1247 Sunset Drive
Rubbing my chin, I ask, “This who’s been stealing from me?”
Cyber lifts his head and frowns. “Yeah. But it doesn’t make any sense. Someone went through a lot of trouble to hide this kid.”
“Hide him?” My brows go up. “What do you mean?”
“Layers of encryption, VPNs, proxy servers. This Frankie knows his shit. I had to dig deep to track him down.”
“But you did track him down,” I say, crumpling the paper in my fist.
“Yeah, but...” Cyber shakes his head. “I haven’t had time to get into the details. Another girl’s gone missing.”
“Fuck.”
The trafficking ring. We’ve been trying to track down the assholes snatching women off the streets for months now. Every time Cyber gets close the IP’s geolocation jumps all over the map, then vanishes like smoke. It’s starting to piss us all off.
We’re not saints. We run guns and dope, sure, but we don’t fuck with women and kids. That’s a line we don’t cross, and having some sick fucks operating in our territory brings heat we don’t need. FBI, ATF, Homeland Security; all those three-letter agencies sniffing around our business.
We need to shut this shit down before it bites us in the ass.
“Take a break,” I tell Cyber, bumping my fist against his. “Maybe it’ll be clearer with fresh eyes.”
He exhales hard and nods. “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”
I wave the crumpled paper. “I’m gonna take off. Handle this.”
Cyber glances at me, his hazel eyes tired. “You need help?”
“Nah. I got it.” I head for the door, then pause. “Seriously, brother. Take a fucking break.”
He grunts in response, already turning back to his screens.
The vault door slides shut behind me, and I pull out my phone and fire off a text to Journey.
Me: Got the address. Time to fuck some shit up. Meet me at my truck.
His reply comes back almost instantly.
Journey: You’re a cockblocker, you know that?
I snort. Yeah, well, he can finish his fuck fest later. We’ve got a job to do.
With a grin on my face, I shove my phone in my pocket and head for my truck in the lot. I’d rather be on my bike but with what I’m planning to do to this punk kid, that’ll draw too much attention. I don’t need some nosy neighbor calling the cops because they saw two bikers rolling through their neighborhood in the middle of the night.
Journey’s leaning against the passenger door when I get to my truck, arms crossed over his chest. “This better be good, brother. That blonde had a mouth like a Hoover.”
“You’ll live,” I mutter, unlocking the doors.
We climb in, and I fire up the engine, pulling out of the compound and onto the main road. Odin’s a small town, and it doesn’t take long to get to Sunset Drive. I punch the address into my GPS and follow the directions to a nice neighborhood with big houses and manicured lawns.
I kill the headlights as I turn onto the street and roll to a stop in front of the address. There’s a main house that’s dark, and a three-car garage off to the side.
There’s a light on in the window above the garage.
Bingo.
“Stay here,” I tell Journey, keeping my voice low.
