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“Take these two to the back.”

He hoisted blondie over his shoulder like a rag doll while barking at the man now missing a finger to move it.

“Where on earth do you find giants like that?” Gunner asked incredulously.

Despite the shit show I was currently dealing with, Gunner managed to pull a laugh from me. I looked over my shoulder to where he stood, reading on his face the burning questions he was trying hard to keep to himself. Questions I didn’t owe him any answers to, but found myself wanting to tell him anyway.

“Amazon.” I winked before turning to follow Robert.

Weaving through the tables, I walked slowly enough to make it clear that he could follow. I told myself I was letting him join me as a show of good faith in our new partnership, an opportunity for the Skeletons’ sergeant at arms to question a reaper without starting a bloodbath in the streets. But that was bullshit. I wanted Gunner around because I was beginning to like the asshole.

I approached a discreet door on the far back wall. Most patrons didn’t even notice it, and if they did, they assumed it was a utility closet or something. A side panel housed a thumbprint scanner and pin pad. Any door in Lotería that led to Los Muertos’s less than legal business required the fingerprint of a member with access and a specific pin that changed at random.

I thought it was a bit overkill on the security measures, but Scar insisted on it. Honestly, I should have expected it from her since she was a security expert—who also happened to be a professional thief as a side hustle. She and I had met because of an arms deal with the New York Italian mob.

“That’s a lot of security measures to open a door,” Gunner commented, glancing at the biometric scanner and keypad. “I don’t remember Nikki having to do all this when we walked up the main stairs to your office.”

“Ask the real question, Gunner. Don’t be shy now. I just watched you cut off a finger for me.” I turned to face him head-on. “So, ask me what you want to know.” I placed my hands on my hips, watching his demeanor.

My eyes locked on where his tongue was poking out, wetting his bottom lip. He liked it when I challenged him.

“What fucking office are we going to, babe?” he asked, his tone deliciously demanding.

Even in the dim lighting, the man was a sight to see. I searched his handsome face, taking in all his features while deciding what to do. His green eyes were bright with curiosity, his hair looked like he had been raking his fingers through it, and the goddamn mustache I was so obsessed with was tempting me to lean in and bite at his bottom lip.

I was also looking for a sign of what I should do. If he had been pushy, demanding, or just a downright asshole tonight, I would have kicked him to the curb way before this point. Gunner and I were supposed to work together on the weapons deals between our two organizations. Nothing more. But here I stood, wrestling with the decision on whether I was going to let Gunner join me on something outside of that arrangement.

The pad of his thumb was rough against my bottom lip as he worked to release it from between my teeth.

“We are partners, Ryan, remember? I told you that tonight after your fight. If you want me to go with you, I will.” His thumb continued to graze across my lip as he spoke gently. “Besides, the Reapers are an enemy to both the Skeletons and Los Muertos. We may gain some valuable information on how to keep them out of the Tucson territory.”

I had to fight to focus on his words and not the idea of pulling the digit into my mouth and sucking on it. The thought of tasting any part of this man made my panties wet, which was so not the appropriate thing to be thinking about at a time like this.

I let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. But in here, I’m in charge. I run the show.”

“That’s fine. You can have this space to be in charge. I have others…” he replied.

The wicked glint in his eye made me think that his statement had a hidden meaning, but I didn’t have time to think about that.

I had interviews to conduct.

Ryan

“How are your shoulders feeling?” My tone was emotionless.

The moment my feet crossed the threshold of my office, all humanity was turned off. I was a machine in here, methodical and cold. I proudly took on the role of judge, jury, and, if needed, executioner for the men who had yet to be served justice.

That was my rule.

This room only held guilty men; I didn’t extract information from innocents. Sergio and Mario knew that if I didn’t find proof of their guilt, I wouldn’t be torturing them.

Spit hit the concrete floor near my feet. “You’re going to pay for this, bitch,” he seethed.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. How is your club going to even know what happened to you?” I asked flippantly.

I walked over to the cabinet, opening it up and pulling out some of my favorite tools.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” His voice now held a tinge of panic to it.