Page 74 of Lucky 14

The familiar feeling of anger grounds me, and I snap my hand out to grip Riley’s throat. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Found Fourteen yet?”

I squeeze, an odd possessiveness taking over me. What does she care and why is she asking?

“She’s a popular target. Twenty-Seven’s been talking all kinds of shit.”

Twenty-Seven and Fourteen are the two players who I didn’t know were coming. I realize with clarity that it’s not a coincidence that those two are involved together. Riley is truly grinning now, watching me.

“Let me go,” Riley demands.

I evaluate her. How likely is it that Riley is in on this? She’s new to my club, and therefore, unpredictable. However, Manson vouches for her, and he’s been proven for years. I keep close tabs on him, as well as some of my other long-time players. They’re dangerous, and therefore, useful.

However, if Riley is in the middle of the problems here, then she definitely has the information I need.

Her throat swallows under my grip, and I remember I have no proof. And I try not to act without proof. Too likely to cut the heads off the hydra that don’t actually run the operation. It’s much more useful to use those heads as spies, if at all possible.

Reluctantly, I let her go.

Riley rubs at her throat. “Damn. Would have loved to see Manson kick your ass. He still might.”

“Talk,” I demand, trying to remember what name Twenty Seven put on his sheet.

“Well, Manson prefers to fight with his fists, but I wouldn’t put it past him to pull a knife on you, too…”

Riley flashes me a wink, then grabs another smoke out of her back pocket, flicking a lighter to light up. “I’m not sure what you want me to say. Twenty-Seven is damn near blowing his head off about Fourteen breaking the rules. Won’t fucking shut up about it.” She sucks in a breath, the cherry burning red.

If Fourteen and Twenty-Seven are working together, why the hell would Twenty-Seven start drama? I narrow my eyes. Or maybe they’re working together to start a coup.

I know who Fourteen and his mark are. Nobodies. This explains nothing. What I need is to figure out who Twenty-Seven is, and not just the name he forged to get in. And clearly, I need to figure this out now.

“Who is Twenty-Seven?”

“Bear mask.” Riley blows smoke in my face. “Ugly motherfucker.”

I narrow my gaze. Riley knows damn well I’m asking if she knows him from the streets. Her eyes twinkle when she looks at me. I both hate and love the defiance in her gaze. It infuriates me in a delicious kind of way.

Fucking hell. If this woman wasn’t cuffed up, she might be useful to get some of this fucking…energy out. Maybe I could focus more on killing Holland than on the way the hatred tumbled in her blue eyes.

I stalk past Riley as she blows another puff of smoke in my face. I make a mental note to prop her up on a box, string her up by her neck, and shoot out her toes.

Once I reach the small house, I stalk immediately to my computer room. The place was built to house the people building the villa. I’ve repurposed it to keep all my important stuff and get away from everything. Booting everything up, I clear out of Holland’s information and immediately go to the cameras, tracking down the room I know Twenty-Seven is in. I find him exiting and entering the room, but he’s always wearing that fucking bear mask, or some half mask covering everything but his eyes.

Switching to some of my less obvious cameras around the outside of the building, I track Twenty-Seven leaving the room to go outside for a smoke. He takes his mask off, but faces away from the camera.

And then, he turns, and my world slows.

Because I know that man. He’s older, more worn, with lines on his forehead, but otherwise he’s the same.

It’s my fucking brother.

Blinking in disbelief, I pause the frame. There’s no arguing it. Jail has worn him, but my brother still looks the same. He looks just like me.

For a minute, I can’t breathe, memories freezing me up.

What is he doing here? After a minute of blank staring at the screen, I unpause it. That’s when my brother looks up into the camera and smiles, flicking his cigarette into the bushes and sauntering inside.

I’m on my feet, staring at the screen like it’ll provide all the answers. As I stand there, frozen, my side starts aching, and I feel small. Tiny. And I feel the telltale numbness that says I’m about to spiral creeping in.

I try to shake myself out of it.