6. Dante
“I wantto hear about it even if you’re not sure whether they’re working for West Point or not,” I say, lifting my take-out cup to my mouth even though the coffee tastes like ass.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever you need, Big D.”
Scales, a runner for the 17th Street Gang who owes me for saving his ass when he got into a tight spot with Halston’s finest a few years ago, bobs his head in a quick, jittery nod that tells me he’s using again.
Fucking stupid of him, but not my problem. What is my problem is that just like every other contact I’ve checked in with out on the streets, he hasn’t seen anyone from West Point doing anything that would point us toward where they might be keeping Riley.
I drain the last of the truly shitty coffee I picked up at the convenience store behind us, the one Scales somehow holds down a part-time job at when he’s not moving product for his organization, and toss the cup into the dumpster we’re standing next to.
“I’m serious,” I tell him. “It’s not just McKenna’s people I want to hear about. If you see anyone you don’t recognize and they so much as fucking sneeze in a suspicious way, I want you to call me.”
We don’t know who West Point is allied with at this point, but it’s almost guaranteed that McKenna has our girl locked down somewhere outside his own borders. The problem is, Halston ain’t big, but it’s not exactly small, either. No matter how far our reach is, we can’t cover all of it.
Scales nods again, his fingers flicking urgently against his thigh as he promises me that he’ll keep an eye out.
I let him go, then give in to my frustration and punch the side of the dumpster with a vicious curse, welcoming the hot burst of pain across my knuckles.
I’ve got no fucking clue if Scales will actually remember the promise he just made me after he gets his next fix, but someone has to have caught wind of McKenna’s movements lately. I just have to fucking find that someone… and after two weeks of looking and coming up with fuck all for the effort, I want to do a hell of a lot more damage than just leaving a few smears of my blood across a back alley dumpster.
I’ve already tapped out all my informants and contacts today though, so I scrub a hand over my face and head back to the car, absently noting the rasp of stubble on my jaw as it catches on the calluses on my fingers.
Fine, it’s more than a fucking rasp. I’m probably getting close to full-on beard territory. I honestly can’t remember the last time I shaved, but I care even less.
“Fucking McKenna,” I mutter as I slide behind the wheel of the piece of shit SUV I’ve been driving ever since the Escalade got shot up.
I head for home, the agitation I feel over another fucking day with no leads to follow making me drive a little more recklessly than I probably should… maybe not entirely by accident.
The way Riley’s extended absence is getting to me, I’d almost welcome a problem coming my way that I could unleash a little of this pent-up aggression on. But fortunately or not, the route back to the house stays clear of all cops, and the rational part of me knows that really is for the best.
We need to stay under the radar as we search for our girl. We don’t need the hassle of giving the police a reason to start sniffing around our operation and activities, and we sure as shit don’t need to piss off The Six again.
My phone lights up while I’m two blocks from the house, and I swipe it open, glancing between the road and the screen as I read the message. Then I hit the call button.
“What do you have for me?” I ask as soon as the informant who just reached out answers. Claudia turns tricks right on the edge of West Point’s territory, and she’s got no love for McKenna or any of his men.
“Heard you were looking for a place West Point might keep someone out of sight.”
“And?”
She tries every last drop of my patience as she takes a long, loud drag on her cigarette before answering. Long enough that I’ve got the SUV parked and my feet on the ground before she finally fucking answers me.
“And… McKenna has a house he uses for shit like that. A fuck house for whenever he steps out on that ho he keeps around.”
“You’ve been there?”
She makes a rude noise. “I’m not letting that prick get any of this, but he’s taken a few of the girls there. I know where it is.”
“Where?”
I’m usually better with people, but not today, and whatever Claudia hears in my voice cuts off any attempt she’s thinking of making to squeeze me for something before providing the information.
But when she rattles off the address, I want to punch something all over again.
It’s fucking useless. She’s talking about the safe house Maddoc grabbed Chloe from a few weeks ago, and while there’s no way in hell I’ll ever regret that he did that—both for Chloe’s sake and because of how much getting her sister back meant to Riley—one pain-in-the-ass side effect is that it’s got McKenna playing smarter this time around.
He hasn’t just holed up somewhere off the grid with Riley. Most of his people have gone to ground too. He knows we’re watching, and everything that’s not completely above board with West Point’s operations has gone almost totally dark since he grabbed Riley.
Despite pouring every resource we’ve got into the hunt, we’ve got no leads at all and nothing to track. Hell, we don’t even know if Riley is alive or dead at this point, but… she has to be alive. Not just because there’s no way in hell McKenna wouldn’t rub it in Maddoc’s face if he’d offed her, but because anything else is unacceptable.
I manage to thank Claudia for the information before ending the call, but then have to take a minute to collect myself before I actually go inside the house. None of us like knowing Riley is in that motherfucker’s hands, and my brothers are showing the strain just as much as I am.
It’s not gonna help any of us do what we need to if I walk in without a clear head. Rage and retribution will have to wait. Giving in to my frustration isn’t going to get us Riley back.
The house is quiet when I go inside, but when I walk into the kitchen, Chloe is sitting at the counter, listlessly picking at some day-old take-out.
She looks up as soon as I walk in, hope lighting her face in a way that makes my chest feel tight… or maybe that’s from the way her face crumples for a second when I shake my head, before she catches herself and nods stoically.
Life is a cruel bitch who gets off on causing us pain, that’s a fact I learned young and have never found an exception to. I’ve also never bothered wasting my time pitying all the people she fucks over, and the ones who stand up and flip her off after she knocks them down—the ones like Riley—are the only kind who ever have a chance of earning my respect.
But damn, Chloe reminds me so much of her sister that it does something to me.
I like that she’s staying here at the house, filling it with some kind of Riley-like energy. I like that she’s not as wary of us as she was in the beginning. I even like how surprisingly comfortable it feels to have her underfoot all the time. And for better or worse, I’m pretty sure Chloe’s presence pushes all of us that much harder, and sustains us along the way.
“Did you and Logan dig up anything new for us to look into?” I ask, popping a coffee pod into the machine even though the lining of my stomach has probably been seared right off with the amount I’ve been drinking lately.
“Maybe,” Chloe answers, pushing her take-out aside and propping her elbows on the counter. “Logan tapped into one of those doorbell camera companies, and he’s been combing through footage from some of the residential areas to the west of Cliffton. I’m going through info he gave me on West Point’s assets, trying to see if anything matches up.”
“You think you’re narrowing down possible locations they might be keeping her?”
“We have a couple that look promising,” she says, the expression on her face not really matching her words.
Maddoc and I have been working with our networks out on the streets while Logan holes up here to do all that electronic computerized magic of his, and I’m honestly a little shocked he’s let Chloe be such a big part of it. He must feel it too, though. Riley’s changed all of us, and Chloe is…
Fuck, she’s family now.
She also probably needs something to do so she doesn’t go fucking stir crazy, just like the rest of us, so whether he’s just humoring her or not, I’m glad Logan’s decided to let her help him out like this.
“Do you think—” Chloe starts to ask, cutting herself off mid-sentence when Maddoc and Logan walk in. She whirls to face them, that same irrepressible hope lighting her face. “Did you find her?”
Maddoc’s jaw clenches. “Not yet.”
Chloe nods, pressing her lips together tightly, but I’ve gotta admire the way she keeps from melting down.
“How about you, Dante?” Maddoc asks. “Has the 17th Street Gang gotten wind of anything?”
“The only thing they’ve seen is how fucking careful McKenna’s got his people being over the last couple of weeks.”
“That makes sense,” Logan says grimly. “If he wants to get his hands on Riley’s inheritance legally, he doesn’t need to just keep her hidden from us. He needs to make sure no one in his organization steps out of line and puts his operation at risk until he’s secured the money.”
A vague thought of causing some sort of problem at one of West Point’s businesses starts to form in the back of my mind. I’m not sure how exactly we could use that kind of trouble to flush out his new safe house, but I’ve got no doubt at all that Logan could come up with something. But before the idea can truly take hold, Maddoc’s phone rings.
“Your coffee’s ready,” Chloe says to me with a tiny smile, tilting her head toward the new Keurig Logan ordered after Riley shot up our old one.
I turn and grab my cup as Maddoc pulls his phone out, but before I get it to my mouth, he goes still.
I peer over his shoulder. “Is that fucking McKenna?”
It’s not one of the few phone numbers I know on sight, but whoever’s calling is someone Maddoc’s got as a saved contact under the name Dead Man Walking. I’m pretty sure he updated that shit after Sienna betrayed him, but now that the fucker took Riley, it’s not a fucking euphemism. It’s a guarantee.
Maddoc gives me a grim nod and swipes to accept the call, immediately putting it on speaker so we can all hear.
Logan and Chloe lean in, all three of us going quiet as Maddoc starts out with a clipped, “Yeah?”
McKenna chuckles. “I’ve got something that could have been yours.”
Maddoc’s hand tightens on the phone, his knuckles going white. “Where is she?”
“See, now that’s why you Reapers will never be as strong as West Point. You’re asking about some random piece of ass, while I’m talking about cash. A lot of fucking cash. Money that I heard you weren’t even going to take when you had the chance to. That can’t be right though, can it? You’re not that stupid.”
“Tell me where the fuck you’re keeping Riley,” Maddoc growls.
“Oh wait, you are that stupid.” McKenna’s voice goes hard. “You didn’t wring any value out of her while you had her. Word is, you weren’t even planning to do it when you thought the money belonged to her little sister… and now it’s too late.”
Chloe makes a frightened sound, and Maddoc’s face goes pale. McKenna, that motherfucker, keeps talking, but I know for sure that if he means what that just sounded like, he is a dead man walking.
“The money’s already mine,” he crows. “Unlike you Reapers, West Point isn’t soft. We do whatever we need to, whatever it takes to get ahead. And this new funding of ours? We’re gonna fucking dominate this city now.”
McKenna’s only focus is that fucking money… which means he probably wasn’t talking about it being too late for Riley. And yeah, West Point having those kinds of resources is gonna become a problem for us down the line, but problems we can deal with. Losing Riley, we can’t.
Madd ignores all the taunts and posturing and asks the only thing we really need to know. “What have you done with her?”
McKenna stays silent for a minute, drawing shit out for his own sadistic pleasure, and it’s all too easy to picture the gloating smirk that’s probably on his face right now.
Picture it, and picture turning it bloody on the other end of my fist.
But finally—
“She’s alive.”
My heart starts beating again, and all four of us subtly relax.
As long as Riley’s alive, we’ll get her back. Everything else is just fucking noise.
“I don’t need the bitch anymore now that her inheritance belongs to me,” McKenna goes on. “But the way you Reapers have been turning over every stone in this city looking for her? I figured you might be interested in making a deal to get her back.”
Chloe sucks in a sharp breath, and Logan goes utterly still.
Maddoc’s jaw tightens. “What are your terms?”
This time, McKenna doesn’t drag it out. “You. A straight-up trade. The girl for you.”
“Done.” Madd doesn’t even hesitate. “When and where?”
“Tomorrow.”
McKenna rattles off a time and place as Maddoc meets my eyes, and I nod. He’s not gonna get any objection from me. I’d have said the exact same thing if it were me that McKenna wanted.
I glance at Logan as Madd ends the call, half expecting him to be seething with silent anger, ready to tell us this is fucking stupid. Clearly, I’m the one who’s stupid for thinking that, though. Riley’s changed Logan too, and while the silent, seething anger I expected to see is definitely there, there’s nothing but murderous determination in his eyes as the three of us share a look.
“We’re getting her back,” Logan finally says, his voice flat and irrefutable.
“Damn fucking right we are,” Maddoc growls.
“We’ve got a shit-ton of planning to do and not a lot of fucking time to do it in,” I add. “How do you want us to get ready for this drop, Madd?”
“Come on,” he says, not waiting for either of us as he turns and heads toward his office. “Let’s go figure that out.”
Logan follows on his heels, and I’m right behind the both of them when Chloe stops me with a hand on my arm.
I look down at her, half expecting big, teary eyes and trembling lips. Understandable, but not gonna lie, we don’t have time for that shit right now. But once again, what I get instead is a reminder to stop assuming stupid shit about people who care about Riley.
Of course Chloe is torn up about McKenna having her sister, but they’ve both got the same inner core of steel, and she doesn’t waste my time whining about how bad this could go or drowning in fear over shit that’s out of our hands at the moment. She just lifts her chin and locks her gaze onto mine. “Are you really going to get her back?”
She doesn’t need me to sugarcoat it. She needs the unvarnished truth.
“Yeah, we are,” I say, giving it to her. “Riley’s coming home tomorrow.”
It’s more than the truth. It’s a promise. A motherfucking vow.
No matter who we have to take out to make it happen.