began pouring a clear liquid across the floor.

The sharp chemical reek cut through the air.

Smelled like gasoline or something similar.

My eyes started to water. I pressed my sleeve against my nose.

Iron watched his men work, then checked his watch. “Two minutes,” he said. “Then we’re gone.”

They finished packing the duffel and stepped into the hallway. Iron paused at the door, took one last look at the office, then pulled it closed behind him.

I waited silently, not daring to move or even breathe too much in case I coughed on the fumes. I heard the front door of the building open and close. I heard the rumble of engines starting outside. Then the fire started with a hollow whomp. Smoke began to push under the office door in a gray curl.

I couldn’t stay behind the shelving unit. Smoke was already thickening along the ceiling, and the acrid smell burned my nostrils. I needed to get to the window on the far wall. Surely to God the men had all left before the building was completely engulfed.

The smoke got thicker, pushing through the office doorway in billowing gray clouds. Flames licked at the door facing, eating through the wood with hungry crackles.

I crawled, keeping low beneath the smoke.

The heat pressed against my skin. My eyes stung.

I ripped off my jacket and wrapped it around my right forearm, creating a makeshift pad to protect myself.

The window on the far wall was my only way out.

A narrow rectangle set high in the exterior wall, just wide enough for my shoulders if I turned sideways.

I hurried to the window. Grabbing an ornate wooden paperweight, I hurled it at the glass. The window shattered with a musical crash. I cleared the jagged edges as best I could, then hoisted myself up.