Chapter One
Frankie
“You’re playing with fire, Frankie. Like, actual fire that’s going to burn your entire life to the ground if you get caught.”
I roll my eyes at Trinity’s dramatic warning coming through my laptop speakers.
On the screen, my online bestie’s dark pixie cut frames her concerned expression as she watches me work my magic across three different monitors.
“Fire can be cleansing,” I murmur, fingers flying across my keyboard as I navigate through yet another layer of encryption protecting Cooper Benson’s offshore accounts. “Besides, they started this.”
“Did they, though?” Trinity leans closer to her camera, and I can see the new tattoo peeking out from under her collar. “You still don’t have actual proof they did anything to your dad.”
My jaw clenches. She’s right, and I hate it. But what else am I supposed to think? Dad’s last meeting before vanishing into thin air was with the Kings of Anarchy MC at their strip club.
“His calendar said he was meeting with them, Trin. That’s not a coincidence.”
“It’s also not evidence,” she counters gently. “And stealing from them definitely isn’t going to do you any favors.”
I pause and push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “I’m not scared of them.”
Okay so that’s a lie, but my bestie doesn’t need to know that. I know who these men are. Everyone does. The Kings are everywhere–scattered across the US, doing all sorts of illegal stuff and ruining who knows how many lives.
I’ve been digging for the last week and so far I’ve found hints at prostitution, drug manufacturing, racketeering, and even mention of killers for hire. So yeah, I know who I’m dealing with, and they aren’t Boy Scouts. But I can’t let that stop me. They know where my dad is and I have to find out.
Shaking it off, I return my attention to the beautiful lines of code flowing across my monitor, and stay the course. “They need to pay.”
Trinity sighs, and I know she’s chewing on her lip ring. She always does that when she’s stressed. “How much are we talking this time?”
“Ten thousand.” I crack my knuckles and hover my finger over the enter key. “Going to the Summer Run Animal Rescue, the Gulf Coast Wildlife Sanctuary, and the Panhandle Pit Bull Project.”
“Jesus, Frankie. That’s?—”
“A drop in the bucket for this asshole,” I interrupt. “Do you know how much money these guys move? This Cooper asshole has over a quarter of a million just sitting in this one account. Not earning interest, not invested, just sitting there like he’s too stupid to know what to do with it.”
“Or maybe he’s saving it for something,” Trinity suggests.
“Well, now he’s giving it to the puppies and sea turtles.” I hit enter, and a rush of satisfaction floods through me as I watch the transfer process.
It takes thirty seconds, and poof—Mr. Benson’s ten thousand dollars disappears from his account and reappears in three different animal charities’ accounts. I’ve set it up so it looks like he made the donations himself. Let him try to explain that to his criminal buddies.
My lips tip up as I rub my hands together. Consider me a modern-day Robin Hood. Stealing from these rich criminals and giving to the innocent creatures who can’t protect themselves.
“You look like hell, by the way, bitch,” my bestie says, studying me through the screen.
“Gee, thanks, heifer.” But I catch my reflection in the darkened window to my left and wince.
Okay, maybe I do look a little rough.
My blonde hair is piled on top of my head in a messy bun that’s officially moved into sloppy territory, and the dark circles under my eyes might be a tad concerning.
Glancing down at my oversized MIT hoodie, I see not one but three stains from the pizza pockets I’ve consumed over the last several days.
When’s the last time I showered?
“Seriously, Frankie. You need to get some sleep, babe.”
I wave her off. “I’ll sleep when I find out what happened to my Dad.”
