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“I’ll double your tip.” I smile and slip out. “Five minutes, I promise.” Excitement floods my cheeks. I’m doing this. For the first time in my life, I’m getting on a plane with no destination.
That’s a lie. I know exactly where I’m going.
RYDER
Present
Hollywood, CA
“Look.” Frosty, our club’s hacker, holds up his hands. “I can only do what I can do. What you want is not easy information to get.” He looks at me, then over at Blade. We both sit in the office at The Dolly, Edge’s nightclub.
“Frosty.” Blade runs his hands through his hair. “I can’t have this. Unacceptable. Now hack into whatever system you need to and find the fucking rat.”
“You’re talking about FBI, CIA, and we don’t even know what other initials are involved, Prez. I can only do so much.” He grabs the bottle of tequila from the table and takes a swig, instantly coughing.
“Christ.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I think. Who has enough power and money to do this? And why are they singling me out? My phone vibrates as I lean back.
JULIANNA: I need you.
I close my eyes against the pain of everything that comes with her.
“Ryder? You listening?” Blade’s voice is harsh. He’s not happy. None of us are these days.
Opening my eyes, I turn. “What?”
“Brother, this is your ass on the line.” He stares at me.
I stand, needing to move. I’ve gone dark, not sleeping, drinking too much. Not even pussy helps.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually slept. That’s the curse of insomnia—a constant reminder that I’ll never have peace.
I hold up a finger.
“Jesus Christ, just go on, Frosty.”
Blade’s voice fades away as I focus on pulling up her location on my phone, trying not to let fear wrap around my heart. If I allow that, it can take me down. My phone says she’s on Madison Avenue in New York City. I take a breath and text:
What’s wrong?
JULIANNA: Everything. Nothing. I need you.
I look up, not really seeing the room. It’s like I’m in the eye of a hurricane, waiting for the sunshine to pull me out.
A ding alerts us someone’s approaching. We all turn to look at the load of monitors surrounding us. Rodney, our lawyer, stands, talking on the phone while Axel stands behind him flipping us off through the camera, holding bags from In-N-Out Burger.
“Let them in,” Blade snarls.
Frosty jumps out of his chair like a teenager who’s been caught fucking his girlfriend in the house.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Frosty says. “These agencies you expect me to hack into…” He opens the door. Rodney motions for Axel to go first.
“And after the Feds and CIA—”
“I have to stop this conversation,” Rodney interrupts, his eyes serious.
Frosty’s eyes widen. He glances at Blade who shakes his head, indicating he should shut up. Rodney goes back to his call. Axel dumps the white bags on the table as Rodney holds up a finger. Blade props both boots on the table and leans back in his chair.
“Anyway, I’ll be here for a while, Judith. I’ll check in when I’m done.” He hangs up, pocketing the phone in his suit jacket as he eyes the many bags of burgers and fries.
“Hungry?” Blade drops his boots, reaching for a bag as Rodney shakes his head and pulls out a chair to sit.
Rodney’s been our club’s lawyer for years. He’s trustworthy and has done his best to keep our guys out of jail, but for the first time, he looks tired.
I look down at my phone. I need to take care of Julianna so I can focus. She’s still on Madison Avenue.
ME: Go home.
Tossing my phone on the large, black lacquered table, I reach for a bag. Axel comes over and sits next to me, cracking the seal on a bottle of Jack. Frosty hesitates but sits, too, eyeing Rodney as he types on his laptop.
Rodney sighs and removes his glasses to clean them with a handkerchief from his suit pocket. It’s amazing the man has stuck with us all these years. He’s not stupid. He knows exactly who we are and what we do, but somehow he and his wife have kind of become part of the Disciples family.
“Okay. Here it is. I don’t want to know what you are having Frosty do. What I can tell you is, I got off the phone with the FBI, and what little they would say, is that there is a witness claiming they can ID Ryder as the killer of the three Russian men who disappeared ten years ago.”
“That’s a lie,” Axel snaps, unwrapping the paper around his Double-Double.
Rodney nods but leans forward. “That may be, but they have someone. I think you all need to prepare for more raids on the business, much like what happened with The Pussycat.”
