Chapter Twenty-Seven Spock
The roar of our bikes tears through the steady clatter of construction equipment as Rush, Dice, and I turn off the highway and roll onto the dirt access road.
Dust swirls around us, coating my boots and my jeans as we approach the half-finished strip mall rising from the barren land on the outskirts of Vegas.
A sign attached to the fencing near the entrance reads SIN CITY CONSTRUCTION, Elvis Monroe’s name stamped underneath in smaller letters.
The buildings are little more than concrete-block shells right now. Steel beams stretch across open spaces waiting for roofs. Stacks of lumber, pallets of tile, and bundles of electrical conduit clutter the site. A handful of workers glance our way when we cut our engines, but no one approaches us.
I swing off my bike and remove my helmet.
The portable office sits off to the side in what will eventually be the parking lot, a faded metal box propped on worn tires.
A dented set of aluminum steps leads to the door.
The blinds covering the narrow windows are crooked, but I can see movement inside.
“Someone’s in there,” I say.
Rush studies the site, then turns his attention to the office. “Let Dice do the talking.”
My gaze shifts to him. “Why not me?”
“Because you’re pissed.”
“So?”
“We don’t want him dead, yet.”
Dice chuckles as he removes his gloves. “Don’t worry. You can glower at him. That should loosen his tongue.”
I don’t respond. My anger has been simmering since we learned Blackwood used to work for Monroe. The bastard lied to Chloe about his employment history to get a job with her company. Now he’s tearing apart completed work, trying to make her look incompetent, and threatening her.
If Monroe put him there, I’m going to find out why.
We climb the steps. Dice doesn’t bother knocking. He jerks open the door and walks inside with Rush and me behind him.
The smell hits me first.
Stale cigar smoke hangs in the air, mixed with the bitter stench of burnt coffee that has probably been sitting in the pot since last night.
The office is a mess. Blueprints cover a drafting table along one wall, many of them curling at the edges.
Empty food containers overflow from a trash can, and invoices are piled across a battered metal desk.
A hard hat hangs from the corner of a filing cabinet, while muddy work boots have been tossed underneath it.
The space isn’t large to begin with, but it gets a hell of a lot smaller as we crowd into it.
Elvis Monroe sits behind the desk with a cigar clenched between his fingers. He’s in his late fifties, with thinning gray hair and a gut that strains the buttons of his work shirt. His brows draw together as he looks from Dice to Rush and finally to me.
“What the hell is this?” He drops his cigar into an overflowing ashtray and rises. “You boys lost?”
“No,” Dice says. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”
Confusion flashes across Monroe’s face before it shifts into calculation. His shoulders relax, and a smile spreads across his mouth.
“Wait. Is this about Inferno Ridge?” He leans back against the desk. “You finally changed your mind about hiring my firm?”
My jaw tightens.
Monroe takes our silence as confirmation. “I knew that little girl couldn’t handle a job that size. Should’ve hired Sin City from the beginning instead of a pretty face with curves. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s nice to look at, but what does a bitch know about building homes?”
Rush’s arm shoots across my chest before I take my first step.
“Easy,” he mutters.
I glare at Monroe over his forearm.
Monroe doesn’t have the sense to shut his mouth.
“Women have no business running construction sites,” he continues. “They don’t understand the work, and the crews don’t respect them. That Davenport woman might look good bending over a set of plans, but that doesn’t mean she knows what she’s doing.”
Rage explodes through me.
I shove against Rush’s arm, but he plants his boots and holds his ground.
“Let me go,” I growl.
“And ruin our chance to question him?” Rush asks quietly. “No.”
Monroe’s smile falters when he sees the look on my face.
Dice steps forward, blocking my direct path to the bastard. “You should shut the fuck up now.”
Monroe straightens. “I’m just telling it like it is.”
“No, you’re proving you’ve got a problem with Chloe Davenport and DC Construction.” Dice rests his hands on the desk as he leans forward. “Which makes me wonder how far you’d go to make sure she fails.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Someone vandalized her equipment,” Dice says. “They destroyed materials and sabotaged her sites. They also attacked her father and left her a threatening message. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
Monroe’s expression changes. It’s only there for a second, but I catch it. Not guilt exactly. More like alarm.
He glances toward the door.
“No,” he says. “Why would I?”
“Because you just told us you don’t think she belongs in the business,” I snap. “Maybe you decided to prove it.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” Dice asks. “Your company bid on Inferno Ridge. You lost the contract to DC Construction. Now someone’s trying to destroy her business.”
“You can’t pin that on me just because I don’t think a bitch should be running a construction company.”
Rush shifts, but he keeps himself between Monroe and me. Smart. The urge to punch that smug look off Monroe’s face burns through my veins. But I force myself to stay put.
“What about Steven Blackwood?” I ask.
Monroe freezes, and I see it. There’s recognition there.
“What about him?”
“You tell us,” I say. “He used to work for you.”
“So did a lot of men.”
“He lied to Chloe about it.”
“That ain’t my problem.”
“Is that why you sent him to her?” I step around Rush. “So he could get inside her company? So he could sabotage her work and make her look incompetent?”
“I didn’t send anybody.” Monroe pushes away from the desk. “And I’m done with this conversation.”
Dice shifts toward the door, cutting off the exit.
Monroe stops.
“You’re not done until we say you’re done,” Dice tells him.
“You can’t come into my office and threaten me.” Monroe reaches into his pocket, but Dice grabs his wrist before he can pull out whatever is inside. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
Dice twists his arm behind his back and shoves him against the edge of the desk. Papers slide to the floor, scattering around Monroe’s boots.
“Phone,” Dice says after checking the pocket. He tosses the cell onto the desk. “Relax.”
Monroe jerks free the moment Dice releases him. Instead of backing down, he lowers his shoulder and charges for the door.
He doesn’t make it.
Dice pivots and drives a hard punch into the side of Monroe’s jaw. Monroe’s head snaps sideways. His knees buckle, and he collapses onto the grimy floor with a thud that rattles the metal office.
Dice looks down at the unconscious man. “That was stupid.”
“For him or you?” I ask.
“Him.” Dice flexes his hand. “Definitely him.”
I step closer, staring at Monroe. Part of me wishes I’d been the one to hit him, but knocking the bastard out won’t give us the answers we need.
Dice pulls out his phone.
“You calling Hunter?” I ask.
“Yeah. He and Smooth can bring the van and take him to The Pit.”
Dice nods as he lifts the phone to his ear. “We need somewhere private to finish this conversation.”
My gaze settles on Monroe’s slack face as I consider the man. He knows something. His reaction to our mention of Blackwood proves it.
Whatever secret he’s protecting, he’ll tell us soon enough. Because once Elvis Monroe wakes up in The Pit, there won’t be any doors for him to run through—and no one will hear him when we start asking questions again.
While we wait for Hunter and Smooth to arrive, Rush and I search the office while Dice guards Monroe.
We’re looking for anything related to Red Rock Construction or Blackwell.
I don’t expect to find Blackwell’s employment information here; he probably has it elsewhere.
The same goes for Red Rock Construction.
I’m about to give up when Rush opens a drawer and pulls out a beat-up laptop.
“Spark may be able to get something useful off here,” he says, tucking it under his arm.
“Let’s hope so, because I’ve got nothing. We could break into his home or his corporate office,” I suggest.
“Let’s see what Chill, Viper, and I can get out of Monroe,” Dice says. “I hear a truck. Might be Hunter.”
I open the door as Hunter backs the SUV up to the office door. With minimal effort, Hunter fastens zip ties around Monroe’s wrists and ankles before hauling him up and carrying him outside. He unceremoniously dumps him into the back of the SUV before slamming the doors shut.
With a salute, he hops back into the SUV and drives off.
“One down, two to go. Let’s get back to the clubhouse and see if Chill has Scaro,” Dice suggests.
“Yeah, I can’t wait to see what they have to say,” I snarl.