He let it hang a second. “Arsenal, you and Gunner will handle another recon. Wrecker, dig into Steiner’s contacts—see if there’s a pattern.”
I nodded, closing my folder. “Copy.”
Bronc looked at each of us in turn. “We don’t move on this until we know more. I want to get to the bottom of their involvement in Papa’s abduction. I also want to know if they are flesh peddling. If it’s trafficking, we end it.”
“Roger that,” Gunner said, a touch too loud.
Bronc’s gaze landed on me. “Arsenal. If you see something—if there’s a personal angle—bring it to me.”
He didn’t say it like a threat, but it didn’t need to be.
I stood, saluted with my mug, and left the room first.
Church let out, and as bodies scattered, I intercepted Wrecker in the corridor. Parker joined us from the living room. Wrecker fell in behind me like we were back in formation, and Parker trailed with her usual soft-footed stealth. I cut through the admin hall to the back office, knowing we’d be undisturbed. Not even Bronc poked his head in; he knew when a room was about to get classified.
The office had been reinforced in the rebuild. What used to be a crappy room with rickety furniture, now had a nice wooden desk and several padded chairs. The only adornment was a Texas flag with a bullet hole dead center. I’d put it there the first day we got back inside; nobody dared to take it down.
I waited until both of them sat—Wrecker slouched, knees splayed, arms crossed; Parker on the edge, back ramrod straight, black nails clicking a nervous rhythm on the tabletop.
“Alright,” I said, closing the door, “I’ve got something. You need to keep this off the record.”
Wrecker’s eyes went flat, all jokes off. Parker just raised one eyebrow, like she was waiting to be amused.
I braced my palms on the table and looked at the flag, not at them. “There was a dancer at the club. Her name is Harper Lawson. She’s my mate.”
The word hit like a stray round in the room. Wrecker’s brow furrowed, then his lips parted. “You’re shitting me.”
Parker blinked once, then stared at me with an intensity I hadn’t seen since Wrecker threatened to spank her in the middle of the club picnic a few weeks ago. “You have a fucking mate?”
“Had. She rejected me. Sort of. I haven’t seen her since before I joined Iron Valor. Not since…” I trailed off, steeling myself. “Not since she walked out. Five years ago.”
I sat down. My posture, normally textbook, slumped for maybe the first time in my life. “She was from my original pack, Rising Moon. Came from a wealthy family, went to Julliard. We knew of each other for years, but I’m seven years older. I never paid much attention. Until one day I was home on leave and I ran into her in a coffee shop. Didn’t take long for the bond to show up.”
“Then what happened?” Parker asked, her voice gone all soft as if she was a therapist and not a hacker with anger issues.
I stared at the tabletop. “Her father. Piece of shit hedge fund manager. He didn’t like that his precious daughter was tied to someone with less money, less status, less everything. He made her choose. I figured we’d work it out, that he’d come around.” My mouth twisted. “Instead, she ghosted me. No call, no message. Her father told me—after—he said she realized I was a ‘low life loser’ and she didn’t want to give up her future for someone like me.”
“Fuck,” Wrecker breathed. “That’s cold.”
“It gets better.” I flexed my hands, feeling the old anger like static under the skin. “She was nineteen. I was twenty-seven. Her father said he’d see me in jail if I tried to contact her again. Said I was preying on her. It was all legal; she was an adult, but I didn’t want him calling command, raising a stink. It was a fucking nightmare.”
Parker’s eyes narrowed. “You think she believed him?”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. She left. I made my peace with it.” Lie. But it sounded solid.
“So why bring us in?” Wrecker asked, always direct.
“Because that’s not the life she wanted. She was going to be a fucking dancer. Not…this.” I kept my voice steady, but the image of Harper crawling on that stage made me want to break something, preferably her father’s jaw. “I need to know how she ended up in that club. And why.”
“Trafficking?” Parker said, tone clinical.
“Or blackmail,” Wrecker offered. “Pack feuds. There’s a million ways it could go south.”
I nodded. “Exactly. And I don’t care what Bronc says about waiting—I’m not sitting on my hands if there’s a chance she’s in trouble.”
Wrecker met my eyes, his expression unreadable. “You sure you can keep it together?”
“Wouldn’t ask for your help if I couldn’t,” I said, and meant it.
