“Look around. See if you can find out who this guy was.”
Nathem nodded, veering left toward the back while I searched the main space. For the most part, it was ordinary shit: randomthrow pillows, tiny cereal cups, wadded-up paper that didn’t mean a goddamn thing.
I crouched low to determine if there was a tattoo, a brand that could point to who he belonged to.
Nothing.
“Boss?” Nathem called from the back, and I turned, the edge in his voice pulling me closer. “Fucking Acquisitions.”
No. My head tumbled inside itself, and suddenly I wanted to set the world on fire.
“Please tell me it isn’t us!”
“Wish I could, but… You should see this.”
I followed the yarn, realizing now it must lead to what we like to call a murderboard, or in this guy’s case, an interweb of the Underworld and all its major players.
Acquisitions were contractors used by kings and queens to obtain full intel on smaller club dynamics, to liquidate assets, and bring them on board. Meaning some shithead was looking to take my fucking throne and all my men with it. And that shithead was none other than…
“Marianne!” Nathem threw the acquisition log at me, and I stared at her name as if I was seeing it for the first time.
These contractors did not just summarize club activities; they looked into who you fucked, when you fucked, and wrote an entire manifesto on each member’s strengths and weaknesses. So, I shouldn’t have been surprised when five men all pointed to Daphne’s picture in the middle of the board with the phrase “hit point” hovering above her head. While Nathem, Jessie, and Blade were not love interests, they would die for her. We were family.
Thank God I found this and not Threx.
“Apparently, she was playing Lyla." Nathem squinted at the recommendation section. I grabbed it before he could read more. Although Nathem knew we transferred the hit off Daphneto my true queen, we had not informed him about her traitor status.
“Right there,” he pointed at the paragraph that detailed how Marianne should pin Daphne’s demise off the books, and how using Lyla as a pawn and a play for jealousy had the least psychological risk to the club and its greatest assets. It also recommended doing this during a low-key attack or during an event that requires retribution from other players.
Fuck me, Karsten’s son’s ankle! Marianne was just waiting for an opportunity to set this all in motion.
“Did Lyla snap that picture?” Nathem asked, and I nodded.
“No one finds out,” I breathed deep and threw the binder on the ground.
“Damn right. They’ll fucking riot.”
“Which is what she wants,” I exhaled. “She wanted to cause a mutiny, insert distrust so that when she showed up with a golden bone, my men would follow like all the other dogs in her court.”
“Yeah, well, that is not all,” Nathem pointed at the board. “Apparently, Jessie, Blade, and 67 percent of our guys are nontransferable.”
Meaning Marianne would kill them. Acquisition contractors paid close attention to who could assimilate under the new order or who would rise against them.
“Did you see that?” Nathem groaned. “Threx is only transferable if Daphne swears fealty. And they labeled him as an acceptable high risk because of hisvaluable skills.
“Dammit.” Everyone wanted him. He was too good at turning everything off.
“What are you going to do? I am not working for Marianne. I’d rather fucking die!” Nathem swallowed, kicking some shit into the wall. “We could go to Shade? Tyrian’s replacement," he shouted, his mind moving faster than his ability to speak.
“He won’t touch us. He and Marianne do not get along, and our club has worked with her for too long not to view it as an act of underhanded loyalty."
“He is new. So are you! There might be a conversation there.”
“One that ends with a bullet in my head. Think about it, Nathem! You really want to pledge your soul to Cross?” I arched a brow. “You think we have a hit on our fucking heads now? That’s traitor shit. We’ll end up on the goddamn wall.”
Nathem growled.
“What about the Reapers?”
