I release him and let his body hit the floor with a dull thump, then I signal Tank and Five-Star to haul him away.
“I don’t get why we didn’t just grab him when he walked through the front door,” Fang complains, tossing the cue stick onto the pool table. “This was way too intense for a Thursday.”
“Because he always carries at least three guns,” I growl. “He’s trigger-happy, and he would’ve tried to shoot his way out.” I glare. “Sometimes it helps to use your fucking head. And you—” I point straight at him “—need to work on your game face. If he’d looked at you, he would’ve known something was off immediately.”
I glance down at Grizz’s unconscious body, nausea twisting in my gut.
He’s a rat.
A fucking rat.
Almost fifteen goddamn years, and we had no idea. We never would’ve known if it weren’t for the cartel traitor I dragged into the open.
Bones had to call emergency Church while I was on the road, breaking every speed limit from Tolden City to Silverpine. The brothers were informed. Club justice was demanded.
“He’s taking fucking forever to wake up,” Bones grumbles, leaning forward in his chair, elbows braced on his knees. “You should’ve used a softer touch. You always go over the top with these things.”
I ignore the dig.
We’re sitting face to face with a naked, bound Grizz, right in the middle of the Fun House. Just the two of us. The rest of the brothers are waiting outside.
I glance at Bones. He looks tired as shit. I would be too, after hours on the phone trying to coordinate a hit against the Verdugos with Arcangelo Romano — especially now, when he’s still butthurt that his twin chose to leave the Famiglia and join the Vultures.
“I’m still fucking pissed at you,” I grind out. “You should’ve told me the moment Santiago made contact. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it was to leave hints for him while also making sure it didn’t get too obvious?”
Bones groans and leans back. “Don’t start bitching, Dom. That fucker followed me around for three days. Then he threw it in my face that we’d been harboring a rat in our club for fifteen years and walked.” He pauses. “I had to vet him first. Make sure he’d actually deliver. Get the name of the rat. You already had enough shit on your plate.”
He looks at me, brows drawn tight. “How the fuck did you even clock this Santiago guy as a weak link?”
I roll my eyes. “One of the runts I took out used to be his neighbor. Told me an interesting story about a sicario who climbed to the rank of Captain by force. Proved himself to thecartel again and again. And still, Sombra keeps him at arm’s length. Isolated from the other high ranks. Away from any real power.” My eyes narrow. “That would make anyone angry. Didn’t take long to figure out Santiago wants Sombra and his men gone.”
“The enemy of my enemy,” Bones mutters.
I nod.
“I talked to David, by the way,” he continues. “Everything’s set on his end. He wanted me to pass along his ‘deepest gratitude’.” He air-quotes the words and chuckles. “With all the intel you’ve fed him these past few months, he’s turned into the FBI’s golden boy. He’s expecting a promotion after this.”
“Of course he is,” I scoff. “He’s bagging a whole nest of dirty cops, sheriff included. We did his job for him, and he gets paid twice for it. Once by the feds. Once by us.”
“He earned it,” Bones says flatly. “And we get to stay clear of the fallout. No heat from the cops.”
“We get Bowie,” I say, teeth grinding. “In the end, that’s all I care about.”
David, our oh-so-grateful FBI mole, can have them all. But Bowie is mine. That asshole will be declared a fugitive from the law — a dirty cop who ran from the feds while all his little friends were being rounded up. Except it won’t be true. Tank and Fang will snatch him before the FBI ever reaches his door.
Bones drags a hand down his face, then glances at Grizz. “Is this fucker ever going to wake up?”
Right on cue, Grizz starts to stir. Time to call the rest of the brothers in.
Minutes later, everyone’s inside, and Grizz is staring at us with wide, furious eyes.
“What the fuck is happening?”
He’s been asking that ever since he woke up, but no one answered him. This time though, Bones steps forward.
“You’re a dirty rat, that’s what’s fucking happening,” he spits. “You sold out our brother, Ghost—” he points at me without looking, “—to the Verdugos years ago. You planted their drugs on him. He did hard time because of you. Don’t even try to deny it, we’ve got solid intel. We know everything.”
Bones inhales slowly.
