Page 38

“Fair enough.” I nod slowly, but suspicion prickles at the back of my neck. “And if Dexter’s packwasn’tresponsible? What if there’s someone new in the game?”

Raul chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

“Do I have to answer that?” His eyes gleam, dark and sharp. “We can handle a rogue pack, Ray. It’s the other things that keep me up at night. The ones that don’t shift.”

I exhale through my nose. He’s right again, and I hate it.

“So what now? We sit on our hands or storm the compound again?”

“No.” Sam’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. Calm, but absolute. “That’s not an option. Security’s been tripled since we were there. I don’t know if the guy we roughed up talked, but I’m guessing he did.”

“Then let’s find out,” Raul says, his tone like gravel. “We’ve got Marcus Leonard’s address. Fucking guy lives in Shandaken.”

Sam raises a skeptical brow.

“What? You want to beat the crap out of him again? What good would that even do?”

Raul’s eyes go dark, more shadow than light.

“I’m not sure I’d beat him up,” he says, but there’s a storm in his voice. “He double-crossed us, Sammy. There should be a price for that.”

Sam doesn’t blink. “Only if we’re sure he deserves it. And right now? We don’t know jack.”

“We need to get practical,” I cut in, trying to steer this before it spins out. “That guy had a logo on his shirt. Either of you catch it?”

Raul nods. “Yeah. It was a helmet or something.”

“It was a Roman helmet—centurion style. I remember now. The company’s called Roman Security. We should look them up online. Might get more answers there than cracking skulls.”

Raul groans, the sound deep in his chest, like I just told him he needs a salad. He turns toward the workshop anyway.

“Yeah. Point taken. Do that.”

“Aw, did I bruise your ego?” I say with a smirk. “Tragic. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

He glances back, eyes narrowed.

“If that wasn’t a decent lead, I’d have made you eat dirt for that crack.”

Inside the workshop, Raul pulls up a browser and types in the name we found. His fingers move surprisingly fast for a guy who prefers claws over keyboards. He hitsEnter,and we all lean in.

The first result is a squat building with a glaring red sign:Star Pharma. We click through. The next image shows three middle-aged men in lab coats, grinning like smug bastards. The third photo is a sleek hand holding an injection. Something about it makes my skin crawl.

Raul clicks on the site’sWho We Aresection, and a video intro begins to roll across the screen.

“At Roman Security, we value medical work in every form. Whether it is research, hospitalization, or other clinical studies, our high training standards guarantee quality protection.”

“Bullshit,” Raul grunts, and I don’t even try to read the rest. That marketing fluff tells me nothing I don’t already know—or suspect.

“They’re guarding something medical,” I mutter. Obvious, but it needs saying. “We need to dig deeper.”

“We should compile a list of their partners,” Sam suggests, voice firmer now. “Track down who they work with.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure, let’s play amateur detective. Knock on a few doors, get a SWAT team on our asses by lunchtime. Pass.” I jab my finger at the screen. “Click the CEO tab.”

Raul smirks. “You got it.”

A new photo fills the screen: silver suit, smug face, early forties, and a waistline that screams desk job. The caption reads:Jason Conley.