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Wings’ assessment did little to ease Zane’s anxiety. “Shit! We’re nuts to take these people on. The feds have tried and failed. A lot. What the hell are we thinking to believe we can end this?”

Wings chuckled. “Never seen you lose it. Have to admit, it’s funny.”

“Dammit, Wings.”

He punched Zane’s arm to get his attention. “Cool it, man, all right? I don’t know what has you twisted into such a knot, but I’m not going into this op with you like this. Pull it together or pull the plug. You have thirty seconds to decide.”

Zane slammed his palm against the steering wheel. He had no idea why he was anxious about seeing this case through now, but he suspected it had something to do with the night he spent with Bridget at his side. It was just sex — probably the best sex of his life. They agreed to no strings, but he couldn’t shake the guilt that he should be with her instead of trying to meet with someone who played a role in his stabbing. He wasn’t a cop. This wasn’t his job. He could walk away and know he put in his time and gathered enough evidence for the feds to move this case forward.

So why wasn’t he pulling the plug already?

“Z, this is the job. Whether we’re serving our country or working for Tryst. If we considered how we could fail before we started any mission, we’d get killed. We can do this. We rely on our training because if we don’t, bastards like De la Peña gain power they don’t deserve, and they use it to hurt innocent people. We go after them because even if we fail, we at least put a dent in their empire. We make it harder for them to gain power.”

“So you’re saying we’re not nuts to do this?”

Wings grinned. “Hell, no. We’re bat shit crazy. That’s why we make it work.”

Zane rolled his eyes. “Wipe the damn grin off your face. We’re doing this, so I need you to look like a scary-ass man and not a douche.”

In the blink of an eye, Wings’ grin disappeared. His face hardened, his long hair giving him a wild, frenzied appearance. Zane nodded.

“That’ll work. You come up from behind. We’ll box him in.”

“Copy that.” Wings slipped from the pickup, and Zane followed suit, mentally morphing into Cane Black’s persona.

Bridget would call the sock mill creepy, and Zane would have to agree. Windows broken by vandals, graffiti on the outside, trash in the parking lot. It was a forgotten structure, once a source of prosperity for residents of Grayson Cove and now an eyesore they were using to take down a mob family.

The lock on the door was busted, but the Alpha Team had already scoped the place out. They cleared it of any vagrants or low-level gang members using it as a hangout. Then they wired the place up with mics and cameras in preparation for the meet. Even with back-up out of sight, but nearby, Zane had his guard up as he and Wings stepped inside. The situation reminded him too much of the night he was stabbed.

They walked into an open area with high ceilings, the space cordoned off by towers of crates and boxes. Garbage and drug paraphernalia were scattered around the dusty floor. The place seemed deserted, but a prickling stirred the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

“He’s here,” he murmured loud enough for Wings to hear.

“Then flesh him out so we can get this done.”

“Thumper!” Zane’s voice echoed eerily. “No point hiding.”

The big guy stepped out from behind a piece of rusted equipment. Dressed all in black, he pulled a gray golfer’s cap down low on his forehead as he hurried forward. He froze when he realized Zane wasn’t alone.

“Black, are you messing with me? Who the hell is this?”

Playing the part, Wings crossed his arms over his chest, making him appear bigger and more intimidating as he stared Thumper down. He didn’t say a word, deferring to Zane to guide the meet.

“The last time I met you in person, I was stabbed. So I brought back-up this time. Don’t mind him. This is between me and you.”

“Then he needs to go. What I have to say is for your ears only.”

“He stays. So talk. What do you have to say that I need to hear?”

Zane stiffened, and he sensed Wings doing the same as Thumper moved closer. He stood directly in front of them, close enough for Zane to reach out and strangle the guy around his thick throat if Thumper failed to make this meeting relevant.

“I wasn’t the one who set you up, Black.” His voice was so low, Zane wondered if the mics would be able to pick it up.

“I’m not stupid. You knew what was happening before I showed up.”

“Yeah, and I was going to warn you, but Singer wouldn’t let me out of his sight. He was the one who set you up. He found out your name is not Black.”

“And I found out you’re related to Cal Russo. You need to start giving me something worthwhile, Jubel, or we’re walking out of here.”