Ignite (The Disciples 4)

“Fuck yeah.” I snort again and shake my head as if that’s clearing the cobwebs. “What’d I miss?” I nod, looking at Blade who has stopped talking to stare at me.

“You okay?” He frowns as his phone lights up with a text.

“Like a hundred dollars.” My head instantly clears.

“Christ.” He grins. “You were right. We are getting fucked in the ass by someone. Frosty’s found them on the footage.”

I snort as the drip slides down my throat and I wipe up the last of the powder and rub my gums. “Who is it?”

“I’m running the faces through a database, but they’re smart enough not to ever show much,” Frosty says, typing on his computer.

The huge wide screen hanging in the corner comes to life. He fast-forwards as various Disciples walk in and out on screen, and he freezes it.

“There, this guy… and this guy. See them taking out the box? That’s not one of us.” He leans back in his chair, swiveling around to turn to me.

“Motherfucker.” I stand and walk to the TV.

“Take it easy, Axel. It’s smart. They did it in plain sight and they blended in.” Blade takes a sip of Jack Daniels straight from the bottle, a sign that he’s trying not to lose his shit.

“How the fuck did this happen? Who was there that day? Rewind it,” I demand.

“It was Ducky and Torque along with six prospects,” Frosty answers as he continues to type. I probably should be drinking with Blade instead of doing coke—it’s making me aggressive.

“Why are they not here?” I swing toward Ryder. As our enforcer, this falls on him.

He stands. Ryder is six feet and five inches of solid muscle. He used to have long dark hair and a beard. Until he showed up one day clean-shaven and with a buzz cut. I still do double takes looking at him.

“Poet. Deal with Axel. I have shit to deal with besides beating his ornery ass this morning.”

Ryder motions with his phone at David who’s been silent. In fact, I forgot he was even there.

Amy marches in carrying my Bloody Mary and a platter with scrambled eggs, bagels, and bacon. Rip jumps up to take the platter and she sets the Bloody in my spot.

“Thanks, Amy.”

David stands and walks her to the door, then turns to look at Blade and me. “It’s ten a.m.”

I look at him and snort. “Just because you’re sober—”

“Shut up, Axel, or Ryder can beat your ass.” He lights up a cigarette, his silver eyes daring me to talk. He’s right though. I’m being a dick, and taking my foul mood out on my brothers is pointless.

“What’s going on with you?” As he inhales, his silver eyes narrow on me.

I reach for my Bloody Mary. The cool glass almost makes me want to rub it on my fevered face.

“Rough night,” I grumble as I tip the glass and guzzle half of it. The spicy tomato juice has exactly the right amount of Worcestershire and lemon, making me decide that I need another one if I’m gonna be brave enough to look at my phone, which is lit up with messages and missed calls.

“Prospect.” I point. “Go tell Amy to make us a pitcher of Bloody Marys.”

Turning to Blade, I say, “Trust me, you’re gonna want one.” I rub the back of my neck as I glance at Rip who was with me to the bitter end last night. He looks like shit, but at least he made it here on time.

“You get her out of your system?” He grins at me.

Both David and Blade stop texting and look up from their phones. Even Frosty stops typing on his laptop.

“What the fuck happened?” Blade reaches for the bottle. His eyes narrow on Rip and he turns to me.

“I told you. Rough night.”

Rip snorts. If it didn’t make me look like I had something to hide, I’d punch him in his sanctimonious face.

“Is there something going on that I need to know about?” Blade pushes back his chair so he can prop his boots on the table.

“Nope.” I reach for my phone more to block out all of their stares. I guess I’d rather deal with Crystal.

I tap the green message bubble only to be greeted by a ton of middle finger and angry-face emojis.

Crystal: 5:00 p.m.

Where the fuck R U?

5:03 p.m.

I’m not fucking around Axel. I been here all day. Get over here! Do your job.

5:05 p.m.

If U have turned off your phone!

6:00 p.m.

Fuck you!!!

7:30 p.m.

I’m leaving. The place is packed but I didn’t sign up for this shit. Derrick is out of surgery and is pissed. DISAPPOINTED, ASSHOLE!!!!

11:00 p.m.

U suck!

I’m about to text her when this comes in:

9:46 a.m.

Morning. Never mind.

I sit up in my chair and blink at the phone. Maybe I need another bump because that last text made the hair stand up on my neck. What has she done?