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“Maybe it’s her middle name, fuck if I know,” I grumble. Names weren’t the first thing on my mind last night, and then when I got a taste of her sweet cunt, they definitely weren’t something I was thinking of or cared enough to pay attention to.
Ripper shoves the papers he has in his grip in front of me and I glance down. Grainy black and white photos of Spice are on the pages, all of her trying to break into our storage room. The one we have most of our drugs for distribution in and is littered with cameras for security. The last page is a full workup of her—no doubt it was Angel’s doing.
I glance from the information over to him and he nods. “I knew there was something familiar about her when I ran into her in the hallway.”
“That’s why you were staring like you wanted to fuck her too?” I call him out, ‘cause he’s not as innocent as he likes to appear here.
“I was trying to place the bitch. I couldn’t sleep so I got up and found her outside the door. She muttered something about being lost, so I pointed her to your room. Some shit still wasn’t adding up, so I checked the cameras and right after I’d left her alone, she took off. Cameras picked up on her speaking to Lunatic at the gate, then she disappeared. I didn’t know she left until after I reviewed the hour or so of footage. The cameras caught her with makeup, brushing over the numbers to get our fingerprints, then her trying several different codes. The bitch wanted in and knew what she was looking for.”
“Thank fuck we change the codes regularly.” Ripper interrupts.
My stare trained on the pictures again, I can’t get it to connect that she’s a cop. I’m good about this shit; it’s how I’ve never gotten caught after slinging dope for most of my life...but somehow, she slipped through my defenses. She asked me about the room too and I didn’t think twice about it. I’ve gotten too confident and comfortable and when that happens in this life, one of two things transpires. You get locked up or die.
“She didn’t get in? So she doesn’t have anything on us, then.” I mutter, not ready to admit my screw up.
“Sounds like she knew what she was after.” Wrench quietly agrees and I shoot him a glare. He’s right, but it still pisses me off.
With a huff, I ask, “What are we going to do about it?”
All eyes flash to Prez again as he knocks his chunky knuckle ring against the table. “The only thing we can do in a situation like this. Send Angel.”
Fuck. My Spice is gonna die.
Something pushes me to memorize the address on her personal info sheet. Am I pissed I let a cop get by me? Fuck yeah. Do I want her dead? Absolutely not.
Her real name is Sydney, surprisingly. Why would she tell me the truth last night if she was only getting close to make a bust? The thought makes me more confused. However, the words are right in front of me.
Agency: Southern District of Texas U.S. Marshals
Status: Undercover, do not contact in the field
It continues on with her full name, address, age, height, and lastly, her weight. Looks like her headquarters is in Houston, but she lives about thirty minutes away if her listed address is correct.
Prez quickly dismisses us, and then I’m coming up with an excuse to dip out of the club altogether and hit the highway. I grab a shirt, hat, and some sunglasses, shoving everything on in haste, then I’m on my way.
Less than thirty minutes later, I’m parking a block over from her place. I hide my bike behind a big ass eighteen-wheeler that’s illegally parked in city limits in a residential area. I don’t intend to be here for long, and the last thing I need is for Angel or any of my other brothers finding me here. I’m strapped, but I didn’t come here with the intention of killing Spice, I just want some answers.
Leaving my helmet behind with my motorcycle, I flip my plain black ball cap around and pull it low to help hide my hair. I remove my cut and fold it inside out so none of my patches show. I don’t need any nosey neighbors remembering shit about me. I’m taking a chance with only my shades on and not wearing the bandanna over my face, as it’ll look like I’m robbing fools in broad daylight like a damn amateur.
I keep to the tall bushes and trees the neighborhood is shrouded in until I get to the alley behind her house and hop her chain link fence. I’ve had to run from the cops plenty of times in the past and have learned to easily vault over some fences to get away. I wasn’t getting booked slinging whatever I was selling that week, and this time is no different.
Peeking into the windows gets me nowhere, they all have blinds and curtains. Fuck it, guess I have to knock. I check the door handle out of habit, but of course, it’s locked. Usually cops are careless, thinking no one will come for their shit and leave stuff unlocked I’ve learned over the years, but not Sydney. Kinda makes me proud of her even if I am still pissed about her trying to lock me up.
The curtain on the back door moves and I catch a glimpse of some dude looking out a sliver of curtain. What the fuck? He doesn’t answer so I knock harder. This time around, he opens the door a crack, the tip of a forty-five pointing at my gut. “Wrong house,” he warns.
“Nah. I need to talk to Sydney, she here?”
“You work with her?”
I nod. Fuck him, he’s obviously not her partner, or he’d know I’m lying through my teeth.
He opens the door, stepping to the side to let me in. He sets the gun in a cabinet right in front of me like a dumbass. “You her brother or somethin’?”
His brow raises, face screwing up in confusion. “No. I’m her husband.”
Chapter 4
Sydney
