Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 134(@300wpm)
King raised a brow. “That depends. You good now?”
“Yeah.”
“Then all of you shut the fuck up and listen.”
Wizard turned his laptop and angled it toward me. “We’ve been working through the rest of the symbols you managed to get photos of from Elena’s sketch book. Comparing timestamps. Running them against surveillance reports. Club logs. Undercover files.”
He started to click through images. “This one shows up on a dead body we helped recover in Tallahassee four months ago. This was inked on the chest of a trafficking enforcer we helped burn down last spring. And this one was carved into a crate of biometric scanners found in an abandoned truck just outside Tampa.”
My chest tightened.
“These aren’t just identifiers,” Wizard continued. “They’re fucking strategies.”
Ace stepped in then. “The syndicate Elena’s mentor is tied to? They’ve been playing a long game. Quiet, surgical strikes. Not mass hits or scorched-earth tactics. They’re taking out key players—bookkeepers, tech contacts, men with deep loyalty and low profiles. The ones who hold an organization together from the shadows.”
Tomcat leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “They’re dismantling rival orgs like clockwork. One stroke at a time. By the time the top dogs even notice, their entire network’s bleeding out.”
Blaze tilted his head. “Fucks with their rebuild time. Takes ’em years to claw their way back, if they even try.”
The wizard clicked through another screen. “Marks isn’t just some artist. He’s fucking leadership. Embedded deep. Possibly head of the syndicate or at least a shot-caller. That charity board shit? Just a front.”
Ace added, “He’s laundering money through nonprofits and art sales. Shuffling it through shell companies and using donor databases to mask transfers.”
I stared at the screen, my jaw locked and pulse pounding. “So every tattoo she’s done for that bastard has been strategic. Placement, style, variant—each one meant to grant access or signal something to a rival group. She’s been branding his operatives.”
“Exactly,” Wizard confirmed grimly.
Blaze exhaled slowly. “And now that someone tried to warn her off? I’d say they’ve figured it out. Or they’re damn close.”
“But now they’ve seen her brand,” Blaze murmured. “They’ll come for her.”
I was already half out of my chair, the heat building again behind my ribs. “Then we move. We don’t wait. We end this before someone gets to her.”
King’s voice cut through the room like a blade. “Sit your ass down.”
I stopped. My fists clenched, but I sat.
“Elena’s safety is the priority,” he said. “But this is a fuck of a lot bigger than Marks now. If we don’t handle it right—if we don’t pull out every root and burn it down clean—we’re gonna find ourselves in the middle of a fucking war.”
I stayed quiet. Barely.
King looked around the room, his tone deadly calm. “I want a full list of every operative she’s touched. Every symbol she’s drawn. We dig into every group they’re tied to. I want to know which orgs are bleeding and which ones are ready to bite.”
“I’ll keep working the symbols,” Wizard agreed. “Rebel’s tracking more leads.”
“Still working on the money shit,” Ace added. “Backdoor entries, quiet foundations. I’m tearing it all apart.”
Tomcat emptied his coffee cup, then set it on the bar with a clink. “Kevlar and I have been doing weapons inventory this week. We’ll start prepping what we think might be needed when this shit goes down.”
King looked back at me. “And you will sit tight until I say otherwise.”
My jaw ticked. “I’m just supposed to wait?”
“You’re supposed to protect her. Keep your head clear. You want revenge? Earn it by keeping her breathing. If we fuck this up, she’s the one who gets caught in the fallout.”
I nodded once.
That was all he needed.
King leaned back again. “Good. Now let’s burn this motherfucker down.”
12
ELENA
Waking slowly, I stretched against the warm sheets and felt a deep, delicious ache that made my cheeks burn. My lips curved into a sleepy smile before my eyes even opened. The memory of Reeve’s hands gripping my hips, his deep voice growling my name, and how he’d held me afterward like he couldn’t stand to let me go all washed over me.
I rolled onto my side, reaching out instinctively, but the other side of the bed was empty. My eyes snapped open. The sheets were cool, and the room was quiet in a way that felt wrong. A flicker of confusion quickly turned into uncertainty as I wondered where Reeve had gone. And why.
I pushed myself upright, the movement reminding me just how thoroughly my body had been claimed by him. The ache between my thighs and the tenderness in the spots where I had beard burn from his late-night scruff should have made me feel secure. Wanted.
Instead, anxiety knotted in my chest as I wondered if he regretted what had happened between us. If I’d been bad in bed. Too inexperienced or eager. If I’d misunderstood everything he’d whispered against my skin.