Page 21 of Fang (Underground Vengeance MC, NOLA Chapter #3)

My wife and I. The words echo strangely in my ears as I force a tired smile, leaning against Fang’s side in a pantomime of affection. His arm slips around my shoulders, the weight of it simultaneously foreign and oddly comforting.

The clerk slides a registration card through the gap in the plexiglass, watching with disinterest as Fang fills it out with our false names. Money changes hands—cash only, no digital trail—and a key attached to a plastic fob is pushed toward us.

“ Cuarto diecisiete ,” the clerk says, already turning back to his program. “ Segundo piso .”

The stairs creak beneath our weight as we climb to the second floor, the worn carpet releasing puffs of dust with each step. Room seventeen is at the end of a narrow hallway, its door swollen with humidity so that Fang has to lean his shoulder against it to force it open.

The room beyond is small enough that we both hesitate in the doorway, silently calculating the logistics of sharing such confined quarters.

A double bed with a concave mattress dominates the space, flanked by mismatched nightstands.

A desk with a wobbly-looking chair sits beneath a window covered by thin curtains that do little to block the neon glow from the street below.

The bathroom door hangs slightly ajar, revealing chipped tiles and a shower stall with rust-stained grout.

“Home sweet home,” Fang mutters, stepping inside and placing his bag on the bed.

I follow, closing the door behind us and engaging both the deadbolt and the flimsy chain lock. “It’ll work. No one will look for us here.”

Fang nods, already unpacking his laptop and setting it on the desk. “We’ll need to split the power load,” he says, plugging devices into a surge protector he’s brought. “This building’s wiring probably hasn’t been updated since the 60s.”

I move to the window, peering through a gap in the curtains at the street below.

Vendors pack up their carts for the night, locals hurry toward metro stations, and the occasional tourist wanders by, looking rather lost. Nothing that registers as a threat, but now we ’ re deep in cartel territory and danger doesn’t always announce itself.

I move to stand behind him. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to access the cartel’s medical database.

” His voice carries the distant quality of someone whose mind is half in another world—the digital landscape where he operates with such confidence.

“If I can find Rory’s patient records, we might be able to narrow down which facility they’ve taken him to. ”

“ This place has wi-fi?”

“ Nope, but the mercado de carne across the street didn ’ t secure theirs.”

“ Nice.”

“ And I highly doubt the cartel ’ s patched in and watching the meat market ’ s online traffic.”

“ Unless they ’ re getting kickbacks, there ’ s no reason for them to care.”

I lean closer, studying the screen. Lines of code scroll past, too fast to read.

Eventually, various maps of Mexico appear, along with a list of all the cartel-run hospitals.

It’s impressive, watching him work. I ’ m starting to wonder if I have a competency porn fetish because every time his hands slide across the keyboard, I wonder what those able fingers would feel like against my skin.

“There,” he murmurs, interrupting my thoughts. “See that? That’s their network signature. Same one they used for the system that managed your brother’s hospital bills.”

I nod, acutely aware of how close we’re standing, my chest nearly touching his back as I lean over him. I straighten abruptly, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“How long will it take to find his new location?” I ask, focusing on the mission, not the man.

Fang’s brow furrows as his screen flashes red text. “Longer than I thought. They’ve upgraded their security since the last time I probed their network.”

“ Because I defected.”

“ Probably. But let me try a few more things.”

Hours pass in tense silence broken only by the click of keys and occasional muttered curses from Fang. I alternate between watching the street below and studying his progress, my anxiety mounting with each failed attempt.

He pulls off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose where they’ve left red marks. “I need water. There’s a vending machine at the end of the hall.”

“I’ll go,” I say, grateful for something to do besides wait.

When I return with two bottles, Fang has moved from the desk to stretch his legs.

The room seems to shrink with both of us standing, forcing an awareness of proximity that’s impossible to ignore.

As I hand him a bottle, our fingers brush, the contact brief but electric.

His eyes meet mine for a moment too long before he looks away, twisting the cap off with more force than necessary.

“Any progress?” I ask, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.

Fang shakes his head, returning to the desk. “They’ve implemented some serious countermeasures. Multiple authentication layers, rotating encryption keys, active trace protocols.” He takes a long drink of water, his throat working. “Someone’s learned from my past breaches.”

I move to look at the screens again, careful to maintain more distance this time. “Can you get past it?”

“Given enough time, yes.” He sets the bottle down with a plastic crinkle. “But we don’t have that luxury. Every minute we spend trying to brute force our way in increases the chance they’ll detect the intrusion.”

“ Want me to give it a shot?” I ask.

“ Have at it.”

I give it my all for the next hour, but I ’ m no closer to getting in than he was. A sinking feeling settles in my stomach. “Now what?”

Fang turns to face me, his expression grim. “We’ll have to infiltrate one of their facilities and connect directly to their internal network.”

“A cartel hospital,” I say, the implications immediately clear.

He nods. “There’s a private clinic in the Polanco district that’s known to be cartel-controlled. Serves as a treatment center for their higher-ranking members.”

“How do we get in?”

“The oldest trick in the book.” His lips curve in a humorless smile. “We walk right in. Say we ’ re IT support, there to upgrade their systems.”

“That’s… convenient,” I say, suspicion immediately flaring.

“It’s logical,” Fang counters. “Medical facilities are constantly updating their technology. And with the cartel moving your brother, they’re probably enhancing security across all their operations.”

He’s right, and the plan has a certain elegant simplicity. “So we pose as IT contractors?”

“I pose as the contractor. You pose as my assistant.” Fang returns to his keyboard, pulling up the clinic ’ s floor plans. “We get in, access a terminal, download what we need, and get out.”

“Simple,” I say, not bothering to hide my skepticism.

Fang glances back at me, his eyes serious behind his glasses. “No, but it’s our best shot at finding Rory.”

The mention of my brother’s name cuts through my doubt. I’d walk into the heart of the cartel’s headquarters if it meant bringing him home safely. A clinic is, at least comparatively, lower risk.

“When?” I ask, already calculating what we’ll need.

“Now,” Fang says, turning back to his screens. “They do system maintenance after hours. Less staff, less people asking questions, less chance of someone recognizing you.”

I nod, feeling a strange mix of dread and determination. “ Let ’ s go.”

Outside, Mexico City pulses with nightlife, oblivious to our presence or purpose. Somewhere in this sprawling metropolis, Rory waits, perhaps wondering if I’ve abandoned him. The thought sends a spike of pain through my chest.

I won’t fail him again. No matter what it takes, I ’ m bringing him home.