Page 57 of Coveted By Cupid

Torn between my club’s privacy and getting the most out of my hostage, I stare up at my ceiling like I can find the answers in the rafters.

“Look, I get not wanting outsiders where you conduct club business. It would be easier if my crew handled questioning the fucker, but you can still run the show. We’ll compromise. Have me on a video call. My crew and I can still listen in and give you advice on how or what to ask.”

“Seems fair,” I say, getting behind the plan. The only issue I can foresee is getting cellular service down in the stone basement where I’ll question the prisoner. Although I’m sure Cipher has a workaround for that issue. “Let’s do it your way.”

“Deal. Can you take a picture of the perp? I’ll have my head of tech do a deep dive. We have connections with the Federal Bureau of Investigation and can run his image through their facial recognition software.”

“I don’t want the Feds involved,” I say, nearly growling.

“Fuck no. Chase—my head of tech—can access their software through our connections without the Feds getting involved,” Atlas explains.

Ah. Now that’s something I can get behind. Any dirty work that keeps Cipher off the radar, I approve of. He has enough business to manage selling our smuggled weapons on the dark web without adding to his plate. If Atlas’s tech man can ease my club’s workload, so be it.

“I’ll have an image of the guy sent to you shortly.”

“Good. Have you tried questioning him yet? Has he said anything?”

“Not yet. He’s in solitary confinement. I’m letting him sit in the dark with his thoughts for a bit. I want him anxious by the time I question him.”

“Time is of the essence—I would not wait long. When do you plan on interrogating him?”

“Tonight, after I get Vanessa settled for the evening.”

“Call me when you do.” And then he disconnects.

With the phone call with Atlas out of the way, I send a quick text to Scalpel with an update on Vanessa. He texts back saying she sounds like she’s doing okay, and he promises to stop by tomorrow to check on her. I let out a little sigh of relief, knowing she’s in excellent hands.

Next, I make my second serious call of the day.

Crypt answers right away, almost as if he’s been waiting for me to check in. “Yes, Prez?”

“How’s our guest?” I ask stiffly, hoping the douchebag is miserable as hell.

When my crew returned last night from Vanessa’s apartment, Drift and Ruger carried Vanessa’s attacker into the basement of the bunkhouse. Most of the basements in the older buildings in the historic downtown area of Loveland were meant for storage and not to be inhabited. They’re dark, cold, and often damp. Perfect as a cellar for Whiskey Wheelers, not as great for anyone who has wronged us to stay imprisoned in.

“Agitated, as he should be. He keeps bitching about his foot. It sounds like Vanessa broke it by stomping on it.”

My chest puffs out with pride, knowing my little baddie fights hard. “That’s my Butterfly.”

“You want me to do anything with him? Break his other foot? Bust a kneecap?”

“Mmm, tempting. Maybe later. We need answers from him first. I need him conscious in order to have that conversation, not writhing in pain. We’ll question him tonight—let him sweat it out longer. I need one thing from you, though.”

“Name it.”

“Take a few pictures of his face—some good close-ups from all angles.”

“Sure thing, Prez.”

A few minutes after I end the call with Crypt, he sends me the images I requested. Ruger holds the asshole in place by his hair in each image, probably the only way to get our prisoner to cooperate for Crypt to take pictures. I forward the images onto Atlas as promised and then text Oaks to meet me in my apartment.

I’m putting Vanessa’s kitchen supplies away in my cupboards when Oaks comes into my home, not bothering to knock. If the door is unlocked, he knows he’s welcomed.

“Hey, Cupid? Where you at?”

“In here,” I answer, breaking down the last of the boxes from Vanessa’s kitchen and setting them next to my recycling bin.

Oaks enters the room, making a beeline for my fridge. He pulls out a Coke and then takes a seat at the island. “How’s domestic life treating you?”