Page 99 of Double Standards

“Good to go,” Ryder confirms. I nod and slide the piece back into place.

It’s late—the perfect hour for hunting the bastard who thought it was a good idea to fuck with The Five. I’m not sorry it’s come to this. This is the life we lead. You mess with one of us, you mess with all of us.

Stealing from us isn’t just a mistake, it’s suicide. And stealing fromme isa death sentence. I already swallowed my pride, admitted to my buyers that this one’s on me. I let that snake weasel into our business. He took advantage of our trust, stealing weapons from our shipments and selling them underneath me. That won’t happen again.

Security around the port has doubled. Shipments are tighter, cleaner. I’ve paid off more transporters than I’d like to admit just to patch the holes that bastard left behind. It was expensive, humiliating, and entirely my fault. I should have trusted my gut when that fucker wormed his way into our syndicate, but Trigger assured me he’d deal with the fall out if shit goes sideways.

Now it’s payback.

We move through a shadow-choked street in Queens, where the only light flickers from neon signs and burnt-out bulbs. Max found the location. Trigger brought the muscle. Hunter and Ryder flank me. We are The Five—and we carry the weight of every brutal story ever whispered about us.

We approach the rear of the building, soldiers in front, silent and sharp-eyed. This club isn’t just shady, it’s a dive dressed up in desperation. Private rooms pulse with muffled bass, the stink of cheap booze, sweat, and sex curling through the air like rot.

Inside, it’s worse. Dim, sticky floors, smoke-stained ceilings, bodies grinding under strobe lights. Half-naked women dance for dollar bills while men grope at whatever flesh they can reach. The place reeks of stale lust and failure.

Not my scene.

But Chester Street? This is exactly where the slimy fuck would crawl to with his dirty payout.

Max signals, and we move down a grim hallway lined with doors. Each one could be hiding something, but we know where to find our victim. Trigger leads, gun cocked and ready. I follow closely. If anyone’s on a mission to make sure Chester doesn’t walk out of here, it’s Trigger.

The corridor’s short. At the end, colored lights strobe from the main lounge. Music throbs beneath our boots like a warning bell. No one questions us; they recognize power when it walks in wearing suits and silence.

I glance around the place. There’s too many innocents here, and even though I’m out for blood, it’s the people down here. “I don’t want any other casualties,” I mutter to the gang, “just him.”

The guys nod and we cross to a staircase behind the stage. Max takes point. One by one, we climb the steps, like predators on the prowl. At the top, a red-lit hallway stretches out like a bad omen. Max lifts a finger and we all split, each of us taking a door. Our soldiers are at the ready, prepared to filter out those we don’t want caught up in this mess.

“Let’s go,” Trigger commands, bouncing on his feet.

All at once, we kick through the doors in front of us, guns poised.

Chaos follows. Screams erupt. I swing into my room, gun raised. Two women shriek and scramble for the couch, trying toshield what little dignity they still have. Two men tangle awkwardly, cursing us for the interruption, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not after them.

I step out with disappointment weighing my footsteps just as Hunter bursts into laughter behind me.

“Isthatwhat you call a dick?” he crows.

I turn around, spotting who he’s mocking. I shake my head, amused despite myself, and then I see him.

Chester Street. He’s naked and tied to a chair, champagne-soaked and surrounded by three terrified women clutching empty bottles like lifelines.

“Out,” I order.

They don’t hesitate. They bolt past us, heels clattering.

“Damn,” Hunter mutters, smacking the last one’s ass. “Get Trigger. Looks like someone already prepped him for us.”

I grin. “Sure seems that way.”

It’s time to play with the sly fucker who thought he could steal goods from under our noses, and I know I’m not the only one who’s going to enjoy this sadistic part of our visit.

Chester’s shaking like a pig at slaughter. “P…please! I can?—”

“Explain?” Hunter growls, stepping forward.

I hold him back with a hand to the chest. “Easy.”

Then Trigger walks in. The look on his face goes from disgust to delight in a heartbeat. He circles the chair, examining the restraints with mock interest.