“It won’t take long.” I motion toward her desk and computer. “I want the name of the woman I was with tonight. She's a new member. Go through the security footage of people arriving to find her.”
Even with masks, the members have to show their face when they check in, so the staff can verify who they are.
Riveria halts when she hears my words. “That’s against company policy.” She narrows her eyes. “Which you know, becauseyou’rethe one who created that policy.”
“I don’t give a shit,” I growl. “Give me her name. And while you’re at it, her address.”
“No goddamn way am I doing that.”
“I’m your boss.”
“And you need me, and you damn well know it,” she snaps, then concern covers her face. “What’s gotten into you? Why this woman?”
“Riveria,” I warn. Seeing she isn’t going to budge, I sigh and rake my fingers through my sweaty hair. “I don’t know. But Ineedto know who she is.”
So we can repeat tonight, and so I can find out why she bolted.
Riveria shakes her head. “That’s the purpose of Masked Night, Army. Let nature take its course. If it’s meant to happen again, it will.”
“Itwillhappen again because you’re going to give me her name and address. Hell, you’re going to give me her complete application.”
Her jaw hardens. “Absolutely not; the application is confidential. Not just information like name, address, and birth date, but there’s the intake interview—which we stress and repeatedly assure our clients that it’sconfidential, and that I’m the only one who will see it. You don’t get to have that just because you want it.”
“Yes, I do.” I remain calm and pragmatic, approaching this like a soldier would. “Because I own this club, and that information is legally mine.”
“Youdo not own this club. The Havoc Guardians do, not you explicitly, Army.”
“I’m the legal representative for my organization.”
“I’m not giving the information to you.”
My control snaps. “Riveria, so fucking help me—”
“Stop.” She walks over to me. “I’m not giving it to you when you’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’ll feel the same tomorrow. Give it to me now,” I say through clenched teeth.
She opens her mouth to protest, but the ringing of my phone cuts her off. I consider ignoring it, but it’s the ringtone I have programmed for one of my fellow Council members. Pulling it out of my suit jacket, I see that it’s Digits.
“What?” I bark in answer.
Usually, he would have a snappy retort to me answering like an asshole, but he only says, “You need to get back to the compound ASAP.”
I’m instantly on edge. “I want that information by morning,” I say to Riveria as I stride toward the door. “What’s going on, Digits?”
He takes a deep breath. “I just found Leeva.”
My hand stills on the doorknob as shock ripples through me. Then I yank open the door and sprint down the stairs, and race like a bat out of hell to my truck.
My steps thunder up the stairs to where Digits basically lives his life—his tower. It isn’t exactly a tower; it’s a separate structure connected to the main part of the clubhouse that’s one floor taller.
The heat intensifies as I near the top of the stairs. Not because heat naturally rises, but because of the million dollars’ worth of computers and tech equipment Digits keeps up here. The entire floor is packed with it—a wall of monitors like something you’d envision in the Fed’s control room. Some display surveillance feeds from the clubhouse, others cycle through our various businesses, and the rest run programs for whatever Digits is digging into.
One of those programs has been looking for Leeva for years, even though I’ve told him repeatedly to stop.
Digits lifts his head as I burst into his space. His dark, curly hair is messy, but otherwise he looks good—not the bloodshot eyes and three-day-old clothes he’d been sporting when Slade, Bane’s old lady, and the MC were under threat.
He stands. “Army—”
