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“How far does this go back?” I asked, desperate to keep a handle on my rage. Betrayal seeped into my veins. Gunner put his hand on my hip, pulling me flush against his side, sensing my need to be grounded to reality. I was moments away from barging out and going on a murder spree. The bloodlust was yelling at me to exact revenge.

“How did you get all of this?” Gunner asked.

If I hadn’t been so enraged, I would’ve laughed at the horror and admiration in his tone. He didn’t know anything about Scar’s talents in getting information. The woman was a genius and dangerous, which was why I was so intrigued as to why these four were together. But that curiosity was trumped by the facts laid out before me.

“I keep tabs on all of my clients,” she replied. “It’s a good security measure to have dirty details on people for when they become…difficult to deal with.”

Mr. Katana piped up from the couch. “That strategy didn’t go well for Epstein.”

Scar’s delicate fingers pinched the bridge of her nose, a sigh leaving her lips. Despite my anger, I smirked at the fact that these men, or at least that man, were capable of breaking her icy facade.

“As I was trying to say, I keep tabs on all the people I work with or may work with.” She nodded to the files on the table. “I’ve been watching Los Muertos, the Jimenez men in particular, for years. That’s how I discovered they had a fellow woman running shit in this toxic paradise that is the criminal world. But I’ve kept a closer eye on Mario since deciding I liked Ryan. I didn’t care for the way he treated her.” She let her words fall off, locking on to my eyes and giving me a glimpse into the emotional turmoil she kept tightly tucked away.

Meeting Scar taught me that losing my parents was tragic and brutal, but sometimes having no family was better than constantly being fucked over by your blood.

“Anyway, some of these go back years. But these—these are what I could pull from the last few months. This picture was from earlier this month,” she said, pushing a photo forward.

Saliva pooled in my mouth—nausea hitting me like a freight train.

“Fuck. Can we keep these?” Gunner asked, reaching out and plucking another piece of damning evidence from the table.

“Of course. I have my copies,” Scar answered.

The photo in my hand shook—my emotions battling for the top spot. After the initial horror, I settled into my comfort. Rage. The picture was taken at Lotería, the night he asked for the club to be emptied. Mario and his crew, with members of the Reapers, hosting an exclusive party. But we already knew he was working with them. What made my skin crawl was the women being auctioned off on the stage. The mascara streaking down their faces and the restraints around them were all the evidence I needed to know what was happening in the picture.

“He’s selling skin,” I seethed. The emotion was so thick in my voice.

I needed to shut down my feelings immediately. I would not let this stand, and I wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done if I let my emotions rule my decisions.

I reaped the souls of guilty men, and Mario wouldn’t be given a pass.

“Look’s like he’s been doing it for months. He’s trying to get the attention of the Circle. Nasty bunch of assholes, let me tell ya.” Scar looked over at Mr. Broody, a silent exchange happening. “But Mario will never get it. He’s got too many eyes from law enforcement agencies looking at him, but no one’s been able to pin shit.” Scar let out a humorless chuckle. “If only they would be willing to break a few rules, he would’ve been taken care of months ago. I mean, look at all the shit I found.”

Callahan walked over, plucking the photograph from Gunner’s hands and examining it.

“They would never do that. Citizens would freak out if they thought government agencies were spying on them…” Callahan remarked, laughing at the irony.

“Snowden tried to tell them, and look what happened to him,” Mr. Katana piped up. “People don’t want to know how trackable and hackable their shit is. Buncha sheep.”

Callahan continued to speak, not remotely perturbed by the interruption. “It’s why we end up cleaning up this kinda shit,” he said as he glanced over at the other men before looking at Gunner and me.

Anger filled my veins that these women were enduring this, and no one was fixing it.

“Fuck the police or FBI or whoever the fuck it is that’s failing their job. I’m going to kill Mario since they won’t.” I turned back to Scar. “Where is he now? And where the fuck is Sergio in all of this? Why set up the deal with Skeletons of Society to let all this other shit go down?” I asked, throwing up my hands in anger.

Gunner piped up. “Unless Sergio doesn’t know about any of this.” He grabbed another document from the table, his brows furrowed.

“Then where the fuck is he? He hasn’t answered any of my messages in days. If he wasn’t a part of this, why is he avoiding me?”

Callahan seemed to look at me for the first time, assessing me in a way that felt eerily similar to Scar. I didn’t think they realized how similar they were. Or they didn’t want to admit it. Fuck, it was going to be fireworks between the two of them. They were either going to kill each other or kill others together.

“You’re Los Muertos’s arms dealer.” He looked over at Scar, narrowing his eyes. “So Ryan doesn’t have a dick,” he stated as his eyebrow hit his hairline.

Scar pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and looked at the tabletop guiltily.

Gunner chuckled. “No, she doesn’t, but you’re just finding that out, huh?”

Callahan glanced at Gunner before turning back to me, giving me a single nod and leaving the small room. Scar rolled her eyes at his departure.