Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
T he blacked-out SUV hums beneath us, engine low and steady like a predator crouched in the dark.
We’re parked two blocks from the warehouse, just far enough to watch without being seen, close enough to strike.
The night air clings to the windows, thick with summer heat and the stink of garbage and gutter oil.
Max is up front behind the wheel, eyes scanning the street, silent as ever. Trigger’s riding shotgun, flicking a toothpick between his teeth like it’s a job he gets paid for. His boots are up on the dash, sunglasses pushed up in his hair even though the sun’s long gone.
Me? I’m in the back seat, elbows on knees, spine coiled tight because I can’t stop thinking about those fucking flowers.
“She didn’t keep them?” Trigger asks, voice casual, but there’s something sharper underneath. He glances over his shoulder at me.
“No,” I say. “Tossed them in the trash like I told her to.”
Max doesn’t speak. Just cuts his eyes to the rearview mirror. He doesn’t say much unless it matters.
Trigger shifts, toothpick dancing. “You think it’s Cooper?”
“Could be. Could be someone else.” I drum my fingers on my knee, the tap-tap-tap a slow bleed of tension. “But it wasn’t me, and that’s the part that matters.”
“That’s romantic as shit,” Trigger mutters, all dry drawl. “Guy doesn’t send flowers, must be love.”
I shoot him a look, slow and sharp. He meets it head-on, grinning like a bastard. Poking the bear is his favorite sport. One day it’s gonna get him bitten.
“You ever sent flowers, Max?” Trigger asks.
Max nods once.
Trigger raises a brow. “Oh yeah? Funeral or apology?”
Max finally speaks. “Funeral.”
Trigger snorts. “Told you it was romantic.”
“This isn’t a fucking joke,” I snap.
My outburst sobers him. Trigger finally stops playing with the toothpick. I rarely lose my shit with him—at least not in a personal way—but pushing my buttons when it comes to Cassie is something I won’t tolerate.
“You want eyes on her place? Or the office?”
“Both. And someone on her. Quiet. No shadows she can spot.” I pick up my phone, texting a quick message to Cassie.
We’ve spoken through the day, more so after her phone call this morning.
I’m on edge, but I don’t know what I need to look for.
Cassie has my head in a tail-spin, and it’s throwing me off my game.
I’m usually great at analyzing situations, spotting the mole before it peeks its head above ground.
But since she came into my life, shit’s never been the same.
“You think she’s being followed?” Trigger asks.
“I know she is.” I glance out the tinted window at the warehouse door up ahead. “And I don’t like what that means.”
Trigger leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Who do you think is behind it?”
I shake my head, jaw tight. “Cooper’s not smart enough to send flowers. That fuck’s a blunt instrument, not a chess player. He does what he’s told and screws it up half the time.”
Trigger hums in agreement, chewing his toothpick like it’s got flavor. He knows I’m right. Cooper’s a junkyard dog; loud, dumb, and only dangerous when you turn your back.
“This,” I continue, voice low and sharp, “is someone who wants Cassie scared.” My words hang in the air like smoke. Trigger goes still. Max doesn't flinch, just keeps his gaze forward, hands steady on the wheel.
Then, quiet as a confession, Max says, “Daniels.”
The name hits like glass shattering in my gut. My jaw clenches. Blood pulses hard behind my eyes. I don’t say anything right away. I let the silence stretch, let it choke the space between us. Outside the SUV, the street lamp flickers like it knows something’s coming.
Hunter and Ryder are already waiting for us beside Hunter’s Audi, Trigger’s men surrounding them. I know I need to shake this issue from my mind, even just for an hour. We came here to close out one problem, and I intend to do that before dealing with the next.
“It’s too early to say,” I grind out, even though my instincts are already screaming. “But yeah. He’s got the brains for it.”
Trigger finally speaks, low and edged. “Didn’t think he’d try something this soon. Fucker’s got a death wish.”
“Neither did I.” I stare out the window, but I’m not seeing the warehouse anymore.
I’m seeing Daniels’ smug fucking face, the last time we crossed paths.
The cockiness. The calm. Like he knew every card in my hand and was already three moves ahead.
Maybe we didn’t win the case after all. Maybe this was all part of his plan.
I shake my head. There’s no way Daniels is that clever. He wants The Five out of the city, but he’s trying to put us down the old-fashioned way. He failed. So what’s next?
Max shifts in his seat. “If it’s Daniels, this is just the start.”
I nod slowly, the pieces starting to click into place in the back of my skull. “He’s setting the stage. Making sure we know he’s not backing down. ”
Trigger sighs, leans his head back against the seat. “I fucking hate this guy.”
“You’re not the only one,” I grumble, my voice cold enough to burn. “But he’s not our problem tonight.”
Max steps out of the car, and Trigger follows. I pause for a second, glancing at my phone. No reply from Cassie. Which could be a good thing or a bad thing.
Fuck.
I shove it deep in my pocket and step out, slipping my gun from the back of my slacks to check the magazine.
“Good to go,” Ryder confirms. I nod and slide the piece back into place.
It’s late—the perfect hour for hunting the bastard who thought it was a good idea to fuck with The Five. I’m not sorry it’s come to this. This is the life we lead. You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us.
Stealing from us isn’t just a mistake, it’s suicide.
And stealing from me is a death sentence.
I already swallowed my pride, admitted to my buyers that this one’s on me.
I let that snake weasel into our business.
He took advantage of our trust, stealing weapons from our shipments and selling them underneath me. That won’t happen again.
Security around the port has doubled. Shipments are tighter, cleaner.
I’ve paid off more transporters than I’d like to admit just to patch the holes that bastard left behind.
It was expensive, humiliating, and entirely my fault.
I should have trusted my gut when that fucker wormed his way into our syndicate, but Trigger assured me he’d deal with the fall out if shit goes sideways.
Now it’s payback.
We move through a shadow-choked street in Queens, where the only light flickers from neon signs and burnt-out bulbs. Max found the location. Trigger brought the muscle. Hunter and Ryder flank me. We are The Five—and we carry the weight of every brutal story ever whispered about us .
We approach the rear of the building, soldiers in front, silent and sharp-eyed. This club isn’t just shady, it’s a dive dressed up in desperation. Private rooms pulse with muffled bass, the stink of cheap booze, sweat, and sex curling through the air like rot.
Inside, it’s worse. Dim, sticky floors, smoke-stained ceilings, bodies grinding under strobe lights. Half-naked women dance for dollar bills while men grope at whatever flesh they can reach. The place reeks of stale lust and failure.
Not my scene.
But Chester Street? This is exactly where the slimy fuck would crawl to with his dirty payout.
Max signals, and we move down a grim hallway lined with doors. Each one could be hiding something, but we know where to find our victim. Trigger leads, gun cocked and ready. I follow closely. If anyone’s on a mission to make sure Chester doesn’t walk out of here, it’s Trigger.
The corridor’s short. At the end, colored lights strobe from the main lounge. Music throbs beneath our boots like a warning bell. No one questions us; they recognize power when it walks in wearing suits and silence.
I glance around the place. There’s too many innocents here, and even though I’m out for blood, it’s the people down here. “I don’t want any other casualties,” I mutter to the gang, “just him.”
The guys nod and we cross to a staircase behind the stage.
Max takes point. One by one, we climb the steps, like predators on the prowl.
At the top, a red-lit hallway stretches out like a bad omen.
Max lifts a finger and we all split, each of us taking a door.
Our soldiers are at the ready, prepared to filter out those we don’t want caught up in this mess.
“Let’s go,” Trigger commands, bouncing on his feet.
All at once, we kick through the doors in front of us, guns poised.
Chaos follows. Screams erupt. I swing into my room, gun raised. Two women shriek and scramble for the couch, trying to shield what little dignity they still have. Two men tangle awkwardly, cursing us for the interruption, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not after them.
I step out with disappointment weighing my footsteps just as Hunter bursts into laughter behind me.
“Is that what you call a dick?” he crows.
I turn around, spotting who he’s mocking. I shake my head, amused despite myself, and then I see him.
Chester Street . He’s naked and tied to a chair, champagne-soaked and surrounded by three terrified women clutching empty bottles like lifelines.
“Out,” I order.
They don’t hesitate. They bolt past us, heels clattering.
“Damn,” Hunter mutters, smacking the last one’s ass. “Get Trigger. Looks like someone already prepped him for us.”
I grin. “Sure seems that way.”
It’s time to play with the sly fucker who thought he could steal goods from under our noses, and I know I’m not the only one who’s going to enjoy this sadistic part of our visit.
Chester’s shaking like a pig at slaughter. “P…please! I can?—”
“Explain?” Hunter growls, stepping forward.
I hold him back with a hand to the chest. “Easy.”
Then Trigger walks in. The look on his face goes from disgust to delight in a heartbeat. He circles the chair, examining the restraints with mock interest.
“Not what I’d use personally,” he comments, shooting me a smirk.
Hunter and I lean against the wall, arms folded, while Trigger lounges on the couch like he owns the place. He watches the girls dancing below through the window while we wait for Ryder and Max.
Patience clearly isn’t Chester’s strong-suit. He’s panting, sweating profusely and wearing an expression that’s close to fear and apprehension.
“Maybe take some notes, Hunter,” Trigger jokes .
Hunter snorts. “Nah. I’ve got standards.”
Their banter is easy, almost casual. But Chester knows better, he knows we’re delaying the inevitable. The tension in the room thickens with every word and his body shifts slightly in his chair.
“They’re waiting downstairs,” one of Trigger’s guys whispers, leaning close so only I can hear. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge of anticipation there—like even he knows what’s about to go down isn’t something you want too many eyes on.
I nod once, absorbing the information, but my gaze lingers on Chester, still squirming in his chair like a worm under a magnifying glass. Sweat slicks his bloated body, and his eyes dart between us like a cornered rat praying for mercy in a room full of wolves.
“Looks like it’s just us, boys,” I grin.
It’s a damn shame Ryder and Max aren’t here to see this.
It would’ve been satisfying, all of us together, watching this snake finally meet the consequences of his betrayal.
But I don’t blame them for staying out of it.
Ryder is a loose cannon and Max... well, he’s got a temper, sure, but he’s got a line he doesn’t like to cross unless absolutely necessary.
Torture’s never really been his style, and I can respect that. He likes to keep things clean.
Still, there’s a part of me that wishes they were here. Not because I need the backup, but because Chester deserves the full weight of what it means to fuck with The Five. And tonight, he’s only getting three of us. Lucky bastard .
Chester’s trembling, face pale, lips quivering. Hell—I swear he’s pissing himself which only draws attention to his pathetic situation.
“Throw something over that thing,” I mutter, disgust gripping my command.
Hunter snatches a cloth from behind the door and tosses it expertly. It lands across Chester’s lap, covering his flaccid cock.
“You picked the wrong people to fuck with,” Trigger snarls. Every syllable holds anger and the sweet promise of revenge .
“Tell him what we do to traitors,” I add.
“What, and ruin the surprise?” Trigger’s on a roll, methodical and sadistic. He flicks open his blade, running the flat of it along Chester’s trembling shoulder.
“I can get it back!” Chester screams.
“You stole from us,” Trigger growls. He stands to his full height, towering over the shitstain who looks like he’s about to piss himself.
Normally we would have him in our warehouse, where we can control the situation.
But since Chester is already set up for us, it would be a shame to waste the opportunity.
Plus, I don’t fancy ruining any of the cars with his bare ass.
“See, that’s the problem, Chester,” I say as I step away from the wall. “We know who you gave them to and I’m not so sure they would be willing to hand our goods back, do you?”
“No, I swear—” His desperate pleas have no room here. I’ve seen it happen too many times, and it never works in their favor.
“Are you seriously playing innocent?” Trigger laughs, pulling out a knife, and flicking his wrist to expose the blade. He drags the blade again, scoring a shallow line in his skin. Chester opens his mouth to beg, but the sound of gunfire shatters the moment.
“What the fuck was that?” Hunter spins, peering into the hall.
Screams echo up the stairs. Chaos. Panic.The sound of bullets ricocheting only ratchets up my confusion until I inwardly palm my face. It’s a distraction.
And it fucking worked.
We turn, slow—too slow. Trigger’s eyes widen just as Chester, somehow, lunges backward. Chair and all, he smashes through the window behind him.
Glass explodes.
“No!” Trigger screams, but it’s too late.
Chester falls into the room below, landing hard. The chair breaks. He scrambles, miraculously mobile, detaching ropes with surprising speed .
Hunter roars and dives through the window. Chester turns, smirking, flipping us both birds as he melts into the crowd.
Fucking smug bastard.
Ryder bursts in, eyes wide. “What the fuck happened?”
“Chester happened,” I snap.
Trigger scowls. “I’ll send my men.”
“No need,” I growl, storming into the hallway of flickering red light. “Let the fucker run. He’ll never stop looking over his shoulder again. And when he slips?—”
I glance back.
“—we’ll be there.”