I nod. “And someone saw them. Together. Chuck too.”
“Who?” Knox asks.
“Prospect named Rider. Reliable. Said he saw Donovan and Chuck yesterday afternoon with a woman. They met up with Winston and Trent at the corner of Willow and Huron.”
“That’s close to the shipping yard,” Nash says. “Could be using one of the containers again.”
“We’ll check it,” I say. “Quietly. No muscle yet. Just eyes.” I have my own plans for Donovan and Chuck. I still don’t know how the hell Chuck got involved with Donovan. He was here when all that shit went down with Cornelius and my brother and sister.
Victor tilts his head. “What about the hospital?”
My gaze flicks to Knox. “That’s where Sloane comes in.”
Knox’s face doesn’t move, but the air changes around him. He was already thinking five steps ahead. “She’ll get us access. Trent’s under watch, but she can get in the room. Cameras can loop if we need them to.”
“Not to kill him,” I add, gaze sharp. “Not yet.” Thatyethangs heavy in the silence.
James finally speaks, his voice gravelly and calm. “You want him talking.”
“I want him screaming,” East growls, barely contained. “But yeah, talking first.”
I slam a hand down on the table. Not in anger, but to pull them all back in. “We do this clean. We find out how deep this goes. If Winston’s been selling girls, Darla wasn’t the first. I need proof before we start lighting matches.”
Knox nods once. “I’ll handle Sloane. She’ll get us in today. Tonight at the latest.”
“What about Chuck?” Victor asks. “Man doesn’t strike me as someone who stays in one place long.”
“We’ll find him,” I say. “Donovan too. It’s been months and I’m sick of this runaround. I know you want Donovan to make sure your woman is safe, but we all want justice for what was done to Darla and what was done to Candace.”
Nash leans forward, his voice quiet but razor-sharp. “And when we do?”
I look at each man around the table, my voice low and final. “Then we show them what it means to hurt one of ours.”
Chapter 35
Malachi
Chuckisalreadycuffedto the chair when I step into the room. One bulb overhead buzzes, sounding complicit in whatever wickedness is about to happen. No brothers. No witnesses. Just me, the stink of oil-soaked concrete, and the bastard who should never be trusted to breathe free air—let alone raise a daughter such as Candace.
The air is stale. Too still. Even the shadows seem to be holding their breath.
He lifts his head when he hears my boots. Smiles. Crooked, wearing the grin of someone pretending we’re old friends about to reminisce over a drink. “Didn’t expect it’d be you they sent. Figured it’d be Nash. He is your enforcer, right?”
I don’t answer. Just let the sound of my knuckles cracking speak for me. Slow. Intentional. My gloves creak, leather stretching over bone. His smile falters, awareness creeping in that he’s finally remembered who the hell I am.
I pace behind him, boots creaking over grit and grime. My voice is calm. Too calm. “What happened to you?” I ask. “You used to be one of us.”
Chuck’s bravado deflates in a blink. “I was never the same after Candace’s mom left,” he mutters, thinking that explains anything.
I stop. Lean down close so he can feel every word slide across his skin. My breath hits his ear with the chill of frost. “You still had Candace though.”
His shoulders jerk tight, but before he can come up with another excuse, I drive my fist into his ribs. One solid blow. A grunt tears from his throat. I don’t give him time to breathe. I keep going—measured, controlled. Not rage, not revenge. Just justice, cold and earned. Fist to his stomach. Elbow to jaw. He’s going to be awake for every second of this. That’s the point.
He needs to feel a fraction of what she did.
My hands throb, skin tight across bruised knuckles, but I barely feel it. My blood runs cold. There’s ice in my veins, fire in my chest.
I straighten, watching blood drip from his lip. “Who were the men that tried to take Candace?”
