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“Vane” had his back to us through the shattered windows. Visible just behind him was Abel, playing the convincing role of thrashing and resisting—then stilling when a knife tip was suddenly pointing between his legs.
Through the open door, Abel croaked, “Hey, man, I got a kid on the way. What if I want more? I kinda need that part. You gotta know?—”
“Vane” put a second knife to Abel’s throat and growled to shut the fuck up.
It was quite convincing.
Walter stopped, turning to me. “I’ll let him continue in peace. Black Jack’s body ain’t going anywhere.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I must ask, do you really expect me to believe this isn’t a trap? You’ve been with them for days.”
“Yes, I have,” I said firmly. “Getting intel. Learning their patterns. Earning trust by getting their cocks to do the thinking. We should have done this months ago.” I smiled widely, putting as much gross pride into it as possible. “You should be proud of me, Father. A thank you would be splendid but I guess that’s too much to ask.”
“Hmm,” was all he responded with. His gaze started scanning the warehouse as if searching for movement, even if the warehouse was silent beyond Abel’s groveling.
“This is what you’ve always wanted, right?” I continued, more forcefully. “Black Jack dead. His brothers dead or scattered. Frankly, I believe I’ve earned my rightful place at your side.”
Walter crossed his arms thoughtfully. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
He watched me for an excruciatingly long moment. It made me feel like my insides were peeled outward.
Was he going to believe me? Was he going to believe I decided to go out on a solo mission to infiltrate the Devils without permission—especially when I had never done reconnaissance before? After I escaped from being his prisoner?
Then he began to smile, and I thought?—
My head jerked to the side. My cheek stung like a bitch and my ears started ringing.
He hit me.
I want to hit him back.
I kept my composure. I straightened, pretending to be unfazed.
“Bring me to the corpse,” Bates ordered as sharply as a scalpel. “Once I confirm that Black Jack is dead with my own eyes, I’ll figure out what to do with you next. You think I’m going to fall for that shit, you naive little brat?”
Before he could shove me, I led him to the office where Abel and “Vane” were still convincingly interacting. The door was open. Walter dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder. I almost startled right out of my skin.
“Vane,” Walter snapped. “Stop playing executioner. Where’s Black Jack’s body? Show me the hole in his chest and I’ll fill your pockets right now.”
My heart hammered. I couldn’t breathe. This had to work. We were too far in to fuck it up now.
“Vane” didn’t move. Abel played his part like a pro. “Bates!” he shouted. “Call off your damn attack dog! My president is dead. Isn’t that fucking enough for you?”
Walter strode toward the office, observing the bullet-riddled walls. “I couldn’t give the smallest shit about you,” he said coldly. “As long as Black Jack’s corpse is cooling somewhere, nothing’s stopping me from peeling that barmaid out of her maternity jeans and fucking the attitude out of her.”
Oh.
That was a bad choice of words.
He took one more step.
I lurched forward and shoved both palms into his back. He stumbled into the office with a grunt of surprise. Before he could turn, I yanked the door shut and drove my knife into the keyhole.
Locked inside.
He spun on me, furious. “You lying little cunt! Open this goddamn door!”
I smirked. “I’d rather be called a cunt than your daughter, Daddy. But I really hope you didn’t mean what you said about Samantha.”