CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN #2
“Tessa?” Ryker’s jaw locks with that assumption, and the other two stiffen.
They’d be protective over any woman in that instance, but it soothes me to hear it regarding her.
“No.” I blow out a breath because I really don’t know how to navigate this without sharing something Violet didn’t ever want uttered again and also being damn sure Tessa isn’t tied to it. “It’s so fucking complicated.”
“Make it uncomplicated,” Axel insists. “This is a disaster. Our security guys already detained one of the drivers coming after you. Interrogation could take a while, but their first response was that they were hired blindly. Dark web job.”
“Fuck,” I grumble. That is unfortunate. The only upside to being shot at would be to nail down who was after us and what they know. Hopefully, they’ll get something, which is why I add, “Liam should look into that.”
“He’s already on it,” Axel assures me. “We also heard one of the drivers was shot. Our cops are working on identification.”
My chest swells with pride. Tessa took that asshole out. I thought she might have when the bullet penetrated the windshield. I wonder if she’s considered that.
“Okay.” I pull out my butterfly knife, inch backward a few steps, and flip it around, needing the comforting clicks and clacks. “So, we wait.”
“No. We don’t fucking wait. The fiasco this morning already requires a massive cover-up, and Makarov isn’t even here yet. You have a story to share.” He studies me for a minute before he glances at Tessa. “You’re protecting her.”
“Yes. And all of you.” I pause my twirling for emphasis.
“The less you know, the better. There was dark web chatter that Liam found. Not an identifiable source, but enough to know there is speculation regarding local New Orleans organizations involved with Niko’s disappearance, including us.
You all not knowing is safer, in case the wrong person sniffs around. ”
He huffs a mirthless chuckle, irritated that I’m hiding things. “Well, based on your summary of the call you took, we already know Vincent Lund was trying to track down the money his grandson had handed off to Niko Makarov. Are you the one who took it?”
“Fuck no,” I grit out, swinging the knife closed and pocketing it.
There’s no way around this. “I killed the guy to save the girl, realized who he was, cut the motherfucker up into pieces, and dropped him in the bayou myself. The site was cleaned. I was fucking careful. But after my conversation with Lund, I started to dig. He had serial numbers from several bundles. He never got a hit on them, but between Liam searching with KORT resources and me tapping into some international casino connections, we discovered that every few months, a stack shows up in the Bahamas.”
“That’s a start, I guess.” Axel’s sapphire eyes narrow. He’s still trying to decipher what I’m not revealing.
“It’s almost impossible to track casino-washed funds,” Ryker chimes in, hands in his pockets and leaning against the black marble countertop. “Any prospects?”
“Several. Including some of our members. Some allies and enemies of the Makarovs. Same for the Lunds. And …” I stall for a beat, my gaze drifting to Cash, who widens his eyes with another command to spit it all out, so I do.
“Tessa’s ex, and his family, colleagues, and friends, which extends to some of her relatives. ”
Axel’s shoulders are rigid. We all know what’s coming, and honestly, I don’t fucking blame him. His priority is me, us—this family.
So, he has to ask, “And her? Does she have involvement with the Bahamas casino?”
“No,” I lie.
Because she hasn’t in the past couple of years and what she did before doesn’t have anything to do with it. From what I can tell, she took a few trips with Hunter during that year and a half they dated. Though I do need to ask her if she knows anything about the money.
“You’re sure?” he presses.
I let my stare linger on him for a few seconds longer than what’s respectful. Haven’t done that since I was an unruly teenager, but while his initial skepticism is warranted, it ends now. “I’m positive, so drop it.”
Ryker is slightly softer in these circumstances because he relates to my protectiveness, but he’s still leery. “What about her family?”
“I don’t fucking know.” I scrub my hand over my face and look past them, watching Tessa laugh at something Jax said, which has both warmth and irrational jealousy coursing through me—her laughs belong to me.
“They aren’t fans of mine. And I can’t stand the way they fucking treat her.
I know that much. They seem to be average country people.
Even Hunter, her ex, was an asshole, but he appeared shaken enough by our questions that he would’ve disclosed any intel he had about the money.
Tessa sees them as belonging to a completely different world, and I get it. They do.”
“We questioned Hunter together.” Cash shuffles his card deck with one hand, his back braced against the fridge. “The guy is two-timing swine, but didn’t strike me as someone who was laundering stolen money.”
Ryker hums, organizing his thoughts. “Lund said there was a witness. What did the witness attest to seeing?”
An unbidden sigh escapes me. “They had the G-wagon, the house, and questionable activity—whatever that means. Obviously, no license plate.”
My response instigates rapid-fire.
“You disposed of that G-wagon?” Axel asks.
“Crushed like my GranTurismo is being right now. The one in the garage is new with different trim.”
Cash shoots next. “Who owned the house?”
“It was a leasing company. No cameras. I erased the tenant history and filled it in with fictitious names.”
Ryker pushes off the countertop, back ramrod straight and his bulldozer tendencies shining through his barked queries. “Where is the weapon? Who was on the lease? Did anyone go with you to the bayou? What cleaning service did you use?”
“The weapon was disposed of separately. I went alone after I got the victim to safety. And I used York—the cleaner Ty, Liam, and all those guys use. They’d referred me.”
“York is thorough,” Axel mutters, pondering something.
“Who were the tenants, Mad?” Ryker presses, not missing that I skirted that.
Cash stares at me with rapt interest. He was wondering the same thing.
It takes a beat for me to share it, but since Axel is one of KORT’s five primary leaders, he could strong-arm Liam into giving up the information anyway, so I finally just put it out there. “Tessa and her sister.”
No one seems overly shocked by that reveal. They suspected.
“This is really fucking hard to dissect when I don’t know how else Tessa is involved.” Axel’s dubious glower burns into me, but when I divulge nothing more, he exhales, resigned. “I’ll take the meeting with Makarov. Maybe I’ll get something from him.”
“Thanks, Papa Axe.” I smirk with my use of the smart-ass nickname I assigned him after our parents died. It began as a rebellious term of teenage disrespect and morphed into endearment.
He knows he means everything to me. He’s been a father, a brother, a mentor, and a friend.
Ryker has too. And Cash? Well, I’d imagine he’s pissed I didn’t clue him in long before this and terrified this could all go south fast. That’s how I’d feel if the tables were turned.
They all seem a little taken aback. We could very well be looking at war this week. It’s time to prepare for combat.
Axel bobs his head. “Are we protecting Tessa as an employee or as an untouchable?”
“An untouchable,” I answer without hesitation.
In most Mafias and secret societies, a significant other is listed as an untouchable, which alerts their rivals that action against that person is where the battle lines are drawn.
Violating that decree always results in bloodshed.
For us, it’s even more consequential. As the safe haven for countless organizations, a hit against us or someone we submit as ours is an act of war against us and all our members.
It’s certain death. For the entire group who initiated it.
Just like it is for Mercy, a hit on Tessa, once she’s declared to be mine, would have the vast majority of the underworld warring on her behalf.
“I can’t issue it unless this is permanent,” he warns.
While an immediate marriage isn’t necessary for me to claim her, like it would be in some of our members’ organizations, since we make our own rules, we still can’t be frivolous with that privilege.
“I’m aware,” I assure him.
He swipes an ash-brown strand of hair off his forehead before he rubs his temple, evidently at his wits’ end. “Is she in?”
This is always his concern. Are we choosing someone who will choose us back?
Anxiety needles my skin. I take my knife back out of my pocket and flick it around. “There’s been a lot thrown at her in a short amount of time, but I’ll make certain she is.”
Again, my attention sails to the woman who has turned my world upside down.
Our eyes lock, and she smiles even though she’s furious about what I said in the car.
She’s too fucking headstrong for warnings and ultimatums. A quality that will serve her well in this role, but also one that will likely have her pissed at me much of the time.
Because they’re necessary. And yet I think she’s slowly understanding that I’m not trying to snuff out her spirit.
All I want is to give her a place she’s free to soar.
I doubt she even realizes what she’s done for me. To outsiders, I’ve always appeared easygoing, dancing through life. And that’s accurate, in part. I kept my knife and music as a barrier between myself and intimacy though.
Blades and ballads were my comfort, but I was so fucking lonely. More than I realized.