“Nope,” I popped the ‘p,’ scrolling through the fucking avalanche of texts from different underbosses about their assigned deals or whatever bullshit arose from them. One resulted in two dead bodies on the buyer’s side, and I struggled to repress a tired groan. “Get Sergeant Albrook on the phone tomorrow morning, preferably not at the ass crack of dawn. One of the arms deals went bad, and I don't need the police breathing down my neck about it.”
“The wolf shifters?”
I scoffed. “Shockingly, no. One of the human mobs, thinking they can get some more territory. My money is on that Italian group that came in last year. I should have Jerel manage that one. I hate dealing with humans on principle.”
“Italians…” his voice trailed off in thought. “Wasn’t that who that guy worked for? The one who came to the club looking for you a few days ago?”
My cheek pressed against my fist, the many rings adorning it warm against the skin, as I propped my elbow against the window. “Yeah, but I don’t think there’s a connection. That guy was some kind of shifter, and the only other shifter mob I can think of in this part of the states is Andrea, over in Chicago. And he would have to be completely doolally to pull that kind of shithere, especially after he sent his little minion to try to play nice. Oh, shit!” I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed again. “Speaking of, I totally forgot to call that guy. Damn… I’ll get Jerel to do that too.”
“Why don’t you do some of your own legwork?” Taylor teased, even as his eyes stayed glued to the road. It was still pretty busy even this late. “Poor Jerel needs a break from being your bitch.”
I scoffed. “What’s the point of being the boss then? Damn, Taylor, you act like I don’t do anything. And I think he secretly likes being bossed around.”
He scoffed sarcastically. “My mistake. I don’t wanna know how you got to that conclusion.”
I narrowed my glare at the side of his head, where his ever-growing smile peeked around from the front of his face. “For your information, my phone said I burned a hundred and two calories disassembling that asshole Gabe. So I'm not a total bum!”
“Oh yeah? What did you put that exercise under, light jog?”
Taylor pulled around to the back of the club, sliding into a spot in the small staff parking lot. “Ha, feckin’ ha,” I retorted. “Anything else you wanna gripe at me about before I go to work?”
He scoffed. “Work? I’d keel over the day I actually saw you work.”
“You’re an ass, you know that?” My hand yanked the handle to open the passenger door, when his clasped the back of my neck and shook me. “Get off, you boor!” I complained.
“You know I love you, right?” Taylor laughed when I dodged him, trying to muss up my hair. “You got your vest? Your gun?”
“Yes, yes,” I grumbled. “Everything is behind the bar, mother. Can I go now?”
He chuckled again, but finally let me loose. I slammed the door shut behind me as he rolled down the window. “I’ll be backin an hour, popping over to the warehouse real quick to check on the last shipment. Don’t be startin’ shit, you hear me?”
“Fine, just get outta here, you hen! Stop peckin’ at me!”
Taylor’s bright laughter followed me all the way to the staff entrance of Masked Merrow, and I turned to flip him off—lovingly, of course—as he backed out of the spot and took off the opposite way we came. Despite being younger by two years and technically a half-brother, his protectiveness over me had no limit. Deep down, I appreciated it. But sometimes, like tonight, I could see the sympathy in his matching green eyes when I murdered another man for his unforgivable sexual offenses, and I couldn’t stand that shit. It took me almost fifteen years to build the world I wanted to live in, one whereIwas the boogeyman those lechers were afraid of, and I’ll be damned if anyone pities me for turning into a monster of my own abuser’s creation.
One day, I was going to catch up to Elio Messina again. When I did, Taylor would be there to watch me take my revenge on that vile excuse for a man.
In the Den
Grant
“Reports have come in regarding the sudden and tragic death of the son of financial tycoon Don Sumpton, who was found dead in his bedroom early thismorning. Police cannot provide details at this time. Gabe Sumpton was recently accepted to Harvard University, where he planned to attend this coming fall as a business major—”
I hardly slept the past two nights after watching Vixen’s cam session, jolting awake several times from disturbing nightmares starring the camgirl with torturous instruments disguised as sex toys, and hoped a change of scenery would help my horrid mood. So here I found myself at La Petite Macaron, eating a bagel smeared with hazelnut spread and reading reports about dead people. My eyes narrowed on the screen, focusing more intently on it than I had before, as I drained the rest of my sad, weak coffee. I tucked myself into the far corner of the shop where no one could sit behind me, and I could keep everyone in the coffee shop in my line of sight. Several tabs sat open in my browser, including the local news and LVPD police records. Gabe’s name populated quickly in the search engine, and I absently clicked around to look into his socials and some articles written about his antics in the city. It didn’t take long to realize that the guy was a playboy and trust fund baby who was frequently getting charged with DUIs and speeding tickets, and had even wrapped expensive cars around a number of things. Not totally uncommon to encounter similar sons of people I worked with in organized crime.
In all, beyond being an obnoxious ass, he didn’t seem to be a prime candidate for assassination. Unless he got involved in some shady shit, which I wouldn’t find from a simple Google search or news report. It didn’t feel worth hunting around the dark web for hits on this guy. Judging by how prominent a figure his father was, it was safe to assume he kept a leash on his son when it came to dabbling in the illegal activities that would have him end up on a hit board.
As I sipped my fourth coffee of the day, I spent a few minutes browsing the usual boards that monitored known hackeractivity. It was an unspoken rule that we didn’t rat out our own, but sometimes posts popped up that admired a particular heist or some suspicious activity; in certain industries, patterns of known hackers became more obvious... Like Cyber_Fox hitting trafficking auctions. Their handiwork popped up on a few boards speculating who the target was, or what they did with the money.
There wasn’t much in the way of money siphoning, but one chat in particular was very focused on activity in Vegas.
User_error_0104: Anyone else notice an uptick in rich people dying in LV?
Velcroboi_222: They ain’t just rich people.
Velcroboi_222: Check this article out
The user had posted a screenshot of the article covering what I’d just overhead on the news. No one was dumb enough to post or click on links. Spread across the top in bold letters, the picture said, ‘Real Estate Tycoon’s Son Found Dead in Bedroom, Police Suspect Foul Play.’ The first couple of sentences verified it was indeed about a Gabe Sumpton, age twenty, and a former student at Harvard University.
