Chapter 1
Grayson
Leggings and a Cardinals hoodie.
“Fuck, I thought I was done with St. Louis,” I muttered, bringing my hand up to rub my jaw as I stared at my computer screen. I was staring at a photo of a woman wearing a fucking Cardinals hoodie, hands in the front pocket, backpack over her shoulder, head bent to conceal her face. With a sigh, my eyes lifted back up to the email, reading it over again and then two more times before a knock sounded on my office door.
I looked up to find Hayes standing in the doorway. “He has called four times now,” my right-hand told me, his voice laced with concern as his green eyes assessed me, his jaw tight.
I looked back to the screen, my eyes lingering on the security camera image of the woman walking out of a rehab center in the middle of the night. “He on the line?” I asked, looking back to Hayes.
He nodded once, doing nothing to try and hide the concern on his face. That was just who Hayes was: cautious.
“Put him through,” I ordered, rising from my desk and pucking the phone from its base before I faced the window behind my desk. A second later, the phone buzzed, ringing in my hand.
After the second ring, I hit the button and brought the phone to my ear.
“Mr. Jones,” I greeted, putting my other hand into the pocket of my slacks, my eyes scanning the city of Charlotte.
“Mr. Grayson,” the Oasis leader greeted.
Oasis was the underground street racing hub of St. Louis and the key to the Italian Mafia’s gun and drug business. Jeremy Jones, along with his three partners, ran Oasis, but there was something else Mr. Jones was in control of: the Crew, a street organization that handled things when law enforcement couldn’t.
This all translated to Jeremy Jones being one of the most powerful men in the Midwest.
“Your email was…” I trailed off, looking for the right word. Truthfully, I didn’t know how to explain it. It was the last thing I’d expected to get. A year had passed since Oasis needed my help, and with their power, I figured they’d never need me again.
“I needed you to understand how serious this situation is,” he replied, sighing with exhaustion.
“Do you think the target is in danger?” I asked, looking down to the street below, watching the mid-day traffic.
“I don’t know.”
Interesting. “Has she received any threats?”
“She’s…” Jeremy trailed off before sighing. “Look, Mr. Grayson—Carrie has been through a lot this last year. Her life was turned upside down. She lost her husband. Anger and depression almost got to her.”
I blinked, looking at the city again. “You’re saying this woman is suicidal?” I asked, my voice level and void of any empathy.
I didn’t have any—especially not for a stranger.
This was just a job and, if I chose to take it, it needed to stay that way.
“Yes.” The word was filled with sadness and worry.
“I see.” I turned back to my desk, looking at the picture of her again, frustrated that I couldn’t see her face. I could tell a lot about a person with one look at their face, into their eyes.
“The only danger is herself,” he finally admitted.
I refrained from sighing. “This isn’t a job for me, Mr. Jones. You should leave it to the authorities,” I told him, ready to pull the phone from my ear and end in the call, leaving St. Louis and all the wild shit that came with it in the past.
“Please.”
I froze, my muscles tensing in a way they hadn’t in long, long time.
He was begging.
Jeremy Jones, the King of St. Louis himself, was begging.
My jaw tightened as I bent my head, eyes closing. The hand in my pocket balled into a fist as I heard my office door open once more. Snapping my head up, I found my team, all four of them, coming in silently, filing into my space as Jeremy lingered on the other end of the phone in silence, waiting for me to grant him some sort of twisted mercy.
“Why do you want me to find her?” I asked finally as my men watched me with guarded, cautious eyes.
“She’s family,” he said softly.
“I get that, Mr. Jones, but as I stated, the authorities would be better suited—”
“You’re the only person in the world who can,” he said, cutting me off with dark urgency in his voice.
I looked over to Hayes.
We’d spent years building what we had now, and the last thing I needed was for it to all go to shit over some woman who’d escaped from a mental health facility.
After I’d stared at Hayes for a few more moments, he gave me a single nod.
Fuck it all to hell.
“I’ll be St. Louis tomorrow morning.”
If Jeremy had given a sigh of relief, I didn’t hear it. All I got was, “Oasis. Ten AM.”
The call ended, and I set the phone back on its base before bracing my hands on the desk, staring down at the photo on my computer screen, frustrated I couldn’t see the woman’s face.
“Thought Red Snake was done with St. Louis, Gray?” Dominic asked, breaking the tense silence.
I did too.
Fuck, I really did.
There was something about that city, something pure. Purity didn’t belong anywhere near me, and I vowed that after helping Oasis last year, I would stay out of it.
“I’m going to shoot Mags in the fucking foot the next time I see him,” I muttered. Mags, an old buddy from the Marines and a dear friend, was now a cowboy at Hallow Ranch. A few years ago, his boss called me wanting me to find his bull riding brother—which led me to Oasis.
Now, here I was, dragged into this fucking mess.
“You shoot a Hallow Ranch cowboy, Denver Langston will send you straight to hell without even the fucking Grim Reaper knowing,” Dominic said, his voice firm.
Denver Langston wouldn’t think twice about killing someone who hurt those he cared about.
We were cut from the same cloth.
Twisting my neck, I looked over to Dominic, my lips twitching. “Might as well kick your ass out and send you to Hallow Ranch if you love that fucking place so much.”
He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling. “Place is quiet.”
Quiet was something none of us had ever really experienced; Hallow Ranch was the exception.
The others grunted and muttered agreements before Hayes got us back on track. “I can take it,” he offered, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can stay here, finish the Goodman case.”
My spine straightened at his offer, my body reacting on its own. My eyes dropped down to the picture again as something stirred inside me. “No. I’ll handle this one,” I told him firmly before looking at the others. “You boys stay here. Once I get a lead, I’ll let you know if we need to head to Denver early.”
Dominic grunted from the corner, his eyes on the city outside.
Ash shot me a look. “Maybe grumpy ass over here will be somewhat more bearable when we’re in the fucking Rockies.”
I ran a hand through my hair, my muscles aching from the brutal training session I put them through this morning. I walked around to the front of my desk and leaned against it, crossing my ankles and folding my arms over my chest. I looked at each of my men, grateful as hell for each one of them. Then, I gave it to them.
“Hayes, I’ll need you to run point on the Goodman case. Finish that shit. Whatever you find, send it over to Charlotte PD,” I ordered. Hayes Michell was my right hand, a fifteen-year veteran of the Air Force. We met three years ago, and he helped me build Red Snake from the ground up.
I looked over to Dominic, Red Snake’s weapons specialist. “Finalize the supply and make the order.” His blue eyes flashed as he nodded once.
My eyes found Jake’s brown ones as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Get me everything on her.” I pointed to the screen. “What you don’t get, I’ll get from Jones tomorrow. I don’t doubt this woman has some record sealed.”
My tech guy nodded, his jaw hard. “Understood.”
Finally, I looked over to Ash, Red Snake’s mission coordinator. “Get me on a fucking plane.”
The playboy smirked. “On it, boss.”
All these men were my ride or dies. We’d take bullets for each other, and we made damn good money doing it, finding people who didn’t want to be found. We worked hard for what we had and the reputation we’d built.
I just hoped that taking this case wouldn’t put any of that in jeopardy.
The day baseball star Dean Connors was found dead in his apartment in Chicago was the day I almost died—for the fourth time. While Dean had faked his death, I cheated it—numerous times. First in the Marines, and then in my line of work.
That was almost seven years ago. Dean Connors wasn’t dead, and unfortunately, neither was I.
In fact, both of us were staring at each other in the middle of Oasis as I waited on Jeremy Jones to make his appearance.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Grayson.” That wasn’t the dead baseball player talking. No, it was his gorgeous wife standing at his side. My eyes drifted to her, taking in her brunette curls, her ocean blue eyes. Her voice was sweet, but her body was on alert.
She was on edge.
Rightfully so. These people knew nothing about me, but I knew everything about them. I made sure of that before I made my first appearance here when I was looking for Mason Langston.
“Grayson is fine, Mrs. Connors,” I said, giving her a faint smile, just to let her know she had nothing to fear from me. I had no issues with these people or this city; it was the way it made me feel that I didn’t like.
It made my fucking skin crawl.
“Grayson,” she repeated, her face splitting into a gorgeous smile.
Fucking Christ.
Jaw tight, I looked away from her quickly, not wanted to be sucked into her beauty. Dean Connors had everything I thought I wanted—a family. He had a woman who loved him and stuck by him no matter what, children who looked up to him. He would never understand how lucky he was. Neither did the Oasis leaders. They all had a woman, someone to warm their beds at night so the demons wouldn’t keep them up. Looking at Gwen, seeing her love for Dean shining brightly in her pools of ocean blue was torture for a man like me.
I would never have that because of choice I made a long time ago.
A cellphone rang, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her pull the device out of her jeans.
“Excuse me,” she muttered and turned away from us. She walked by her husband, touching his arm as she went. When she was out of earshot, I looked to Dean to find him still staring at me, his hazel eyes assessing me.
He stood around my height, his arms folded over his chest. His signature dirty blond locks were tied in a bun on the top of his head, his beard longer than it was the last time I saw him last year. There was a scar over his left eye that started above his brow and didn’t stop until the middle of his cheek.
It reminded me of mine.
At the thought, my left temple began to tingle, phantom pain reintroducing itself for the first time in months.
Avoiding his scar, I looked back into Dean Connors’ eyes. After a few more moments of silence, he asked, “How the fuck did you manage to get a C-130 last year?”
My lips twitched. Red Snake Investigations had connections. We had people who owed us favors, powerful individuals. Last year, when Jeremy called, Oasis was wrapped up in some shit with the Bratva. He needed a plane big enough to transfer some cars to Seattle, and I showed up with a C-130, Hayes in the cockpit.
Not moving an inch, I responded, “Got some good friends.”
“I’ll fucking say,” Dean muttered just before a bang sounded behind him. We both looked to the car bays to see another brunette in coveralls, hands on her hips, looking at a part on the ground in front of her.
“You alright, Nikki?” Dean called.
Her head snapped up, and my eyes dropped to the oil smear on her cheek as she green eyes widened. The stray hairs from her messy bun fell around her face as she nodded, waving her hand in apology. “Sorry, boys. This fucking Toyota is giving me shit.”
“Wouldn’t give you fucking shit if you’d just let me look at it,” a male voice chimed in.
My eyes slid over to the last bay where Cain Donovan stood, his coveralls rolled down to his hips, leaving him in just a dirty T-shirt on top. He wiped his hands on an oil-streaked towel, shaking his head at his woman before turning and looking at me. His jaw tightened as I gave him a nod in greeting.
He didn’t like me.
I didn’t give a fuck.
“Yo, Grayson,” another familiar deep voice called from behind me.
I turned away from Cain and his woman to find Jeremy Jones walking up, his boys, Dontell and Leon, flanking him. I had been around these men before, and I knew five minutes in that they were good people. In my line of work, you didn’t really meet a lot of those. So, despite the fact that I wanted nothing more than to be done with this city, Jeremy was a good connection to have.
The last thing Red Snake needed was to burn a powerful bridge. Someday, we would need a favor from Oasis, and by doing this for Jeremy, it would be owed to me.
“Jones,” I greeted, extending my hand.
An easy, lazy grin spread across his face, his brown eyes bright as he shook my hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice sincere.
I nodded, grinding my molars for a moment as we shook hands. Once he released me, his boys stepped up.
“Good to see you again, Grayson,” Dontell said, shaking my hand next.
“Sorry it’s not for fun,” Leon added, holding his out as I let Dontell’s hand go.
“It never is,” I deadpanned, shaking his.
After the introductions were finished, we took a seat at the nearby round table. Cain was still watching me, but the tension in his shoulders had disappeared by the time he and Nikki joined us, Gwen moving to sit behind her husband as well. I didn’t bother focusing on them, keeping my eyes on Jeremy’s. He was the one who called me here.
“I’m here,” I began, lifting my chin. “Give it to me.”
A file sat on the table, and Jeremy took a quick look inside before tossing it to me. It landed with a quiet splat in front of me. Immediately, I got to business, scanning over the first page.
Bracing myself, I turned the page to find a full picture of the woman. As I drank in her bright blue eyes and her blonde curls, darkness stirred inside of me.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Last night, after Jake worked his magic, he found one solitary picture of Carrie on the Internet. It was from when she was a small child, laughing in her father’s arms. We found nothing else on her; all information about Carrie Hale had been locked up and sealed tight by the FBI.
That complicated things.
Jake was damn good, but not as good as the FBI hacker who sealed her records. Conveniently enough, Jeremy Jones was married to said hacker; Jake recognized her signature in the code almost instantly.
I peeled my eyes from the picture, burying the feeling arising in my chest, looking back across the table to Jeremy. “You’re wife is good,” I began, and everyone at the table seemed to stiffen. “While my tech man and I appreciate the beauty of Casey’s work, before I can move forward, I’m going to need all records unsealed.”
Silence followed, even the sounds of cars being worked on ceasing to exist for a few moments. All eyes were on me, but I kept my gaze on Jeremy. I expected push back, but I got just the opposite.
“Done.”
My brows rose just a fraction. “Just like that?”
He nodded.
“Carrie’s family,” Dontell murmured, his voice thick with sadness. “After everything she’s been through, we’re all she has left.”
His words struck me, threatening to seep into my chest and into the organ inside it.
Blinking, I bit down on my jaw as my defenses shot back up. “I understand that, Dontell,” I told him, trying and failing to sound sincere. The girl was nothing more than a case—a mark. Her… family shouldn’t have this effect on me, and I shouldn’t allow them to.
Looking back to Jeremy, I watched as he rose from his seat. “Come on,” he ordered, walking around the table.
Without looking at the rest of the table, I followed him out of Oasis into the bright morning, the sunlight glistening off the Arch just a few miles from us. He walked ahead of me, heading to his beast of a Challenger parked by the building. He clicked the locks, heading to the driver’s side. “Get in.”
I stopped in front of the car. “Where are we going?”
He looked at me over his shoulder. “To see my wife.”