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That pissed Zy off. “Wanting your pound of flesh?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
Zy couldn’t say no without making himself a liar. “I get it. But I’m telling you, it’s not Trees.”
“Are you convinced it’s not him because you have a shred of proof or because you don’t want him to be guilty?”
“Stop being an asshole. Trees and I go way back. I know because I know.”
One-Mile sneered. He’d seen people sell their own family out for a buck. Exchanging a co-worker no one liked for a pile of cash was nothing to lots of folks. And if that resulted in the death of the drug lord’s wife, too bad.
“Sure. Whatever. I’ve got to go.” He stood.
Zy grabbed his arm. “I’m not done fucking talking to you.”
He glared down at the thick fingers wrapped around his arm, then back into Zy’s angry blue eyes. “What are you looking for here? You want me to believe Trees is innocent because you said so? I don’t work that way.”
The Efron lookalike released him and sighed as he sank onto his stool again. “I just want you to listen.”
This fucking game was annoying him, but the guy wasn’t going to let it go. “For shits and giggles, let’s say you’re right. Trees is a choirboy. But we have an internal mole, no question. It’s not me or any of the bosses. We know that. It can’t be Josiah or Cutter. Neither of them had the memo with the address and schematic of Valeria’s house in St. Louis. I passed that on to Trees to see what would happen. Then I waited. And what do you know? Company came, ready to kill. If it’s not your pal, who do you think is the guilty fuck?”
Zy fell silent for a long moment. “Maybe someone hacked his email.”
“Maybe you’re grasping at straws.”
“No, I’m looking at every potential possibility to explain what happened. But let’s be real. If you hadn’t decided to go all cowboy on us, Montilla’s crew would never have killed a handful of cops and he would never have gotten away.”
Yeah, that had been his life for the last two weeks. It would fuck his future, too, if he couldn’t make everything right. “Don’t deflect blame. I know what I did. But even if I snuff Montilla, we’ll still have a mole who will be susceptible to the next son of a bitch who comes through with a pile of cash and a desire to shut us down.”
“I know. But I’m telling you, man, it’s not Trees.”
This argument was going nowhere.
“There’s no evidence his email was hacked.” And no one else on EM’s payroll One-Mile hadn’t already considered, except… “What about Tessa? She’s the only other person I sent Valeria’s address and home schematic to. Maybe she passed it on to Montilla.”
Zy recoiled. “What? No. Hell no. How would she have ever met a monster like him anyway?”
One-Mile shrugged. “Maybe he found her.”
“You’re wrong. She’s too sweet to sell anyone out.”
“You only think that because you’re fucking her.”
“Fuck you! I’m not. When it comes to the bosses’ nonfraternization policy, I have not stepped one toe over the line.”
One-Mile wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Yeah, it was possible Zy had never touched the pretty blonde. But even if he hadn’t fucked her physically, he’d done it mentally at least a thousand times.
Elbow on the bar, One-Mile leaned in. “Listen, either your best friend or your girl is our traitor. You better figure it out before the blind spots in your vision cost someone around here their life. And now I’m leaving.”
Zy snarled a curse, jaw clenched, and cast a furious glance away. Then he froze. “Holy shit. What is this?”
One-Mile followed the other guy’s line of vision and glanced at the TV. He nearly rolled his eyes in disgust at the tabloid program on the screen. Why should he give a shit that very famous bombshell Shealyn West was kissing some random dick who clearly wasn’t her co-star and reported off-screen lover, Tower Trent? Except…this wasn’t a scene from a TV show and it wasn’t a mere press of lips. It was a full-on, ravenous invasion of her mouth as the mystery man wedged her against a car with his body and tongue-fucked her ruthlessly.
One-Mile peered closer at the profile of the man steeped in shadow on the screen. Even if he hadn’t known whose body his teammate was supposed to be guarding, a glance told him exactly who that random dick was.
Cutter Bryant.
“Son of a bitch…”
“You’re seeing this, too, right?”
Yeah. “Impossible to miss.”
“We both know who that is. I’m not hallucinating?”
“Nope.” It was fucking obvious.
“Lucky bastard. Damn…” Zy muttered. “But I feel sorry for his new fiancée. He’s never looked at Brea like he wanted to do that to her.”
Because Cutter didn’t. And Brea didn’t want him to. This was just more evidence to support his theory that their engagement was one-hundred percent fucking fake.
