My dad is standing there, looking at me intensely, like I’m some kind of exhibit. I snap up like one of his soldiers, as if that’d make him regret giving me this worthless assignment.
His gaze softens as he rubs his stubble beard, and I let out a breath. Shit, I haven’t been this on edge around Dad in… yeah.
“We have a mole,” he states casually.
Odette gasps. “Again?”
Dad nods. “Rodger’s group got bombarded on the last shipment. The cops were waiting for them, and they barely madeit out without getting caught, like the last two times. Someone has been tipping off the police.”
What makes people think it’s smart to go against the Crowncrest and its goddamn army?
“Damn,” Shawn curses, his hair falling over his eyes as he shakes his head. “Do we have any leads?”
“No leads yet,” he says, disappointment clear.
Last time we had a mole, we lost good people trying to snuff out who the culprit was. That was years ago, and we’ve bounced back since, but we don’t need another hit.
I think back to the past year. Could this be because of me? Everyone in the organization mentally labeled me as weak after I’ve been MIA this past year, but is that the case for other syndicates too? I’m not the very top, but I may as well be.
If I’m weak, the Crowncrest is weak, which makes it the best time to strike.
I’m about to voice my concerns when Dad’s head snaps my way. “But Kingsley will find them.”
I poke my chest, dumbfounded. “Me?”
“Yes, son. You’re going to work on that while you keep helping the Wright boys get Beaumont Grand more business.”
Am I hearing this right? First, he assigns me grunt work, then he wants me to find the traitor ratting us out to the police?
I know better than to argue his decision. Saying he’s not giving me enough is one thing, but I could never say he’s giving me too much. If Dad thinks I can handle it, I have to step the hell up and prove him right.
Whether or not I feel like myself.
“You too, Shawn. You’ll be Kingsley’s right hand someday, so you should take on the case together.”
Shawn turns my way with a smirk. “Yes, sir.”
Pleased, my father turns on his heel. Before he leaves, he quietly says, “You’re doing great on his hair, Odie.”
I would hope so, considering she owns a whole-ass hair salon.
“Thanks, Daddy,” she beams.
My father shuts the door behind him, and it’s the three of us again.
“How are we going to do this, King? We can’t exactly go around interrogating every member of the Crown,” Shawn says. I can see the gears in his head spinning. “We have to be smart about this.”
“What do we do?” I repeat rhetorically. “We wait.”
6
Rip
Lights out, I sit at the desk and type on my computer.
Beatrice Williams
I check the same old links and articles, desperately hoping something new will appear. It doesn’t.
