The Adler Squad
“Are you even listening?” Everett glares. “One wrong move and we’re dead.”
“We’ve gone through this plan thousands of times, Evie,” Christian smiles reassuringly, tapping the table with his knuckles. Drawings and photos of the mansion’s layout are scattered all across the table between them after weeks of preparation. “We have the ins and outs,” he continues. “Eyes on every exit. We know the numbers in each room, the positions of all the guards, when they’ll be switched out,andwe’ve got eyes on the big guy’s every move.”
Christian looks around at the rest of the team, scattered around the RV. “By the time they figure out what’s going on they’ll be dead.”
Max and Mitch nod. They’d joined the team no more than two years ago but already they’d become invaluable. Mitch is the eldest of the two brothers, with deep-set brown eyes, and a handsome face, even with the scar running from his left eye to his jaw. He’s the talker of the two, the first to party and the first to piss people off… but he’s also a damn good fighter and wicked with a blade.
His little brother, Max, is his polar opposite. His voice is the quietest, but Christian is convinced there isn’t anyone in the world who can best him in a gun fight. He’s only 24, but his precision and speed are already considered top tier, and the ladies are always gushing about his ‘mysterious’ personality, his cute face and wavy black hair.
The shy ones always steal the show.
“We’ve done bigger operations than this and we know it,” Christian nods at them with excitement and bloodlust prickling beneath his skin. “Don’t go freezing up just because the Family is watching. This chance didn’t just drop into our laps; we earned it. Because we’re the best.”
The barest trace of a smile can be seen at the corners of Max’s lips. Even Everett, the insufferable bastard, looks less tense as he huffs through his nose. Compared to the other two, Everett’s face is rugged, but his grey eyes always draw attention. His brown hair is pulled into a ponytail and a frown is permanently etched onto his face to scare off civilians. The man wouldn’t know fun even if it impaled him between the ribs, but even though he’s caution’s number one fan, he’s the team’s co-leader.
Christian wouldn’t trust anyone else to have his back.
Each of them makes up the Taiga family’s best team on this side of the Portland River—one of the major branches of the state’s ruling crime family—but if they could pull this operation off successfully, it would be a one-way ticket to Seattle. To report directly to the Don and his most trusted men.
A meow sounds from beneath the table as if in agreement, and Christian grins at the small black cat sitting leisurely between his feet, tail swishing back and forth with excitement.
The rest of the team groans.
“Why the fuck is the cat here?” Mitch, the eldest brother, sighs.
“How does it get in the van?” Everett scowls.
“They’re just jealous because you’re damn adorable,” Christian grins, pulling the cat up by the scruff to sit on the table.
“‘Adorable’ isn’t the word,” Mitch snaps. “The freak dodged Max’s bullets like a monkey.”
Max’s eyes are drawn tightly together, as if accepting the challenge, “I won’t miss next time.”
“Don’t you dare,” Christian glares.
“I don’t care where it’s from, get that thing off the table,” Everett throws his hands out to knock the cat off, but the animal only jumps into the air, in a somersault over his hand, before sitting back down and licking its paws.
“Circus freak,” Everett mumbles.
“Be nice,” Christian warns with a growl, before petting the small animal’s head with gentle eyes. “Come on down, Beau. You’re accompanying us again today?”
Beau meows in response, tail still flicking happily as it jumps down from the table and rubs along his leg.
“Like hell it is,” Everett snaps.
“He’s been pretty useful on missions before,” Max mutters quietly.
“It saved Everett’s ass in the last operation,” Mitch smirks and Everett’s ears turn a shade pink under the RV’s ceiling lights.
“Don’t talk nonsense—”
“It sounds like you guys are having fun in there,” Harvey, their last member, interrupts them through the coms from the front of the van, with a sigh. “You always forget to include me in the pep talks. I keep saying we need a driver so I can sit in the back.”
“And I keep telling you Dahlia isn’t paying for a driver when you’ve already got the skills,” Christian says for maybe the thousandth time with fresh amusement, and there’s a pause on the line.
“Then I think I should be paid twice.”
