32. Chapter Thrity-Two
Chapter Thrity-Two
Reaper
The Black Crown doesn’t sound like itself tonight. No bass line, no laughter bleeding through the walls, just the electric buzz of silence stretched too thin. Glasses sit untouched. The bar lights are too bright.
Every employee we have is downstairs. They’re seated in neat, various rows along tables that flank the dance floor, eyes darting between Torque and Wrecker like someone might start reading out names. No one speaks above a whisper.
From the catwalk above, I can see everything, the tremor in someone’s leg, the twitch of a jaw, the way sweat glints under a throat that’s swallowing too often.
Riot’s leaning on the railing opposite me, arms crossed, scanning faces for micro-tells.
“Keep watching,” I tell him, and head into the office to find Wrenley and Max.
Upstairs, the office smells like whiskey and paper. Elias and Margot left us the files ten minutes ago. Background checks, payment records, and shift schedules. All the data we need to start carving through to the truth. It’s stacked across the desk like evidence waiting for a verdict.
Wrenley’s leaning over the layout, her hair still damp from the shower, a thin line between her brows that never quite goes away anymore. Max stands beside her, hands braced on the table, jaw tight enough to crack.
“They’re scared,” Wrenley says, scanning the floor plan. “Half of them have no idea why they’re here.”
“Good,” I tell her. “Fear shakes loose the truth faster than a threat.”
She shoots me a look that isn’t quite reproach. “And if one of them is the leak?”
“We deal with it.”
Max glances toward the glass that overlooks the dance floor. “Torque texted, says a few are already cracking under the silence. If someone’s hiding something, Riot will spot it.”
I flip through the last of the files, stopping on a column of transaction dates. “He’d better. Sebastian was inside our network long enough to plant a seed. Whoever helped him didn’t do it by accident.”
Down below, a glass breaks. Heads snap toward the sound, just a waitress bumping a tray, but the ripple of tension that follows tells me what I need to know. Every person in this room is walking on a knife's edge.
Margot's voice echoes faintly through the comm in our ears.
“We’ve traced one of the data trails to the club’s payroll server. It’s been wiped, but not clean. There’s residue from an external account. I’m sending the location now.”
I glance at the computer screen. Server 5 – Manager’s Office.
Max exhales sharply. “That’s ours.”
“Then it was someone with key access,” Wrenley says. “Which means management level or higher.”
I look between them. “How many have that clearance?”
“Four,” Max answers. “Two bartenders, the floor manager, and me.”
I don’t respond. Not yet. We’re past the point where anyone’s name can be safe, even his. And I hate myself for that last thought.
I push the file toward Wrenley. “Get Riot to pull those three. Quietly. We’ll question them one at a time, in here.”
She nods once and heads for the stairs. Max stands still, tension rolling off him like static.
The door closes behind Wrenley, leaving Max and me alone in the office. The silence stretches. Downstairs, the bass from the club’s sound system hums faintly through the floor, someone must have brushed a switch, a pulse that doesn’t belong here anymore.
Max stands by the window, staring down at the sea of nervous faces below. The glow from the monitors cuts sharp lines across his shoulders.
“You know it’s not me,” he says quietly. No bite, no defense, just truth spoken like a confession. “I’d never do anything that put her in danger. Not her.”
I study him for a long beat. The kind of man who jokes when he’s bleeding, who carries his guilt like it’s armor. He’s shaking a little, not fear, just restraint.
“I know,” I say. I do know it’s not him. “Still, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind.” The words taste like iron.
He turns toward me, eyes shadowed but steady. “Then you’re doing your job.”
That lands harder than I ever thought it would. He nods once, almost like he’s granting permission for me to doubt him. “I understand, Liam. I’d question myself too.”
The use of my name hits deep, not Reaper, not rank. Just Liam. The reminder that underneath all of this, we’re still human, still trying to keep the same person safe in different ways.
I exhale through my nose, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Then let’s figure out who’s screwing us over.”
Max’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Together, then.”
“Always.”
The comm in my ear crackles before either of us can say more. Riot’s voice comes through, low and tight. “First one’s on the way up. Says she’s clean, but she’s sweating bullets.”
I glance at Max. The calm settles back over him like a switch being thrown. Whatever storm was there, it’s buried again.
“Let’s get this done,” I tell him.
He nods, stepping toward the door as footsteps echo up the stairs.
Whoever’s about to walk through that door either has answers or they’re the reason everything we built is about to fall apart. The door opens with a soft click. The young floor manager steps inside, eyes darting between Max and me. Nervous. Hands clasped so tight her knuckles have gone white.
I nod toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit.”
She obeys immediately. The silence stretches. Max and I stay on the edge of the desk, arms folded, just watching. It’s the kind of quiet that makes people talk too soon, and she looks like she might already break from it.
Max finally moves first. He pushes off the desk, walks to the window that overlooks the empty dance floor. His reflection cuts through the glass. “Lena, right?” he says. “How long have you worked for me?”
She swallows hard. “Almost two years, sir.”
I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Do you know why you’re up here?”
Her head shakes once, jerky. “No, sir.”
“We’ve got a problem,” I say. “Someone’s been helping a man who wants to hurt our wife.” I let the word wife hang in the air, sharp and deliberate. “Very badly. And we don’t take kindly to people who threaten what’s ours.”
Her eyes flick between us, nervous, confused, trying to read which one of us is the real threat. Max steps closer, voice low.
“Information leaked from this club’s server, security feeds, supply routes, client lists, access given. All of it was sent out using level-five clearance.”
She blinks fast. “That's the management level.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Elias traced the timestamps. Whoever did it knew what they were doing.”
Max crosses to the computer. The monitor glows pale blue as he scans the file Elias just sent. “Here. Dates and times. Three separate data pulls.”
When he reads them aloud, the manager straightens, a small, nervous laugh slipping out before she can stop it.
I drop into a crouch, eye-level with her. “Do you think our wife being in danger is funny?”
Her eyes go wide. “No, no sir, I swear. I—I love Mrs. Wrenley. She’s always been really nice to me. It’s just—those dates you said, I wasn’t even working, I was out of town. Mrs. Wrenley gave me time off to help my mother when she broke her leg.”
I stand slowly, glance at Max.
He’s already keying the comm. “Elias, pull the time logs for the dates we just sent. I want entry records, keycard scans—everything.”
Elias’ voice crackles back. “On it. Sending now.”
The file flashes across the screen within seconds. Max scrolls, frowning. “Your ID was used to access the system at 00:47 am on the 14th, 01:12 am on the 16th, and 23:08 pm on the 18th.”
The manager shakes her head, tears starting to gather. “That’s not possible. I wasn’t even in the state. I swear I wasn’t.”
“Then who else has access to your keycard or codes?” I ask.
“No one,” she says, voice trembling. “Well—my roommate knows my passcode, but she wouldn’t—she loves it here. She wouldn’t do this.”
Max’s tone sharpens. “Who’s your roommate?”
The girl hesitates, eyes going wide, when I step closer to her. “Tiffany.”
The room goes still. Max and I lock eyes. I don’t need to say it aloud, but the thought runs through both of us like a blade.
Of course. Tiffany. She’s been circling Max for years, jealous, spiteful.
The first night Wrenley came into the club with him, Tiffany’s smile cracked in half.
Since then, she’s whispered about Wrenley being a whore, about her sleeping with not just us but the others, too.
Wrenley always laughed it off, calling it stupid girl jealousy.
Said Tiffany would take the hint eventually.
I guess she never did. I nod toward the door. “You can go, Lena. Riot will take your statement.”
She scrambles out, nearly tripping in her rush to get away. The door shuts behind her, leaving only the hum of the computer and the throb of the lights.
I tap the comm in my ear. “Little warrior,” I say quietly, “Stay calm—and get Tiffany up here.”
Across the club, Wrenley looks up from where she’s standing at the bar with Torque and Wrecker.
Even from this distance, I can see the flicker of recognition in her eyes.
She turns slowly, fully facing the office window.
I step into the doorway and meet her gaze, giving one small nod.
Her shoulders square. Then she turns, eyes locking on Tiffany.