Page 73

“How is it going, fellas?” I ask and Hawk nods, grabbing his phone off of the seat next to him, showing us the photo Izzy identified back at the clubhouse.

“This the guy we’re looking for?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“He was here earlier and left about thirty minutes ago,” Gear informs us. “Jump said Streak is tracking down his information so we should have that soon.”

“Good. Anything else?”

Hawk shakes his head, his eyes intense as he stares up at the apartment. “Nope. Fucker doesn’t really do much of anything.”

“You think he’s being instructed to lay low?” Gear asks, leaning back in his seat and putting his feet up on the dash and Hawk shoots him a glare. I shrug, turning to look at the apartment on the third floor.

“Makes sense. We need to push him though, get him to lead us to whoever he’s working for.”

Hawk glances over at us. “You need anything from us?”

“Naw,” Storm says, shaking his head. “You guys just hang out here and we’ll handle it.”

They nod and I turn to my president as Hawk rolls the window back up. Storm motions for me to follow him and we jog across the street before walking into the dingy lobby. The old linoleum looks like it might have been white at one point in it’s history but it’s stained a nasty yellow now and my boots stick to it as we turn toward the stairs.

“Fucking disgusting.”

I nod in agreement. “You got a plan for this?”

“No,” he answers, letting out a humorless laugh. “I was just kind of gonna wing it.”

“Our fearless leader, ladies and gentlemen,” I quip and he snorts, rolling his eyes as he gives me a half-hearted shove.

“Asshole.”

We climb the stairs in silence, ascending quickly and when we get to the third floor, I peek around the corner to make sure the hallway is clear before we step forward.

“What apartment?” Storm asks, his voice barely above a whisper as we creep down the hallway. I point to the door with the number three-oh-one painted on it and he nods.

“We just going to knock?”

He shrugs, letting out a laugh. “Sure.”

Jesus Christ.

We’re so fucking unorganized it’s not even funny.

We reach the door and I pound my fist against the wood, squaring my shoulders as I wait for Luca to answer and half expecting him not to. Hell, if he was watching us down on the street, he’s probably going to greet us with a gun in his hand and we should take up better positions if we want to make it out of here. Before I can relay any of that to Storm, the door swings open and Luca looks up at us with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” he hisses, trying to shove the door closed in our faces but I manage to get my foot in front of it, stopping him from going any further. Storm and I push our way into the apartment and I turn to Luca as Storm closes the door behind us. This is the guy who has Izzy so scared she barely wants to leave the compound? He’s a fucking punk and that’s being generous.

“Hey, Luca,” I bite out, vivid fantasies of wrapping my hands around his throat playing out in my mind. “How’s it going?”

Blinking wildly like he can somehow make us disappear, he takes a step back into his nasty little kitchen and glances down at the gun on the table. Storm clears his throat behind me.

“I wouldn’t.”

Glancing back, I smile at the sight of the gun in his hand before turning back to Luca and cocking my head to the side, waiting for an answer to my question.

“What the fuck do you want?” he hisses and I grin.

“Shit. I’m so fucking glad you asked, pal.” I take a step toward him as the smile melts off my face. “I want to know who the fuck you’re working for.”