“Tell me something,Vigilante.”His polite, too-soft voice carries an undercurrent of terror, a predator making small talk before the kill.“What does Jag stand for?”
My brain blanks.
No one here should know my real name.No one knows that name unless I choose to reveal it.
The thrashing of my pulse drowns out all other sound.
I recover fast.Shrug.Let my mouth twist into carefree indifference.“J-A-G.Just Another Guy.What does Van stand for?”
He grins, showing no surprise that I know his real name.“Vanquish.”
Yeah.Figures.
“So, Jag.”Legs spread, he props a boot on the opposite knee.“What has you desperate enough to come knocking on our door?”
“You know why I’m here.”I rub my chest, forcing my heartbeat to behave.
“The favor.”Van flicks his fingers, impatient.“Let’s hear it.”
“I want a threat removed.”Leaning forward, I let my hands dangle between my knees.“There’s a criminal network hunting me.”
“Adrian Crowe.”
The name shoots ice down my spine.
Van Quiso saying it out loud tells me he already knows the threat and the terms of my favor.
Adrian Crowe founded House of Crowe, a network of shell companies that cater to talent agencies, retreat management, luxury villas, private aviation, and discreet shipping routes.
In other words, he runs a high-end sex-trafficking syndicate and cult-front organization for elite perverts and pedos, laundering influence and moving victims under the guise of luxury retreats, talent development, and global export logistics.
Of course, the cartel is aware of House of Crowe.Same trade, different criminals.They’ve been circling each other for years, feeding off the same industry and spilling blood every time their routes cross.
But how does the cartel know that Adrian Crowe is hunting me?
Van’s gaze narrows on the bandaged splint on my broken wrist.No one has asked me about the injury.Because they already know.
“You’re watching me.”My scalp tingles.
“Not as expertly as you watch us.”
No argument there.But that doesn’t make the invasion of my privacy any less horrifying.How much do they know?
“House of Crowe found me in Sitka.”I roll my neck.“I want them gone.”
“Why are they hunting you?”
Is he testing me?Or does he truly not know about my unfinished history with Adrian Crowe?History I can’t let go.Call it revenge.Or obsession.Or a goddamn suicide mission.Whatever.I’ve been hellbent on gutting that fucker for twenty years, but he’s so deeply entrenched, networked, and insulated by decades of powerful alliances, he’s impossible to dislodge.
Un-fucking-touchable.
Not that I’ll admit any of that to Van.“I’m a threat.”
He knows I’m hiding shit, but his expression doesn’t change.He stares me down in that terrifyingly still way men like him do, parsing my words for weakness, not meaning.
“The FBI is hunting you, too.”He raises a brow.
“I can handle the alphabet agencies.I want you to take down House of Crowe.”
