Mal made a noise of agreement, then the line disconnected. He clearly wasn’t one for pleasantries.
Levi slipped his phone in his pocket and turned on the man, trying to fathom who he might be. He didn’t look like somelow-level gangbanger. If anything, he looked like an accountant or something boring. He was easily in his forties, deep brown hair graying at the temples, a slight paunch around his middle. He was sweating profusely as his eyes darted to all the people standing around the room.
“Shiloh okay?” Thomas asked.
Levi nodded. “All good. Who is he?”
“He won’t say,” Asa said, kicking the man’s chair, snickering when he gave a startled yelp.
“I’m pretty sure that’s Grant Mercer,” Seven said, oddly amused given the situation.
The man snapped his startled gaze to Seven. “Who the fuck are you? Do I know you?”
Seven grinned, floating closer. “Nah, but I know you,” he said in a sing-song voice, jabbing his pointer finger into the man’s forehead.
“Would you like to share with the class?” Adam snapped.
Seven turned to the others. “This is District Attorney Grant Mercer. Also known as the guy who helped frame Malachi.”
Levi narrowed his gaze at Seven. “How the fuck do you know that?”
“I saw it on Enzo’s desk…” Seven started without thought, then trailed off as he realized his mistake. “Not important.”
Levi’s brows went up. “When were you with Enzo…and his desk?”
“Irrelevant,” Seven said, waving a hand at the bound man. “What matters is that Grant here clearly has Micah doing his dirty work to fuck you guys over. Don’t you want to know why?”
Thomas raised a brow. “I certainly do.”
“What?” Mercer said, spooked. “What are you talking about?”
“Tell us what you want with us,” Aiden said, ignoring the man’s bewilderment. “Why are you using Micah to get information on us?”
“W-What?” he stammered. “I—What?”
Avi walked to the corner of the room and picked up his bat, the one with all the nails driven into it. “I was really hoping to use this on Micah, but I can get in some batting practice before the main event.”
“What the fuck?” Mercer spit, sweat pouring down his face despite the air conditioning that left the small room at near freezing temps. “Jesus Christ. Micah was right about you. You are all a bunch of fucking thugs.”
“Oh, that’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don’t you think?” Adam asked, taking Avi’s bat from his hand, making circles in the air, then taking a stance and swinging like a batter at the plate. Mercer screamed, pulling his head back, a nail leaving a wicked scratch over the man’s nose, but nothing else. Adam grinned, handing the bat back to Avi. “He won’t miss.”
“We already know you conspired with Micah to throw his brother in prison, then used him to dig up dirt on the Mulvaneys,” Seven said.
Levi paced the small room. He would feel so much better if he had eyes on Shiloh or, better yet, Micah.
“What? How can you all have this so fucking backwards?” Mercer asked. “Is that what that fucking asshole told you? Did he set me up?”
They all exchanged confused looks before Thomas came to stand before him, crossing his arms over his chest. “By all means, explain it to us. We’re all ears.”
Mercer shook his head like he had no idea how it had come to this. “He came to me. This was all his idea.”
“Explain. Quickly,” Thomas growled.
Mercer shifted in the chair. “My office was investigating Micah Mizrahi for money laundering. The FBI had been investigating him and his buddies for a while. They brought us a pretty solid case. I assigned Ned Bates as prosecutor and washed my hands of it. But then Ned told me that Micah wanted a meeting with me.”
“Micah asked you for a meeting and you went?” Aiden asked. “Do you often entertain meetings with low budget criminals?”
Mercer barked out a laugh. “Low budget? Micah Mizrahi has laundered close to seventy-five million dollars—that we know of—starting, near as we can tell, his freshman year of college, but we suspect long before that even. We just can’t prove it.”
