38. Saxon
38
SAXON
D avid Eddy’s disappearance was unexpected, but it should have been a clean cut. No body, no witnesses, no evidence pointing anywhere. I know he went into Shelby Monroe’s house breathing and came out in a body bag. I may not have the whole picture, but I know he’s dead with everything in me.
But the Bureau doesn’t need proof to start asking questions.
They just need a reason to keep digging.
And now, they have one.
I lean back in my chair, my office bathed in the pale glow of my computer screen, reports spread out in front of me. Multiple files are stacked on my desk, which is a graveyard of unfinished paperwork, but there’s really only one file that matters to me at the moment.
Because this file?
This one’s fresh. It’s personal.
And it has Mason Ironside’s name all over it.
I rub my jaw, skimming my notes.
Someone's been digging. The wrong kind of people are asking the wrong kind of questions. And the pieces? They’re starting to align.
A former Fed, turned rogue. A disappearance that doesn’t make sense. A woman he had a history with. A brutal attack that should have put her in the ground.
If they keep pushing, if they keep pulling at the thread—the Feds will find their way to Mason Ironside.
And then?
Then, I’ll have to make a choice.
A choice I never should have to fucking make.
I stare at Shelby’s name in the file, next to David’s. Her injuries. The reports.
The only thing worse than knowing Mason killed David Eddy is knowing that he did it for the right reasons.
That if Mason hadn’t done it, I probably would have.
The bastard deserved worse than what he got.
And now?
The only thing standing between Mason and an orange jumpsuit is me.
I close the file, pressing my fingers against my temples, exhaling slow.
Because I already know what I’m about to do.
I know what this means.
What it costs. The line I’m toeing—thin as wire, sharp as a blade.
I didn’t come into this job to blur boundaries. I came to scrub the filth from the world, one bastard at a time.
But the deeper I went, the more I realized that the stench isn’t in the gutter. It’s in the marble hallways. In the polished shoes and polished lies.
Corruption doesn’t crawl up from the bottom. It bleeds down from the top. And every system I swore to protect is just another thread in a web built to choke the truth.
But when it comes down to it? None of that shit matters. Law, badge, blood oath—doesn’t make a difference when the bodies hit the ground. Because the truth is, the Gatti Outfit and I might wear different armor, but we’re fighting the same war.
We share a common enemy, but we just play by different rules.
But right now, for the first time since I started at the Bureau, it looks like I’ll have to play by their rules.
Lucky Gatti and I agree to meet at a local garage. Legit on paper, but I know better—it’s the Gattis’ private vault, a showroom for their stable of priceless cars. Quiet threat with a much quieter flex.
I step through the side door, hands raised so he knows I don’t have a weapon and I’m not here to make noise. I’m here to deliver a warning—before the Feds swarm the Gattis with a search warrant and two dozen agents who don’t give a damn who’s guilty and who’s just standing too close.
Lucky’s already waiting, leaning against the hood of a matte black Cadillac, cigarette balanced between two fingers, eyes sharp and unreadable. No hello. No handshake. Just that look—like he’s weighing whether I leave through the same door I came in… or in pieces.
Can’t say I blame him. He was surprised to get my call, but curious enough to offer me an audience. Our past has weight, but lately? There’s been tension. Too many lines have been crossed—not to mention their interference in the Altin Kadri case—and yeah, he’s six feet under now, and I’m sure they had a hand in that too. Proving it, though, gets me nowhere.
“Saxon fucking North,” Lucky drawls. “Look at you. Still dressed like you’re about to run a press conference no one asked for.”
“Nice to see you too, Gatti.” I nod at the car. “That Capone’s Cadillac?”
He smirks. “Depends on who’s asking.”
I get to the point.
“I’m here to deliver a warning.”
He lifts a brow. “About?”
“David Eddy.”
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t flinch. He knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“Don’t know anyone by that name,” he lies. He may never have met the man, but I’d bet my life on the fact that he knows exactly what happened to him.
“My partner. He vanished,” I continue. “Poof. Ghosted. And his phone? Last ping was from the vicinity of Shelby Monroe’s house the night he disappeared.”
Now I’ve got his attention.
I see the flicker in his expression—the tension tightening behind his smirk.
“What does this have to do with me?” he asks casually, but I’ve always been good at picking up on the tension in his voice.
“The Feds think she knows something,” I say. “Or saw something. Either way, her name’s on the board. And I know she’s now in the custody of Mason Ironside.”
I let the silence stretch for a second, let it settle like gunpowder.
“‘Custody’ is a bit of a strong word, don’t you think? She’s not a prisoner.”
“Given her history with Eddy, they’re looking at her for answers about his disappearance. She’s a civilian, Lucky. If Ironside’s in any way involved in this, it’s only a matter of time before she cracks.”
“She herself was attacked. I know you have a brilliant mind and you remember that.”
“You know they don’t give a shit. This will be the second investigation that’s gone south for the Bureau because of Gatti interference—Kadri, and now David Eddy. It’s only a matter of time before they’re breathing down your family’s neck.”
He shrugs, nonchalant. “So, you’re here to what… save us?”
I sigh and run a palm down my face. I don’t blame him for being suspicious. Cautious. I am, after all, the man in the suit, standing on the opposite side of the fence.
“Eddy was under federal investigation. Human trafficking. Drug smuggling. Asset misappropriation. You name it, he dipped his greasy fingers into it. We had eyes on him for months. He was a key part of the case we’re building. A node in a much larger web.”
Lucky looks at me without looking too invested. He’s good at pretending. I know him well enough to know he’s hanging on to every word as the wheels turn in his head.
“The drugs from the docks?” I remind him. “That stash that went missing? All under Eddy’s watch.”
Lucky leans back, folding his arms across his chest, looking away thoughtfully.
“So, let me guess,” he says as he turns back to face me. “You’re here to ask what I know. Try to sniff out who took him off the board.”
“No,” I say honestly. “I’m here to tell you I don’t care.”
That earns me a raised brow.
“David Eddy deserved whatever the fuck happened to him,” I say, voice low. “If I’d gotten to him first, it wouldn’t have been quick. So, if someone got to him and put him down like the animal he was?” I shrug. “That’s just good housekeeping.”
Lucky’s grin is slow and sharp. But it gives me nothing. Not even a damn verbal confirmation of what I already know.
“What’s your stake in this?” he asks, straightening to his full height. “Why the heads-up?”
“Because Shelby didn’t deserve what she got. But David did. I should have stopped him a long time ago when I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“My superiors weren’t content to get just his head. He’s part of a much wider net with substantially more value than a corrupt Fed.”
“I’ll tell you this,” Lucky says. “Your man was into something much bigger than even you or I could fathom.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m listening.”
He doesn’t give me anything. Just a flicker in his eyes. But it’s enough to tell me what I need to know. He doesn’t trust me yet—but he will again, pretty soon.
I start stitching it together. Building the frame around the hole I’ve left open.
“David was sniffing around Shelby’s house,” I say, talking it out like I’m testing a theory. “Someone was following him. Saw the perfect opportunity—and he met with foul play. Said someone then buried him. Clean. Quiet. Now, I’m not mentioning any names here, because I have no fucking idea who did it. But then, the same crooked people he worked with decided that Shelby knew too much. Sent two hitters after her. Though she somehow survived.”
I watch Lucky carefully. No denial. No confirmation.
Good. It means I’m close.
“That’s a neat timeline,” he murmurs.
“Convenient,” I tell him.
“Believable,” he counters.
We stare at each other for a beat, the silence thick with implication.
Then I nod. “I can work with that.”
“Can you?” Lucky asks.
“I can do more than that,” I say. “I can move the puzzle pieces to fit that version of the story.”
“Why?”
I don’t blink.
“Because I’m not here for Mason. Or Shelby. I’m here for the men above David Eddy. The real monsters. And I’m not letting red tape or blood trails fuck up my shot at cutting off the head of this snake.”
I take a step back, adjust my coat.
“I’ll keep Mason out of it,” I say. “But tell him to stay out of my way. I’m not running interference forever.”
Lucky snorts. “He’s not great at staying out of things.”
“Neither am I.”
I turn for the door, but pause before leaving.
“One more thing,” I add. “If Shelby suddenly remembers anything—make sure she develops amnesia.”
After a beat, he exhales. “You know, Sax, for a Fed, you sure do wade in some murky fucking waters.”
I don’t answer, because I don’t have to.
We’re all playing the same game now.
We’re just lying about which team we’re on.
Mason Ironside?
I’ll make sure he’s safe, because he’s more use to me on the outside than he is in federal prison.
But me?
I just crossed a fucking line.
And I don’t know if there’s any coming back from that.