Chapter 13 The Red Riot Boss
The Red Riot Boss
Lore
Reaching high above my head and twisting my hands together, my back gave a satisfying crackle as I popped the tension from it.
I could already feel that my hair was a bedraggled mess, but I couldn’t be bothered to fix it before coffee.
After shoving my feet in comfy slippers—shaped like cartoon foxes, a gag gift from Taylor two birthdays ago—I shuffled my way to the kitchen and stabbed the on button for the coffee machine on my way to the pantry.
Anything I did before coffee I was not responsible for, like the burnt toast I ended up with or the fact I had to hunt for my phone for ten minutes before finding it on the top shelf in the fridge next to the creamer.
How the fuck it got there I had no clue.
Finally, after the painful chores of being an adult and a sad piece of toast hanging from my mouth, I threw myself into my computer chair and wiggled my mouse to wake the three screens up.
“Time to see what fuckery I’m dealing with today,” I muttered around my mouthful of breakfast. My first order of business after logging in was to check the Vegas news. It didn’t disappoint.
Tech Company CEO and Powerhouse Frank DeNiro Suspected Dead!
Confirmed Death of Tech Powerhouse CEO Frank DeNiro!
Insider from DeNiro Tech Speculates Who Would Kill CEO Frank DeNiro!
I scoffed at the last one. “Unlikely.”
With my free left hand, I opened up the police records system and slipped through the security to read the reports from his crime scene.
From what I could tell, they didn’t have any leads on who killed him.
The cleanup crews Taylor managed were always thorough in scrubbing the scenes, so I wasn't too worried the police investigations would lead back to me. And even if they did find evidence, the detectives would either wipe it from the system or end up eighty-sixed. Regardless, it was a habit of mine to comb through the records after one of my playdates to make sure everything was cleaned up, and nothing pointed back at me. It’s a good work ethic.
The LVPD and Red Riot had a symbiotic relationship.
Whenever people were reported missing, they would bring information to us to put through our vast whisper network in the city to try and assist with any leads on their whereabouts.
No one paid attention to escorts and sex workers, and the sheer amount of information they were able to glean because of that was mutually beneficial for the mob and police.
Workers were more willing to talk to someone from the Riot than a detective.
In return, we had some leniency in dealing with the abusers and human traffickers who preyed on visitors and residents alike.
I could almost guarantee no one on the force would mourn the loss of scum like Frank DeNiro.
His ex-wife submitted her fair share of domestic violence reports back in California, before he moved to Vegas three years ago.
She didn’t come with him… smart woman. My mind wandered to the two hostages I’d found in his basement.
Kim Tanger, the woman who mentioned she was a dancer at one of the few clubs the Riot had some involvement with, and the young girl, Laura Smithson, who’d been snatched in front of her junior high almost two weeks ago.
She was a foster kid living with her maternal aunt and uncle, who were afraid to report her missing since the husband was a raging alcoholic with prior charges.
The doctor on retainer with the Riot completed rape tests on both of them.
And both came back positive. If I could somehow bring Frank back from the dead, I’d torture him for a week and let them do the honors of killing him.
As it was, he was currently mulch in Jerel’s back yard along with a bag of cow shit and garden soil.
Fitting, but not nearly as satisfying after getting those kit results back.
Kim insisted she was fine and cussed Jerel out when he offered her some financial and psychological support on my behalf, but Laura latched onto the prospect of a psychiatrist and a trust set up in her name for half a million to be released to her at eighteen.
Did any of that erase what horrors they had to endure?
Absolutely not. Did I hope they could use the help to find some place of peace?
Until my dying breath. Taylor was right; I couldn’t save every victim of sexual assault.
I wanted to be the person I wished I had when Elio had broken the spirit of Lorelai McGregor.
He may have fucked the will to live out of her, but this incarnation would drag his ass down to hell with me.
Fingers drumming idly on the desk, I tilted back to finish the dregs of my cooling coffee before moving on to the next chore for the day.
My hand reached for the phone sitting face down beside the keyboard and thumbed through the address book to the one named Puppy.
I smiled at what the owner of that number would think, knowing I had the number for his encrypted phone, and that I’d saved him under the nickname he hated.
I sent the address to the cafe where I planned to meet him, and the instructions after.
Meet me for lunch today. 11:30. Don’t be late.
The three dots popped up immediately. Grant was typing a response.
Who is this? I could almost imagine the cute scowl darkening his face as he glared at his phone. How did you get this number?
A smile threatened to split my face in half from how wide it grew. The person you’ve been looking for.
Lore Brennan?
Maybe.
Instead of waiting for it like a love-struck teenager with her first crush, I navigated over to my brother’s number and called him. He picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, dearest sister,” he sounded annoyed and tired. “I’m so glad your lovely voice is the first thing I hear today.”
A feminine sigh came from the background, followed shortly by a solid thwack and Taylor’s yelp. “Really? You’re so fucking dramatic. Hey, Lore!” He must have answered on speakerphone.
“‘Sup, Sasha. Keeping my brother in line?”
Sasha barked a laugh. “God himself couldn’t keep this guy in line, much less with you two being double trouble. But I manage,” she sighed again. “Duty calls, I’m guessing? I’ll get the coffee started, hon.”
A fleshy smack came down the line, and her playful laughter sounded like it was moving away. “That’s a good woman,” Taylor teased. “Best piece of ass I’ve ever had!”
Their teasing brought a smile to my lips as I twirled in the chair, leaning back to stare up at the ceiling with the phone on speaker.
“You two sound like an old couple. Can I have ‘Taylor the Enforcer’ now? You’re making my teeth hurt with all this sickening sweet talk.
” I plucked at the neckline of my baggy Nirvana shirt. “We need to talk business.”
“Right.” There was a rustling of bedsheets like Taylor was getting out of bed. A loud yawn and crack from what I assumed was his back stretching gave the impression he was finally getting up. “Whatcha got for me?”
I braced myself for the verbal berating I was going to get from this. Meaning, I trudged back to the kitchen to refill my mug with a drop of creamer and more steaming bold coffee. “I’m meeting Grant Black for lunch today… as myself.”
His silence spoke volumes. Screaming, cursing volumes.
“Lore,” he began, his voice low and rumbly in that pissed-off way I was very familiar with.
“I mean this in the most loving and protective way possible… but what the actual fuck is wrong with you?” By the end of it, I was sure Taylor blew a blood vessel in his eyeball or something with how loud he’d gotten.
Hopping up to sit on the counter beside my emotional support coffee—something else that would drive Taylor nuts—I kicked my feet lightly, twirling a piece of my hair and getting distracted with the horrendous split ends while my loving half-brother ranted for the next five minutes.
By the end of his scolding, actual sentences were taken over by sputtering and cursing.
God, I needed a haircut so badly… but, I wear wigs most of the time so is it even worth the trouble?
“Are you even listening to me?” Taylor asked, all pissy-like and exasperated. “Nope, don’t answer that. I’m sure it will just piss me off even more when you blatantly tell me that you zoned out and started playing with your hair. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I grimaced. “I get it, you don’t like the idea.
I don’t need a dressin’ down like you’re my–” I was going to say ‘dad’, but that would be an outright insult “–overbearing parent figure. Can you help me out with logistics or not? I know Jerel’s got you helping out with questioning guys about the shooting. ”
“Yeah, so why you givin’ me even more shit to stress about?” Man, he was so snarky this morning. And his accent was growing stronger by the minute. Something we had in common when we got worked up.
“So you want a social outing with this guy, even though no less than two mobs are gunnin’ for your ass? And you’re not going to let me convince you otherwise?”
“In a nutshell, yes,” I chirped. “And you’re the best security manager a boss could ask for, so I know you can do it. After you’re done bitchin’ to me about how stupid I am.”
Taylor grumbled like an angry bear. “I will never be done bitching at you about something, it seems. And you’re too feckin’ stubborn to be convinced of something you have your twisted mind set to.
” Sasha’s voice chimed in with something again, and he responded with a warm tone.
Then he took a long slurp of what I assumed was coffee, a sound that he knew would drive me nuts.
“So, we’re gonna have to shut the restaurant down. Do you have the place picked out?”
“Of course. It’s the Scorching Chick.”