“Do we have him?” Nees asks. “Is he here?”
“No, but we’re going to intercept him.” Koyn downs his drink before slamming it on the countertop. “BP, how you handling a Glock these days?”
“I can hit a target,” I assure him, my voice a little too squeaky for my liking.
Katana snorts and I have the urge to flip him off. So maybe I’m not that good at hitting the target yet, but I know how to shoot the damn gun.
“I can do whatever needs to be done.” This time, I harness some of the earlier anger and harden my words with it. “I got your back, Prez.”
His dark eyes soften briefly. “I know you do. I know you all do. Now gather up the rest of the guys, BP. We have shit to discuss.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dragon
The seedy bar just outside of Oklahoma City reeks of desperation. Women with dark makeup and trashy clothes cling to whichever man will offer their arm. A few have glanced my way with interest, but quickly looked the other way when they saw my expression.
I’m not here to fuck around.
I’m here to wrangle a Corsetti for Loki. Koyn says it’s our problem, so it’s our fucking problem. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. If it were my choice, we’d be dealing with Night Giant. He’s too quiet for my liking. Too still. Though we have eyes on him, watching his every move, it’s unnerving not knowing what’s going on inside his head.
Soon.
Right now, we have a job.
Grab this Max Corsetti fucker for Loki and extract information through whatever means necessary. I’ve been dying to get my hands dirty. To slice through the flesh of an enemy, bathing in their howls of pain. I’d be looking forward to this whole damn trip if Prez didn’t send him along for the ride.
Baby Prospect.
He sticks out like a sore thumb wherever we go. Where everyone here is rough and their demons are written in faded ink on their arms or the darkness in their eyes, Cove Gale is like a goddamn angel. Glowing. Innocent. Vulnerable. He makes it hard as fuck to keep my promise to Stormy while also obeying Koyn’s orders. If he were like Filter or even Nees, for fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t feel so torn.
But he’s not.
He’s broken and fragile and unpredictable.
Soft.
So fucking soft.
It makes it insanely difficult to keep my focus on the job when I have to make sure his ass isn’t getting hurt or into trouble.
“He’s not here,” Nees says, sidling up beside me. “Just made the rounds. No one’s talking.”
Because these people are smart. You don’t blab your secrets when some newcomer starts asking around. Not to mention, even though Nees is a criminal like the rest of us, he interrogates like his father. It screams Fed or cop. I probably should be doing the questioning myself, but Koyn wanted us to slide in and out. Not bring attention to ourselves. If I’m the one questioning, I’ll get answers one way or another and that shit isn’t always quiet or clean.
“Who’s that guy?” I ask, tipping my head toward Baby Prospect, who’s sitting awfully close to a big, bearded guy, talking lowly between the two of them.
“Not sure. BP’s been talking to him this whole time.” Nees shrugs and sips his beer. “Might be a hookup.”
Anger churns in my gut. This is why Koyn should have made Cove stay home. He’s more interested in getting laid than doing his damn job.
Sure enough, Cove grins at the guy, a smile I’ve certainly never seen before, and gestures for the bathroom. Is he fucking kidding me right now? The larger guy stands up, slings a possessive arm over Cove’s shoulders, and guides him to the bathroom.
I slam my beer down with a hard clank that earns me several stares. Katana grips my elbow, leaning in, and hisses, “Don’t.”
Ignoring my best friend, I slide off the stool, storming into the bathroom after them. I find Cove sitting on the counter with the bearded fuckface standing between his parted thighs. Their mouths are all over each other—demanding and hungry.
I see fucking red.
Pouncing on the bearded guy, I grab him in a headlock, snarling at him. Cove bellows at me, his voice echoing off the cinderblock walls, but I ignore him. I tighten my grip around this guy’s fat neck, clinging on as he struggles to fight me off and gasp for air. The moment he loses consciousness, we hit the floor hard. I shove the big fucker off me and rise to my feet. I’m just unsheathing my knife when Cove gets in my face, grabbing me by the cut.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he demands, his spittle hitting my face.
“It’s not playtime, Baby Prospect.” I bring the blade of my knife to his neck, pressing in just hard enough for him to feel how sharp it is but not break the skin. “Get the fuck off me.”