What an unfortunate name.
A pair of small, familiar hands meet my chest to stop me from barreling into them. When I look up, I curse myself for not paying attention to who was lurking around.
“Liam,” Mona purrs, rubbing her hands over my shoulders. “I’ve missed seeing you around. I would love to catch up… my office has an amazing lock on the door and a sturdy desk.”
When I take a step back, Mona’s hands fall, her lips pursing at my sneer. I fight the urge to snap her wrists and tell her it’s not nice to touch things that aren’t hers. But the last thing I need is Mona to find out about Mila and sniff around to cause trouble.
“I’m not into desperate or easy, Detective.” I push past her, not giving her a second glance. “I have work to do.”
Not being into desperate and easy women isn’t entirely true. Well, it didn’t used to be. That’s what got me into this whole fucked up mess with Mona in the first place.
I reach the door to the interrogation room Orken’s currently stewing in. Pressing my badge to the scanner, I hear a soft click as the door unlocks and stride into the room before Mona can try to stop me.
Orken sits handcuffed to the table with his head resting on the back of the chair. He straightens when I enter the room, putting his bravado in place.
My guy looks a little disheveled from his stay in our cells overnight. His mousy brown hair is sticking out in different directions. Despite his façade, I can see sweat already beading on his brow. Orken’s brown eyes are wide, watching me closely. His clothes are unclean. He wasn’t given a uniform since we have nothing to hold him on at this point.
“Good morning, Mr. Orken,” I say to him, trying to hold the expected neutrality. I slam a file down on the table and narrow my gaze.
“The fuck are you?” he spits.
I hum at his slight outburst, placing my hands behind my back and walking behind him.
“Agent Liam Brenner, FBI. I’m in charge of The Omen’s case.”
A little lie. I have too little on the man to call it a case, but he doesn’t need to know that. All I need to do is light a fire under his ass and hope he feeds me some useful information.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Orken mutters.
I scoff and lean against the table, bending down to get closer to his level. His head comes up to meet my narrowed glare.
“Oh, now, I doubt that. You’re going to listen to me closely before you start with your claim of innocence bullshit.”
I push off the table and round it. Plopping my ass on the edge, I flip through the files, drawing out my point to ensure I have his attention.
“We caught you in quite the predicament, wouldn’t you say? Distributing illegal weapons owned by a man you claim you don’t know.”
Orken stares at me, mulling over the sticky situation he’s in. If I wanted to waste our time building a case on this low-level criminal, I probably could, but I need him free to lead me to The Omen.
“Mhm,” I acknowledge his silence, and he furrows his brows. “Sometimes silence tells more than words, my guy.”
Orken snorts and sits up a little straighter before leaning into me and lowering his voice. “Is this the part where you offer me a deal, cop?”
I smirk and throw the handcuff keys on the table in front of him. The bait practically makes him drool. He can taste the freedom in front of him, and I’m a little disappointed he isn’t harder to crack.
“Tell me what you know about The Omen, and if I’m satisfied with what you say, I’ll have you released. If you need to be moved for your safety, we can do that too.” I stand up, leaning against the wall, leaving the keys just out of reach from where he is cuffed. “And if I’m not—then I’ll make it my personal mission to see you go down with all the Olins.”
Orken’s eyes bounce between me and the keys for several minutes. Finally, he folds after what seems like forever, slamming his hands down as best he can with them bound.
“I’m not important enough to know much that will help you,” he grunts. “There’s been word spread around lately about The Omen having a daughter. The boys were talking about her yesterday. One had gotten his hands on a picture too.”
My interest piques, and I push off the wall to get closer, fully invested in this unknown information. Orken chews at his bottom lip, wondering if he should continue.
“How would The Omen’s men not know he has a daughter?” I ask him.
Anger begins to build from this missed information. Who is she? Why is she a secret? And what the fuck else have I missed?
“Did you know?” he mumbles, clearly berating himself for snitching.