Page 64 of Double Standards

But Trigger’s warning pulls me back, steady as always: don’t lose my head. I can’t kill every problem. Easier said than done. Sometimes the smartest move is to let fear do the talking instead of my fists.

Maybe he’s right. Pain is the language these bastards understand, and I’m fluent enough to speak it when necessary. But for now, I’ll keep my hands clean—for Cassie’s sake.

“Thanks for stepping in. I owe you.” I don’t say it enough, but I mean it. Ryder’s got my back when it counts. “Just keep her safe. That’s all that matters.”

And that’s the one thing I won’t ever let slip through my fingers. Cassie’s already caught in the crossfire. And I’m not about to let her get torn apart.

“The king of cool and calm finally rattled,” Trigger says smugly, turning to Ryder as he takes the papers from him. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

I snatch the papers back and slam them onto the desk. “Shut the fuck up,” I warn, not in the mood for their bullshit today.

I’m juggling three shipments of weapons and cocaine, and with the NYPD breathing down Trigger’s neck, I’m flying solo more than I like.

Trigger chuckles, shaking his head as he moves to the couch. I raise a brow, waiting for him to finish whatever he’s about to say. Finally, he stretches his arms across the back of the couch and drops it: “She’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“I swear to God.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, close to losing it. I’m this close to ending this whole ‘Five’ thing just to knock some sense into these two. Allies, sure—but more like brothers. And brothers fight.

Trigger shifts, dropping his gaze, and mockingly signs a cross over his chest while starting some ridiculous prayer.

“For his balls?” Ryder chuckles.

I shoot Ryder a glare, struggling to keep my temper in check. “Why the hell are you two even here?”

Trigger snaps out of his successful attempt to torment me and perches on the edge of the desk. “Our latest shipments came in last night,” he announces, handing over a fresh document.

“And?” My voice is edged with agitation—not that I bother hiding it. These two are already skating on thin ice today.

“I’m short.”

My brow lifts. Normally, I’d take that as a veiled accusation. But Trigger knows better than to question my loyalty to him or The Five.

I scan the itinerary, eyes moving down the list, checking quantities and notations. Something’s off. When I look back up, the anger simmering in Trigger’s expression is already fading into something colder.

“How many?”

“Two hundred,” he replies without hesitation. “Counted them myself.”

I shoot to my feet, raking a hand through my hair. “How the fuck do two hundred assault rifles just vanish?”

Trigger doesn’t answer. Ryder shifts on the couch like he’s holding something in, eyes flicking between us.

“What?” I snap.

“We’ve got a mole.” His voice is calm, certain. No hesitation, no doubt. And as obvious as it sounds, I can’t fault him for saying it. He’s right—and I need to keep a level head if I’m going to deal with this cleanly.

Trigger nods in agreement. “Could be Santos’ crew. They’ve been sniffing around lately, but I don’t have proof.”

“Well,” Ryder says, standing and uncrossing his legs, “whoever it was, either undercut you—or sold the stash right out from under both of you.”

I glance at Trigger, silently asking if he’s ready to handle it. He meets my gaze, firm and steady, and gives a tight nod.

“I’ll ask Max to do some digging,” he supplies.

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Ryder says, his voice low, hesitant. “But it won’t be easy. You know how he is.”

Byhe, Ryder means his father—Genovese Sr.—a man as stubborn and ruthless as they come. The same man who should’ve been taken out when I had the chance but wasn’t. A man who refuses to loosen his grip, no matter how much his health or the world shifts around him.

“Stubborn bastard,” I mutter. Genovese Sr. is the final obstacle standing between The Five and full control of the West Coast. The old man’s not just a relic clinging to power; he’s actively blocking Ryder from taking over. Despite Ryder’s patience and readiness, his father refuses to hand over the mantle, convinced no one is worthy to carry the name or command the family’s influence.