Page 99 of Savage Saint

“Verified?”

“Yes. He bragged about using useless info to nut in Janelle’s ass. Literally.” On his end, there’s a rustle of papers and the clinking of ice in a glass. “What surprised me, though, is who she’s feeding that information to.”

“Who?”

“Lucinda Valdez.” There’s a ping of an incoming email on my phone, and I know it’s Trojan without asking. He always has a report attached to findings. “They’re cousins. Talk every other day, from the look of her call log. They text, too. And from the exchange, it seems Lucinda promised Janelle introductions with important men. All she had to do was supply information.”

“Was the sicario one of those men?” I ask, tying loose pieces of the puzzle together.

“Yes and no, but only because he approached her on his own. Janelle was an easy pickup, and Lucinda agreed. It was easier to get her drunk, fucked, and talking than dating her for information.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

I chuckle low, but there’s no amusement. “Don’t detain anyone yet, Trojan. Let’s see how far the filth runs before I clean house.”

“Ferrero and Montalvo are here. Arrived by helicopter ten minutes ago, and are at the docks.” Rizos rushes into my office at the clubhouse five days later, Trojan and Onyx behind him. “Just got a call from Victor. They want to meet with the port’s owner and those who run it.”

“Is that so?” I sign my name on a check. I’ve been working on buying a plot of land a block from the port; it’s a commercial building used to store parts and equipment for the company that repairs dry-docked ships. They own three, and for a generous price, I’ll take over the smallest as a transport station. We need a new storage place for the ammo I ship to Jameson. Somewhere close that limits outside interactions.

Only those patched in will know about it. Not even the local police who are on the Royal Bastards’ payroll.

“Yes. It’s confirmed.” Rizos smiles. “They came with limited security, thinking they’d just borrow the local police as escorts.”

“That deserves a warm welcome.” I stand, walk over to the wall to the left of my desk where I keep my knives, and pick up my tri-blade. “Let’s go be hospitable. We leave in ten.”

“How many brothers ride?”

“Just us,” I smirk. “This is a quick, informal welcome. Won’t take long.”

They nod, walking out to get what they need while I head out to locate my VP. He’s in the kitchen when I find him, healed up well, and always hungry.

“Hey, Santos. You—” He stops, his smile from a second ago dropping. “What’s going on?”

“You’re in charge while I’m out. Ferrero and Montalvo are at the port.”

“You’re kidding me?”

“No. They’re that stupid.” I adjust my blade in the holster. My two Glocks are already in place. “Lock down while I’m gone. No one leaves, and send Cano to Genesis’s apartment. She doesn’t leave his sight if she steps out.”

“Done. Come back with a prize.”

I shake my head at his joke and exit the clubhouse. They’re already on their bikes when I walk over to mine: vests on, plain black face coverings, and packing enough heat to make this meeting entertaining, even though they won’t need it. Not today.

Ferrero and Montalvo’s lives are mine.

We don’t exchange words once I mount my Road Glide; they fall into formation behind me as we exit our territory and head toward the port.

We’re not far from it, and we park in an employee-only area that doesn’t have cameras. The place is busy at all times of the day, but the police activity has the workers on edge. Especially when they see us.

Most look away. A few nod at me and leave, knowing a visit from the Royal Bastards isn’t a good thing. There will be bloodshed.

I know where they are immediately after entering the forklift area, where workers are moving pallets of what looks to be green plantains onto a ship heading to Miami. The ship itself isn’t a large one, and I simply shake my head at the men doing the loading.

They rush away a second later.

Up ahead, there are welders talking; they too leave, as do the inspectors. Within minutes, everyone’s gone on an impromptu lunch break.