6. Zaria #2
I move to the hostage, pulling the gag free.
He spits blood, glaring at me with the kind of hatred that comes from being humiliated.
"Your man jumped us at the pickup point.
Spread some bullshit about the route being compromised, got us to divert, then took out three of our guys before we even knew what was happening. "
"Three guys?" Cain sounds impressed despite himself.
"Had help," the hostage continues. "Or just got really fucking lucky. Either way, the product's yours and the Okafors are going to want blood for this."
I tape his mouth shut again before he can say anything else, then turn to my crew.
"Vaughn, get him secured somewhere more permanent.
Dante, inventory those crates and make sure it's actually the Okafor shipment and not a decoy.
Everyone else, start checking for any signs of how this happened—security footage, witnesses, anything. "
They move to follow orders while I stand there with Greer's note, trying to piece together how someone with no criminal experience managed to intercept a shipment that six of my experienced crew members were planning to hit.
"He's smarter than he looks," Cain says quietly, reading over my shoulder. "Spread misinformation, made them think the route was compromised, then redirected them somewhere he controlled. That's not muscle or luck, that's strategy."
"He's an analyst." The pieces start clicking together in my mind. "He finds patterns, predicts behavior, optimizes operations. He approached this the same way he'd approach a marketing campaign—identified the weak points, manipulated the variables, and delivered the desired outcome."
"Your desired outcome."
My desired outcome. The shipment I wanted without the risk of my crew getting hurt if the Okafors were ready for us.
The leverage of a hostage who can confirm Bennett power.
The message sent to the Okafors that their product isn't safe anywhere in Jersey, not even when they think they've changed routes.
Greer gave me everything I wanted and made sure I didn't have to bleed for it.
"The note," Cain says, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. "Read it again."
I don't like you getting your hands dirty if I'm not there to watch.
The audacity. The confidence. The implicit promise that if I'm going to be in danger, he wants to be there—not to protect me because he thinks I'm weak, but because he wants to witness it. Wants to be part of it.
I fold the note carefully and slip it into my pocket.
"You're smiling," Cain observes. "Like, actually smiling. Not the scary threatening smile you give people before you hurt them. An actual 'I'm pleased about this' smile."
"Shut up."
"You want to see him now."
I do. Desperately. Want to know how he pulled this off, want to see the expression on his face when I show up wherever he is, want to understand what the hell is happening between us that makes him do something this reckless and impressive just to prove he belongs in my world.
But I also know that if I go to him now, everything changes.
If I go to him now, I'm admitting he's not a distraction I can dismiss. That he's gotten under my skin in ways I don't let people get. That the careful walls I keep between myself and everyone outside my crew are already compromised where Greer's concerned.
"Zaria?" Vaughn calls from across the warehouse. "Product's authentic. It's the full Okafor shipment, exactly what they owe in tribute plus about ten percent more. And there's a manifest here with all their distribution points for the next month."
Intelligence. Greer didn't just steal their product—he stole their operational information.
Cain whistles low. "Your boy's thorough."
"He's not my boy."
"Right. He just committed multiple felonies to impress you for no reason. Totally normal behavior."
I ignore him, moving to inspect the manifest. It's detailed, professional, exactly the kind of information that would let me predict Okafor movements for weeks. The kind of advantage that shifts power dynamics.
Greer gave me power.
And all he asked for in return was to be there when I get my hands dirty.
"Get this secured," I tell my crew. "I want the product moved to a secondary location, the hostage isolated, and this warehouse scrubbed of any evidence we were here. No one talks about this outside of crew."
"And the Okafors?" Dante asks.
"I have a feeling they received the message I wanted. If they want to escalate, we're ready. But we don't start it."
My crew disperses to handle logistics while I stand there with Greer's note burning a hole in my pocket.
I really want to see him now.
Want to understand what made him walk away three days ago just to come back like this—bigger, bolder, proving himself in ways I didn't ask for but can't deny impress the hell out of me.
Want to know what he expects to happen next.
"I can track him down," Cain offers again. "Make a call, find out where he lives, where he works. Probably take twenty minutes."
The smart move would be to leave it alone. To accept the gift, use the advantage he gave me, and maintain the distance that keeps civilians safe from my world.
But I'm done pretending Greer is just some civilian who wandered into the wrong fight club.
"Tomorrow," I decide. "Let him wait. Let him wonder if I appreciated his gift or if I'm furious about him interfering."
"You're playing games now?"
"I'm making sure he understands that gifts come with expectations." I meet Cain's eyes, letting him see the truth behind my words. "If he wants to be part of this world, he needs to learn how it works. And the first lesson is that you don't do things for me without permission."
Even if what he did was fucking brilliant.
Even if I'm more intrigued by him now than I was before.
Even if part of me wants to find him tonight and show him exactly what happens when someone impresses me this thoroughly.
Tomorrow. I'll find him tomorrow and figure out what the hell this is between us.
Because it's definitely not a distraction anymore.