“Jesus fucking Christ, Rosie!” Cade shouted, banging his fist on the table once I’d finished.
I leaned back, twirling one of my curls. “What? ’Cause I’m a girl I don’t get to have some fun?”
Cade openly gaped at me. That was something. My stoic brother was famous for his murderous poker face. Never did he betray any form of human emotion unless he was around my sister-in-law or his babies. Then he was a big fucking teddy bear. Unless someone threatened them. He’d set the world on fire and not even blink if anything happened to them. And I’d hand him the match.
“I know you have a fucked-up idea of the concept of fun. I’m to blame for that, and I’ve accepted it. I get your version of fun is fucking with some gangbangers who sold drugs to kids. Or getting tangled up in shit with other chapters,” he seethed. “I let you have that. We can clean that up, so you can handle that shit yourself. But international fucking criminals, Roe? You fucking serious? This can get you dead. Really fucking dead.” His voice was shaking with fury that no doubt made prospects wet themselves.
I merely crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. I propped my boots up on the table, crossing one foot over the other ankle. “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m alive,” I pointed out.
He sighed. “Yeah, I’ve noticed the pain in my ass that means you’re alive.” He shook his head. “What is it with you and Lucy? You both got a pact to get murdered by South American crime lords?”
Lucky leaned forward. “You see, brother, it’s like this. Some women, best friends and such, you know, when they spend a lot of time together, their… cycles link up.” He screwed up his nose. The man who’d killed and tortured the people who raped his wife was grossed out by periods. “But that’s ordinary women. We know these are not ordinary women, so that’s their version of that.” He held up his hands as if he’d solved the whole thing.
I tried to stifle my giggle, but it didn’t work. Luke grinned and squeezed my hand.
Cade leaned forward on his hands. “You think this is funny, Rosie?”
“No, but Lucky is,” I countered.
“This is serious.”
I glared. “I’m aware. I’m not asking you to help.”
“Don’t be fuckin’ dense. We’re helping,” Steg’s throaty voice said instead of Cade. “That’s not a question. First time you pulled a knife on one of our gun runners ’cause he insulted your shoes, I knew this day would come. Knew that the biggest battle we fought would not be because of your brother, or even Gage. It would be ’cause of you. We’re ready, girl. No doubt about that.”
“These are serious bad guys,” I whispered.
Gage grinned. “So are we.”
One Week Later
We declared war.
But the funny thing about war was it wasn’t like the movies, where men shouting cries for family and country run toward the enemy, weapons raised, faces painted blue.
It was far more boring than that.
Keltan and the crew in LA gathered intel.
Luke pressed his contacts at the NSA for any high-profile Venezuelan nationals vacationing in the US of A.
There were no more drive-by shootings, explosions, not even a threatening note. An amateur would’ve thought they—whoever they were, exactly—had given up.
This was not our first rodeo.
“Migel Fernandez,” Wire said, standing in front of a large screen, pointing to the image of a tanned, suave and—by the look of his suit—extremely rich man.
He wasn’t unattractive, in that silver fox type of way. Trim, nice hair that had lashings of salt in the pepper, strong jaw. Not bad, if you ignored the fact that his suit was paid for by the trafficking, abuse, and torture of human beings.
“Businessman, very rarely seen in public. And when he is, he has a bigger entourage than the president,” he continued, images covering the screen. They looked like grainy satellite images of a sprawling compound in the middle of the jungle, men in black, blurry but obviously security, scattered about the place.
“Not much is known about him officially,” Wire continued. “Lot of legitimate businesses that keep up appearances. Clean, on the surface. Unofficially, he’s one of the biggest players peddling human flesh. He specializes in attractive, young Americans. Preferably virgins, because they’re worth more, you see. But he’s not picky. He can cater to any taste, any kink. Nothing’s off-limits.” Wire screwed up his face. “Nothing.”
His haunted eyes told me he’d seen something that he didn’t even want to put on the screens in front of some of the most unshakeable men on the planet.
“He has contacts—customers, actually—in most governments around the world. Diplomatic immunity here in the States. Enough manpower to populate the army of a small country. Holds grudges. Is well known for exterminating anyone who crosses him, along with their entire family and known accomplices.”