He shakes his head slowly, his mouth tightening.
“Lady,” he says, “if you’re smart, you’ll forget you asked.”
I give him a small smile that probably doesn’t reassure him in the slightest.
“Yeah,” I say. “That doesn’t sound like me.”
The industrial park sits on the far edge of town where the buildings get bigger and the streets get quieter. Most of the businesses out here close early, which means the place feels half deserted by the time I turn down the last road. The warehouse is impossible to miss once I spot it. It’s a big metal building with a faded sign bolted over the front office that readsVoss Security Solutions, and it’s trying very hard to look legitimate even though the place has the same vibe as every shady business front I’ve ever seen in a crime documentary.
“Subtle,” I mutter under my breath.
There are three trucks parked outside and a black SUV sitting near the loading dock, which tells me the place isn’t empty even though it looks quiet. I pull into the lot and cut the engine, then sit there for a second staring at the building while my brain offers one last chance to reconsider this entire idea. This is the point where a smarter person might turn the truck around and drive straight back to town, maybe call Cole and let him handle it with the rest of the club.
Unfortunately, I am not currently feeling particularly interested in being smart.
I shove the truck door open and start walking toward the office entrance before my brain can argue any further.
The door swings open easily when I pull it, and inside the place looks exactly like what you’d expect from a company trying very hard to pretend it’s legitimate. Cheap office furniture, motivational posters about safety on the walls, and a desk near the front where a bored-looking guy in a security shirt is slouched in a chair scrolling through his phone. He glances up when the door closes behind me, and his eyes narrow slightly the second he realizes he doesn’t recognize me.
“Can I help you?” he asks.
I walk straight up to the desk and rest one hand on the edge of it, leaning slightly forward so he understands I’m not here to browse pamphlets.
“Yeah,” I say evenly. “I’m looking for Lyle Voss.”
The guy blinks like he’s not entirely convinced he heard that correctly.
“And you are?”
“Rae.”
“And why exactly are you looking for him?”
My smile turns sharp.
“Because he trashed the bar I work at.”
The guy leans back in his chair, studying me like he’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke.
“Lady,” he says slowly, “you don’t just walk in here and demand to see.”
“Either he’s here or he isn’t,” I interrupt calmly, folding my arms. “Which one is it?”
He stares at me for another long second, and then he lets out a short laugh like he’s decided I must be out of my mind.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve.”
“So I’ve been told.”
He pushes his chair back and stands up, still watching me like I might suddenly pull a weapon out of my pocket.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll see if he feels like talking.”
“Take your time,” I reply.
He disappears through a door at the back of the office, and the moment he’s gone I cross my arms and look around the room again. Cheap desk. Filing cabinets. Fake certificates on the wall pretending this place is a real security company instead of a protection racket.
My heart is definitely beating faster now.
