It was kind of sickening, really, how proud he was of all his “successes,” like undercutting his competition before muscling them out. How he negotiated deals on fuckingprice controlandmarketshare. How they were utilizing new forms ofadvertisingto get the message out.
The worst part was he could have been talking about cars or appliances for all the weight he put on the people who were theirproduct. Beneath all of the nauseating details was the way he kept glancing at me. Particularly when Voodoo or Bones let him see me amidst their circling.
Their path confused and needled him because they didn’t allow him to control the narrative or hold their gazes. Literally, they took all of his agency. On some level, I’m sure that ate away at him without him even understanding that they were reducing him to “product” the same way he did others.
I kept my face blank. My pulse wasn’t.
When he finally sagged back in his chair, silent and shivering with exhaustion and fury, I rose. My legs were stiff from being still too long, but I kept it casual, stretching like this had all been tedious.
Bones shot me a question with his eyes.
I answered with a tiny shrug.
Because I didn’t know either.
But as I drifted out like I didn’t have a care in the world, something cold settled in my chest. Dvorak didn’tknowme, but somehow he recognized me on some level? At this point, I didn’t know what was worse. Because if he didn’t knowme, then he didn’t knowAm.
That hurt a lot more than I expected it to. Because after that conversation, I should be much happier about the idea he didn’t know her.
The second the door sealed behind us, the silence hit different. Thicker. Cleaner. As if the air out here hadn’t beenscraped thin by Dvorak’s voice and his arrogance and the nine-hour tug-of-war over his ego.
The soundproofing swallowed the last of him, and I hadn’t realized how tight my shoulders were until they dropped all at once.
The hallway outside the laundry room was washed in early sunrise—those pale, washed-out colors right before the sky decided what mood it wanted to have. Pink, blue, soft gold bleeding slowly through the reinforced windows like someone had dialed the saturation up too fast.
It was almost too bright.
I blinked against it, lifting a hand to shade my eyes. After hours in that dark, the light felt invasive.
Legend stood waiting for us, leaning against the wall with a tray balanced on one forearm. Breakfast sandwiches, bottled water, steaming coffee. Before anyone else could move, he crossed to me and put the coffee in my hands.Hot.Painfully so. Perfect.
He took the empty space in front of me without asking and wrapped me in a hug that was long and warm and grounding. I let my forehead rest briefly on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of soap and something faintly herbal.
“I got you,” he murmured. Not loud. Not for anyone else.
Then he stepped back, eyes scanning me once before he nodded like I’d passed some invisible assessment.
Bones and Voodoo grabbed their food automatically, both more tired than they’d admit. Bones’ jaw twitched. Voodoo scrubbed a hand over his face. Nine hours had to weigh on them too.
AB emerged as we reached the kitchen from the room he’d turned into a makeshift office, tablet in hand, bags under his eyes that were the perfect complement to our own.
“Okay,” he said without preamble, “so I went through everything we pulled off Dvorak’s devices. And cross-checked with the verbal intel you three wrung out of him like sociopaths.” He gestured vaguely toward Bones and Voodoo, who gave him matching middle finger shrugs.
AB didn’t smile.
“It’s not the lead we hoped for,” he continued bluntly. “Not… really a lead at all. Not directly.”
A tightness pulled between my ribs. Not surprise. Just another echo of disappointment I wasn’t ready to name.
Bones swallowed a mouthful of sandwich and washed it down with coffee. “Give it to us straight.”
I slid into a chair at the dining table, both hands wrapped around the coffee. Even my eyelashes felt tired at the moment. Legend slid a breakfast sandwich in front of me along with hash browns, actual real, crispy cooked and fresh hash browns.
AB blew out a breath and tapped the tablet. “Best theory? Dvorak’s people—Madrina—were running a separate operation alongside Ignacio. Parallel tracks. And based on financial discrepancies and shipment logs…” His voice softened. “…Ignacio was definitely skimming.”
My jaw clenched. Hard.
“So,” AB said gently, “when their people raided one of Ignacio’s off-books transport hubs, it’s very possible you were caught in that sweep. Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong man lining his pockets.”
