His head snaps back, body crashing into crates. Blood hits concrete in a lazy splash.
“That’s for JT, you piece of shit,” I snarl, shaking out the sting. “Say another word, and I’ll make you gargle what’s left of your fucking molars.”
Tanner groans, slouched on the floor, hands over his busted mouth.
“Now, now,” a voice drawls from behind us. “Let’s not get messy before the pleasantries.”
Ned Stauder steps into view.
Close to sixty with weathered skin comparable to cracked leather. He’s lean, relatively still fit for his age. He’s not much to look at in a fight… but that’s the con. The danger isn’t his hands, it’s hisreach.
His men flank him. Broad. Armed. Faces blank like they’ve been taught how to kill with no witnesses and even less guilt.
Ned lifts a hand. His muscle pulls back. Obedient dogs waiting on the kill command.
“You done swingin’?” Stauder asks, voice lazy but with an undeniable edge behind it.
I run my other hand over my busted knuckles, blood already drying in the creases. “For now.”
He smirks, slow and crooked, clearly enjoying the advantage of catching me off guard. “Good,” he says. “Let’s talk.”
He nods toward a couple of plastic chairs flanking the folding table, cheap and creaky, one with a cracked leg that’s secured with electrical tape.
I don’t move.
Will doesn’t either. He plants himself by my side, arms folded across his chest, gaze locked on the men standing behind Stauder. Watching their hands, their spacing. Every inch of him is calm.
Stauder shrugs, unbothered. “Suit yourself.”
He circles the table with the ease of a man preparing to deal cards, not leverage someone’s secrets. In one hand, he holds aplain manila folder. He sets it down, drawing my attention, then taps the cover with one nicotine-stained finger.
“You know Brandon Dillinger’s gone missing,” he says. Not a question.
I draw a lazy gaze to meet his. “I’ve heard.”
“Cost me a lot,” Stauder continues, beginning to pace. He takes measured steps that scratch across the concrete floor. “His…partnershipskept certain doors open. Made certain people look the other way. Now his company’s crumbling, bleeding money, and I’ve got a goddamn detective sniffing around the carcass.”
He glances at me, one brow lifted.
“You know Bryant?”
“I know the name.”
“Then you know he’s a fucking bloodhound.”
Knowing exactly how far my reach is, Stauder stops pacing and plants himself just outside my striking range. He clasps his hands loosely in front of him, gaze steady but sharp and testing.
I don’t move a damn muscle.
His face is calm, but I can see the calculation behind it. The tension riding just beneath the casual swagger. He’s not here to make peace.
He’s here to own me again.
“And you wanna know what I find interesting, Hex?” he says, voice quiet but cold. “Brandon met with you just two days before he disappeared. Strange coincidence, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know a fucking thing about it,” I say.
“You think a bar and a few dim-witted loyalists erase the years you spent breaking faces for me?” He chuckles, shaking his head. He leans on the table with both hands. “Don’t insult me.
