Page 17

Swiping the screen, I open the messages.
Darren: Docks. I need you.
Me: Now?
Darren: Now. Boss said you’d know what to do.
Darren: I’m holding Pete, caught him skimming.
Me: Fine. I’m on my way.
Pocketing my phone, I sigh.
“I have to go, some shit going on down at the docks,” I mumble. Irritated. Hard. My head a jumbled fucking mess.
Zeke leans in, taking my bottom lip between his teeth, and sucks it between his lips as he groans.
“Mmmkay, but Riot?”
“Yeah?” I mutter against his mouth as he reaches down, gripping my erection through my pants. His grip is rough and when he starts to move his hand, it feels so good that I don’t want him to stop. Grinding forward, I chase his touch, torturing myself because I know I have to leave, but all I want is to stay.
“You better not touch this fucking cock before you get to my place tonight,” he snarls, squeezing as he massages my erection through the denim.
“And what if I do?” I grin.
Zeke stops, and grips my cheeks in his hand, forcing me to look up at him.
“You’ll be punished. Don’t fucking forget, baby, only good boys get to come.”
I coast into an empty space beneath the streetlights down at the docks before I cut the engine to my bike. Kicking the stand down, I yank my helmet off of my head and rest it on the handlebars.
There’s no sight of Darren, or anyone else for that matter, but there is a feeder boat docked at the edge of the water, so I’m assuming they’re inside. As I stroll down the dock, the planks creak beneath my sneakers, echoing through the eerily silent night. When I reach the end of the dock, I place one hand on a pillar and jump the small gap between the dock to the boat.
“Darren?” I call out as I reach into the back of my waistband, retrieving my Glock. Making my way cautiously around the shipping containers, I hold it closely, but extended in front of me, prepared for anything.
“Back here, Riot,” he responds, his voice floating up from the back of the boat.
When I reach the back, I find Darren perched on a small crate, picking at his nails with a pocket knife, and Pete, one of our low-level dealers, sitting on the floor, cuffed to a pipe.
“Alright, fill me in,” I demand, dropping my hand to my side.
“Please, man, it’s not what you think,” Pete pleads, looking up at me with a busted lip, and a swollen eye that’s darkening by the minute.
Flicking my eyes over to Darren, he flips his pocket knife closed and shoves it down in his boot with a sigh.
“Listen, boss man said it’s up to you how we handle this. I pulled the surveillance after some cash went missing last week. Pete here, well, he handed it off to some woman with blonde hair in a trench coat. Zeke’s software didn’t pull any facial recs because her face was mostly covered.”
“B-”
“Shut the fuck up Pete,” Darren grits as he kicks him in the ribs. “Anyway, like I was saying. Travis did the math and we are missing ten grand, Riot. Pete’s been caught red handed, but the problem is, we don’t know who he handed the money off to, it’s clear he didn’t hang onto it himself.”
Bending at the knees, I crouch down in front of Pete and lift his chin with the barrel of my Glock as I cock my head to the side. Eyeing him up, I prepare to play every bit the good cop, though anyone who knows me knows I’m never the good cop. Sometimes I’m merely the less sadistic one. But good? Nah.
I may not be skilled in all the ways of torture like the great Travis Price, but I’ll switch off my conscience and take a life without reservation. Without regret. It’s the world in which we live. Eat or fucking be eaten, and I’ve been eating all my life. I’d have died by now if I lived any other way.
“Pete, Pete, Pete,” I suck in a breath, clicking my tongue as I exhale. “What am I supposed to do with you now? You see the predicament I’m in don’t you?”
His eyes flick down to the gun that presses up into his chin, and he gives me the slightest nod in understanding.