18. Talon
TALON
The elevator doors inside the compound slide open with a mechanical ding, and I step off to find Slade leaning up against the wall nearby, one foot kicked back against the cinderblock as he scrolls his phone absently.
He looks up at the sound of my footsteps, something like relief washing over his features as if he’s been waiting for me.
“Tracking me now?” I ask, arching a brow in his direction. “Careful, Slade, you’re starting to look desperate.”
“Where you been?” he questions, pushing off from the wall and advancing in my direction.
I swipe Jersey’s video feed away, pocketing my phone. “Out,” I reply flatly, shouldering past him to head for my apartment.
“Uh huh,” Slade mumbles, keeping pace with me. “Do you remember that Miller kid from probation? Austin? Couldn’t hit shit unless it was five feet in front of him and completely still, only made it as far as he did because of his dad?”
I grunt in response, not breaking stride.
The mention of Miller’s name should raise all the fucking red flags, considering I went rogue and melted the guy’s face off, but I’m only half listening. Once again, my little stray has me dangerously distracted.
Closing her video feed does fuck all to erase the image of her from my mind.
Curled on her side with her lips slightly parted, her dark hair twisted into a braid that was practically made for my fist. I imagine winding my fingers through her hair, those eyes snapping open, then sharpening with recognition.
That’s when the fire and fight would kick in– when she realized who’d crawled back through the vents to finish what he’d started.
I’d guide that vicious little mouth over my cock until the hoop piercing at my tip was visible through the skin at the hollow of her throat, hold her there until she struggled for breath. I bet she’d bite again, sinking her teeth into me, coating my shaft in blood and spit.
My fingers flex at my side, my blood surging south and my cock thickening behind my zipper as Slade continues rambling on about the irrelevant douche whose been turned into biodegradable flesh-fetti.
“C’mon, you know who I’m talking about,” Slade huffs. “His dad left the Syndicate for some bullshit job at The Registry after he got his knee blown out, remember?”
I grind to a halt in front of my apartment door, adjusting myself as I pivot to unlock it. “There a point to this?”
“Yeah, the point is Austin Miller was taken out by a car bomb,” Slade says, leaning a shoulder against the wall and stabbing his fingers through his hair. “They found his car and most of him in a field halfway to Bellhaven.”
“You don’t say,” I deadpan, pushing into my apartment.
Slade follows me in, and I head towards the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a glass. Then I turn, raising it to Slade. “Want some?”
“No, shithead,” he scoffs, scowling back at me. “Miller’s dad’s out for blood.”
This gets my attention. I flick my gaze up, pausing briefly before cracking the seal on the bottle and starting to pour. “From who?”
“Whoever did it.” Slade pushes up his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I heard him talking to my dad–”
“Do you have your dad’s house tapped?” I ask, turning to face him.
“No.” He rolls his eyes. “Just his office.”
I shrug, taking a drink.
“Well, he thinks a repo man did it,” Slade continues, still glowering at me. “He wants a meeting with us all.”
“When?”
“Now.”
I throw back my drink before begrudgingly motioning towards the door. “Lead the way.”
My boots scuff against the concrete as I follow Slade through the corridors of the compound and into one of the command rooms. A few other mercenaries are already seated around the conference table in the center– some in sweats, straight out of bed, and others in full tactical gear.
I stride over to the nearest empty chair and sink down into it, my fingers drumming restlessly over my phone in my pocket.
Chief Noah Pierce walks in, some greying fuck in a tailored suit staggering beside him with a cane. From a single glance, I can tell he’s related to Austin Miller. Those genes are putting in far more work than that useless twat ever did.
I don’t want to be here. No one is ever going to prove I’m responsible for Austin Miller’s demise, and I'd much rather be home right now with a hand wrapped around my dick while I watch my favorite feed. But I respect Noah, so I’ll sit through this bullshit meeting.
And not because he’s my Chief, not because he raised me when he didn’t have to, but because he’s a good man in a world where human decency is a fucking liability.
Nothing comes free, and doing the right thing is rarely rewarded.
He could’ve ignored my screams for help all those years ago.
Leaving a half-dead kid behind with his junkie mother’s body wouldn’t have made the world any worse than it already was, but Noah didn’t see things that way.
He opened the door, let me out. He did what he could to raise me alongside Slade.
We inherited a world built by selfish bastards, and maybe it’s too fucked up now to fix. But that doesn’t mean we can't unfuck things for a few.
“What's going on?” Ross grumbles as he walks in. He looks like shit, one eye bruised and halfway swollen shut. “It’s three a.m. - someone better be dead,” he adds, dropping to the chair beside Slade.
Miller’s dad turns around quickly, leveling him with a glare. “My son is.”
Ross pales, scrubbing a busted hand over his tight-cropped hair as he mumbles, “Sorry.”
“Alright,” Noah sighs, arms folding over his chest as his eyes sweep over the room. “Commander Miller has put an open assignment on retainer. Turn in the proof of who murdered his son, and you’ll get to handle the execution.”
“I won’t mince words,” Miller cuts in, swinging his cane in front of Noah as he steps forward and lifts his chin.
“The hit on my son was meticulous. Professional. Whoever did it had training.” His eyes narrow.
“This kind of training. If it was someone in here, I have the power to find out and bury them.” He bangs his cane against the ground, sweeping his gaze around the table.
Nobody shifts their weight, no one’s expression changes. We’re all too well trained for that. Miller scowls, huffing out a breath before abruptly turning and hobbling out the door.
I scoff internally at his threat– one that could only come to fruition because of money, not skill.
“Dismissed,” Noah shouts.
I feel Slade’s gaze flick my way as I shove up from my seat and stalk towards the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him get up and start to follow, so I pick up my pace, aiming to lose him. As soon as I make it back to my apartment, I slip inside, immediately pulling up Jersey’s feed.
The fuck?
I blink at the screen, brows furrowing.
Last I checked, she was fast asleep. Now, her cell is empty.
Something in my chest pulls tight, my jaw clenching as I drop down into my recliner. Pulling up her file, I swipe into her profile to see what evaluation she’s been pulled in for, a notification at the top of the screen giving me pause.
Returned to Guardian.
I blink at the screen, sure I’m reading it wrong because it makes no fucking sense– her prior Guardian is dead and gone.
I click on the notification, finding her Guardian listed not as Isaiah Martin, but as Harris Rupert.
That sociopath?
My brows slam down, thumbs working over the screen. Just as I begin attempting to access Harris’ files, a knock comes at the door.
I try to ignore it, but it persists.
Slamming my phone down, I stalk over to the door and yank it open, finding Slade on the other side.
“What?” I spit.
He pushes in without invitation, and I huff as I shove the door closed behind him. Slade takes a few steps, then turns to face me.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
“What was?” I scoff, moving back to the living room.
“Miller.”
I grunt noncommittally, focusing back on my phone as I sink down on the couch again.
“Your lip curled when he said someone here did it. It’s your tell.”
“No it didn’t,” I mutter, trying and failing to access Harris’ files with the backdoor access Slade granted me for Jersey.
“Don’t bullshit me, Riggs,” Slade huffs, folding his arms and leveling me with a stare. “I know you. Why would you fuck with someone not only in The Registry, but a Commander’s son?”
“Not now,” I grumble, holding my phone out. “Can you help me get into this?”
Slade rolls his eyes and takes my phone, never one to turn down a chance at showing off. His fingers fly across the screen, the corner of his mouth twitching as I see a script running in the reflection of his glasses.
“Here,” he sighs, passing my phone back to me. “Now, back to Miller…”
His voice fades into background noise as I start digging through the file, finding altered logs and missing report details.
“Riggs, are you listening? The fuck is so important?” Slade swipes my phone out of my hand, his brow creasing as his eyes drop to the screen to skim the text. “That’s weird. There has to be another version.”
“Find it,” I grit out.
He looks up at me, considering. “No,” he decides, tossing my phone down and pivoting on a heel.
“Slade,” I snarl.
He stops, pivoting back toward me. “Fine. But after, we’re gonna talk about this Miller thing.”
“Fine,” I concede with a resigned sigh.
“I asked for a VR headset, you know,” he calls out, already moving towards my office. “But no, my dad brought you home instead.”
“I just wanted something to eat,” I mumble as I follow him in, plugging my phone into the modem. “Looks like we both got shit luck.”
Slade chuckles as he cracks his knuckles and settles in at my desk. It takes him all of two minutes to find a prior version of the altered report on a cloud file. “They scrubbed the servers, but not the emergency cloud,” he says with a scoff. “Amateurs.”
He keeps working, twisting in the chair and scanning the desk. “Thumb drive?”
“What’d you find?” I ask as I pull open a drawer and hand him one.
“Martin’s entire file. Everything that was here before, and… woah.”
A fresh rush of adrenaline punches through my veins. “What?”
“Found the entire investigation into the sedition charges that got him killed. Shit, he’d been skimming money from The Registry for at least five years,” Slade says, eyes wide as he scrolls.
“Why delete it?”
“He did this smoothly, money going out in various amounts, different services, different departments.” Slade twists around. “I’m actually impressed, they probably didn’t want to leave a how-to manual for stealing billions from them.”
“That’s fucking dumb,” I grumble, my hand idly rubbing the back of my neck.
“It is The Registry,” Slade snorts. “I can look into how this happened by tracking Harris’ financial movement, registry inconsistencies…”
Tension leeches into my muscles at the thought of someone else handling my little stray. Something cold and unfamiliar crawls beneath my skin. Irritation, I decide as I tip my chin and say, “Keep looking.”
I push to my feet and pace across the room, aiming to burn off some of the fury festering inside me. “What about J– Assets?” I ask.
If he caught my slip-up, he doesn’t let on. If he did, I’m sure he’s filed it away for that big ol’ talk about Miller we’re not going to have.
“Uhh,” he murmurs, chewing his lower lip in concentration as he searches. “Harris has a bunch of properties listed, but each address lists all five Assets as residents.”
I snatch my phone up, grumbling, “Let me see.”
“You’re welcome,” he mocks, rising to his feet. “Oh stop it, I know I’m the fucking best.”
I shoot him a quick glare before my eyes return to the screen.
He moves in closer, looking over my shoulder as I flip through Harris’ list of properties, trying to pinpoint which one he might be hiding Jersey at.
“Looks like he hosts a weekly poker game,” I mumble.
“On it,” Slade replies, leaning over the desk and tapping on the keyboard. “Tomorrow night,” he confirms. “Out near Ashford Station.”
I exhale slowly through my nose, hands curling into fists at my sides.
I’ve never been one for poker, but when it comes to a hunt, the odds are always in my favor.