Chapter 15
Slate
The sun is shining high in the morning sky as we ride to Los Angeles. If I weren’t so tense and eager to get my hands on this crazy fucker, I could almost enjoy the trip. Riding the open road is my favorite thing to do in the entire world.
We’re riding two by two today. Onyx is at my side taking the lead position.
Two prospects follow us in a van behind us with Striker and Flint.
Jinx and Mica cover the van’s six. We brought the cage because we’re not leaving empty-handed today.
If Striker’s intel is solid, we’ll be hauling a grown ass man back to the clubhouse, and I want him to live long enough to talk.
As we enter LA, I shift my focus to the buildings, alleyways, passing cars, and the people loitering around on the street.
My mind slips into the same tight discipline I used during the times of war.
There is no room for drifting thoughts or being preoccupied with other things, like my flailing relationship with Christina or my innocent little daughter.
I need to stay in the moment, maintain an awareness of my surroundings, and mark the positions of my brothers at all times.
Striker’s voice comes through the comm clipped to my ear. “We’re getting close. Neal Summers is registered as a contractor for REACH. The company listed his last confirmed stateside location at the address up ahead.”
I recognize the company name. REACH is short for Rapid Emergency Aid and Community Health.
It’s the same organization Christina was digging into before everything kicked off in Kabul.
The same name that kept coming up in her notes.
The fact that Striker found Neal’s name in an employee directory does not surprise me.
Men like that always hide in plain sight.
Onyx glances over at me, his expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. My blood brothers are all prior military as is my cousin, Flint. We all retreat into the military mindset drilled into us before our first deployment when we’re expecting conflict.
I lean deeper into a sharp turn as we exit the main road and enter a narrow street lined with old warehouses and mostly closed businesses.
The neighborhood looks a bit dystopian with rusted fences, broken windows, and stray dogs with their ribs showing crisscrossing our path.
It’s the kind of place men go when they want to disappear ‘cause there ain’t nobody interested in coming to a place like this for fun.
Onyx jerks his chin towards a dilapidated bar sign at the end of the street.
The bar itself looks like it should have been condemned years ago.
Between the dirty windows, peeling paint, and trash piled along the wall, it doesn’t look safe, much less like a proper establishment.
A staircase runs up the side of the building, with a metal railing bent in places.
I pull my bike to a slow stop and kill the engine. The others do the same.
Striker speaks again through the comm. “Power usage indicates someone’s living in the second-floor apartment.”
I swing my leg off the bike and adjust my cut as I gaze up at the apartment. I smile when I see movement at the upstairs window. Our chances of him being not only the occupant but at home right now just increased tenfold.
Neal Summers is the key to understanding all of this.
He’s been stalking her off and on for few years, which makes him a persistent fucker if nothing else.
I want to know all about the dirty dealings buried beneath REACH’s clean public face, and this asshole is gonna tell me everything I want to know.
Onyx steps up beside me. “You ready?”
I nod once. “We take him alive.”
Mica smirks. “Alive, sure. Intact is negotiable though, right?”
Jinx snorts under his breath. I feel the corners of my mouth twitch, but the smile dies on my lips. I’ve totally lost my sense of humor where this fucker is concerned. I adjust my gloves and look towards the building. “Striker, do you have a layout for the building?”
“Not hardly. The only one I could dig up was from the sixties. It’s showing one stairwell down to the bar that’s actually a fire escape. It’s the one we saw pulling up. Other than that, I got nothin’.”
“Looks like we’re taking the stairs,” I announce.
My brothers close ranks around me without needing to be told. We move together, silent and deadly. Jinx takes up position at the side of the building to alert us if anyone shows up. Striker and Flint bring up the rear.
I creep forward as we climb the narrow stairs, each creak blending into the next.
Excitement rises in my chest because today I’m finally going to get answers. And once I have them, I’ll make sure these assholes never touch my family again.
When we get to the top of the stairs, I give a mighty heave and kick the door hard enough to break the rusted hinge. We spill into the room one after another, catching the occupant unawares.
The place is small, barely big enough for a bed, a rickety table, and a kitchenette shoved into the corner. A pair of boots sit by the door, alongside a duffel bag that’s half-open. There’s a laptop charging on the table beside an open beer.
Neal Summers jerks in surprise when we burst into the room. I recognize him as the man I ran down with my motorcycle the night I rescued Christina and Katie.
His eyes go wide when he sees my face.
“I see you remember me, fucker,” I say.
Neal lunges for the drawer beside the table, but Onyx is on him before he can get to his gun. My brother is a fuckin’ tank. Neal hits the floor hard, with the wind knocked out of him. Onyx plants a knee between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the dirty carpet. “Stay down, asshole,” he growls.
I move in to talk to him and notice that the fear rolling off Neal is intense, almost to the point of making him have a full-blown panic attack. He clearly knows exactly what kind of men he is dealing with.
Mica pulls the drawer open and swears under his breath. “Nice gun, you ignorant fuck.”
Onyx keeps Neal still while Mica zip-ties his wrists with quick, practiced motions. We drag him upright and drop him into a chair. He tries to kick out at Mica. Mica leans forward and cracks him across the jaw with one clean punch. Neal slumps against the chair frame, dazed.
“Stay awake,” I tell him. My voice is stern. “We need you conscious.”
Mica goes to stand beside the door like a sentinel. Striker turns around the laptop and phone on the table.
“Gimme two minutes,” he mumbles. “I’ll be in both devices.”
Neal is breathing hard, sweat forming at his hairline. He watches me with a mix of fear and calculation. He is trying to figure a way out of this situation. Maybe even trying to decide if he can take me in a fair fight.
“You’ve been following a woman and her kid.” I keep my gaze steady on him. “Years of it. Motels. Back roads. Different states. You know who I’m talking about.”
He swallows but stays silent.
Onyx casually cracks his knuckles. When I take another step forward, it’s enough to make Neal’s composure slip.
“I want a lawyer,” he states.
I hold out my arms to my sides, “Do we look like the fuckin’ cops?” I ask.
He asks tentatively, “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”
“For starters I want to know why you’re phoning in bomb threats to my club.”
“I was just joking around.”
Pointing directly at my face, I tell him, “Notice how I’m not fuckin’ laughing?”
He doesn’t speak again, so I give him a long moment to sit with the silence. Fear does more work when it fills the quiet.
“You tried to get my old lady to come out to you. Why her? Why were you fuckin’ stalkin’ her?”
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t respond. I hate that he’s being stubborn.
“Look, you’re gonna tell me what I want to know one way or another. I could just beat it out of you, but I’d prefer you to just tell me.”
“I do contract work,” he mutters. “That’s it.”
I lean down and look him in the eyes. “That’s genuinely unhelpful information, Neal. I want to know what kind of tasks you normally do for REACH?”
“I find things and people. It’s not my business to know why they want her.”
“She has a name,” I say, my voice low. “Say it, goddamn it! Say her name.”
He hesitates, then states, “Christina. Her name is Christina.”
Anger coils tight in my chest. I keep it buried though because if I start being the asshole, I might never stop.
Onyx asks, “What were your instructions?”
His eyes dart to the laptop and Striker, who’s hacking his shit in real time. He swallows hard, probably realizing we’re about to find out all his dirty little secrets anyway.
“She’s a thief. My job was to find her,” he grits out. “To retrieve the flash drive she stole and bring her in, alive.”
Striker sits on the floor just inside the busted doorway, back against the wall, laptop open on his knees. He scrolls through Neal’s computer files with fast, decisive movements, muttering under his breath every few seconds.
“Mostly burner apps. Nothing useful yet.” He taps the screen with two quick motions. “He wiped some of this last night. Did a sloppy job though.”
When I turn to look at him curiously, Neal shifts in the chair. I turn my attention back to Striker because he’s the only one who can dig deep enough to get to the truth.
Striker exhales, exasperated. “Christina’s flash drive is still locked tight. Multiple layers. It’s slow going. I’ve been chipping at it for days and I’m barely through the first layer of encryption.” He pauses, then adds, “I thought I had something last night, but it was a dead end.”
The irritation in his voice tells me he hates wasting time when he knows people are at risk. He hates those rare moments when his skills don’t open doors instantly.
He finds a secondary operating system on the laptop and switches to it. His fingers fly across the keyboard as he digs through folders, and subfolders, looking for hidden material.