Chapter Thirty #2
Consequently, I’m forced to drag my ass out of bed—away from the warmth and softness of Scarlett’s body—and make my way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
The Caller ID shows an unknown number, but that doesn’t phase me—most of my contacts regularly switch burners to avoid oversight from the government.
When I pick up, the voice that comes over the line surprises me.
“Greyson.” Eric’s greeting is clipped, and his tone isn’t friendly—but I’m not surprised. I’m sure he’d kill me if he thought he could get away with it.
“Eric,” I reply. “Why are you calling me in the middle of the fucking night?”
“Got intel that Luther has vacated premises,” he replies. “He’s gone, Greyson. He left his compound.”
…fuck.
A million thoughts course through my mind. Luther must have caught wind of our plans, and he’s making moves to get ahead of us. That means that there’s a leak somewhere, because only the Nighthawk’s and Eric’s team actually know where Luther is.
Which means that the entire op could be compromised. Luther might’ve slipped through our hands, and there’s no way of knowing when we’ll be able to pin him again—
“It looks like he’s staying with a mistress. I’ve heard chatter that there’s been some dissent in the Widower’s ranks recently, so it’s possible he’s getting away to avoid facing mutiny,” Eric goes on.
“Or he knows we’re coming for him.” I sigh, reaching up to rub my nose. “This complicates things. If we don’t know where Luther is—”
“I never said I don’t know where he is,” Eric cuts in sharply. “He’s in the little love nest he keeps for his favorite whore—Penny.”
Penny. My jaw clenches. The one time I spoke to Luther over the phone, he told me that it was a whore named Penny who brought Sam to him. Now, the motherfucker is shacked up with her. With the woman I should’ve originally captured instead of Scarlett. The one who’s actually at fault.
“You have eyes on him?” I ask.
“No, but I’ve confirmed his location. He only has his top men with him, his most loyal generals and foot soldiers.
I do have eyes on the Widower’s current headquarters and new headquarters.
The new location is scarcely populated—six men, four of them builders or mechanics, two of them security. And around fifty at the headquarters.”
“The location of the mistress—is it secured?”
“Not at all. Luther moved her there almost a year ago, and he’s covered his tracks very well.”
Almost a year ago—around the time he had her lure Sam to him. Motherfucker.
“Just not well enough for you,” I surmise. “This means we’ll have to split manpower three ways—”
“Let my team take care of Luther. You and yours should focus on the two other locations. We’ll move forward as planned.”
I feel my eyebrows inch up. “You believe you have the manpower to take care of Luther? You’re not an assassin, Eric.”
“I have men on loan from a friend, and I have several people on my personal team who have a certain… skillset.”
Alarms immediately sound in my mind. Who the fuck is Eric borrowing assassins from? Is there another organization he’s working with behind our backs? If that’s the case… we’re going to have a much bigger problem than Luther fucking Sharpe on our hands.
“And where exactly did you get the men on loan from?” I question, making no attempt to keep my suspicion from my tone.
Eric sighs. “I would say that’s none of your business, but at this stage, it’s vital that we don’t devolve into enemies.”
The subtext behind his words is clear; it’s vital because of Scarlett.
Because he knows that making an enemy of me could negatively impact his sister, who’s quite possibly the only person in the world Eric gives a shit about.
It’s good to know he’ll go out of his way to keep peace between us for her sake, even if he doesn’t like me.
“You’re not the only one who’s part of a larger organization, Greyson, but mine makes the Nighthawks look like infants in comparison.
All you need to know is that the group I’m a part of has people who are recurring clients of yours.
The society is comprised of the most powerful men in the world, who have connections everywhere—and I do mean everywhere.
They’re no threat to you—we’re no threat to you, and you’re far too small to be considered our rivals. ”
I blink slowly. “You’re part of a fucking secret society?” As soon as I say the words, certain things start to make sense. Eric’s phenomenal rise to power at a relatively young age. His capability to get intel that no one has access to. His manpower, his connections…
Of course, he’s part of something bigger than him. He might be exceptional when it comes to arms dealing, but even the best weapons trafficker in the world couldn’t pull off some of the things I’ve heard about Eric. He has backup, and from the sounds of it, it’s serious backup.
“I suppose that’s one way of putting it.
It doesn’t really matter, does it? All you need to know is that I’m well-armed and extremely well connected.
And, should any harm ever befall my sister…
” he cuts off with a sinister chuckle. “You won’t see me coming.
I will destroy you, the Nighthawks, and anything you’ve ever cared for without breaking a sweat.
I will upend your life, and let you watch as I wreak havoc before turning my sights on you—”
“I get it,” I cut in. “I won’t hurt your sister.” Again. “I’m fucking in love with her, Eric. I will protect her with everything I have.”
“You’ve known her for just a couple of weeks—barely two months. How can you be so certain that you love her?”
“If you ever fall in love, you’ll understand.
It’s rapid, it comes out of nowhere, but it’s unmistakable.
When it happens, it happens, and you’re done for.
You’ll do whatever you can to keep the woman you love with you.
” Conventional boundaries set forward by societal expectations disappear.
Limits and morality disappear. The only thing that remains is a burning, aching need for your significant other.
For the person who’s overtaken your heart and soul.
“By the sounds of it, it’s a fucking disease,” Eric says, disgust coating every syllable. “I hope I never catch it.”
I quietly make my way back toward the bedroom, carefully opening the door a crack. Just enough to see Scarlett, her red hair illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window, her soft features looking so peaceful as she rests.
“It is a disease,” I agree quietly. “It’s also salvation.”
That makes Eric pause thoughtfully. After a moment, he says, “You really do love her, don’t you? This isn’t lust, infatuation, or a savior complex. It’s something much deeper.”
“That’s exactly what I just said.”
“Yes, and I may be starting to believe you.” Eric sighs. “Have her give me a call. I said things I shouldn’t have—“
“Yes, you fucking did, and I won’t have her do anything. She’ll talk to you once she’s ready.”
Eric pauses again. The silence stretches between us, loud and poignant. After a while, he finally speaks. “Fair enough. Then please pass on that I want to speak to her.” He hangs up.
I sigh, turning to gaze at the ceiling for a few beats. With the intel I’ve just gained, it’s going to be a long fucking night. I have to wake up Max and Cain for a debrief—shit like this can’t wait until the morning.
I quietly slip into the bedroom and press a kiss to Scarlett’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon, baby,” I promise. “I love you.”
She says something incoherent in her sleep and rolls over. I kiss the shell of her ear, then slip away into the night.