Page 12 of Savage Captor (Deadly Devotion #1)

I take the elevator down to the underground garage, where rows of reinforced black SUV’s are parked against the cement walls. Cain’s waiting in a running SUV stationed right outside the elevator door. He glances at me as I get in the passenger seat.

“Are you sober?” he asks dispassionately .

I sigh. “Unfortunately.”

He nods and shifts the car into drive. “Good. Keep it up, and I’ll let you have a rotation with Scarlett tomorrow. Tonight, I need you sharp. The guy we’re meeting isn’t someone to be fucked around with.”

“You going to tell me any more details?” I ask, hitting the fob sitting in the center console to open the garage door. We pull out onto a paved road, the car’s headlights breaking through the evening’s darkness, and start heading to the edge of the compound’s territory.

“You know what you need to. What I need from you tonight is backup. I don’t think things will get bloody, but they always could. Besides… my contact will want to feel both of us out. He’s smart. Analytical.”

“You almost sound like you like him.”

Cain shrugs. “I’ve only ever liked one person in my life, but I certainly respect him. Feel free to be quiet; it’s a long car ride, and you’re somehow even more irritating sober.”

The drive is, in fact, ridiculously long.

Several hours pass in aching silence. The one time I attempt to turn on some music, Cain cuts me such a scathing glare, I’m afraid he’ll turn me to a pile of ash.

After the third hour ticks by, Cain pulls off a freeway and into a town.

An abandoned town, by the looks of it. Two or three-story buildings, some wood and some brick, line dirt streets.

There are no lights illuminating the place, and we drive past several wild animals trotting about.

It looks like this place was built three hundred years ago, and abandoned soon after the invention of electricity.

“Where the hell are we?” I ask.

“Ghost town,” Cain replies. “Used to be a coal mining hub a long time ago. The mines caught fire, so everyone fled. Fires are still going deep in the mines, allegedly, but the fumes are too deep below ground to do much damage.” He parks in front of what looks like a tavern.

I’m not sure if the building is structurally sound; it’s listing heavily to one side.

There’s one other car in the dirt lot. A black SUV nearly identical to ours, though this one appears to be even more heavily armored than our own. Makes sense, if we’re meeting one of the most notorious weapons dealers in the country.

The back door to the other SUV opens, and out steps the man who I presume is Cain’s contact.

It’s hard to make him out with just the glare of his car’s headlights serving as illumination, but I can see he’s tall.

Broad-shouldered. He’s wearing a trench coat to protect against the wind, but his muscles bulge against the fabric.

He’s not some overweight tool; every bit of this guy is dangerous.

Cain opens his door, and I open mine. We step out into the biting air.

I follow Cain’s lead as he closes the distance between himself and his contact, narrowing my eyes at the weapons trafficker as I look him over.

He’s got dark hair with a reddish tint and green irises.

Strong, stubborn features. Eyes laced with something sharp.

Not aggression, but an element that’s cunning.

Clever. There’s something about him that’s vaguely familiar, though I can’t quite place where I’ve seen him.

“Eric,” Cain says, extending his hand. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“Yup,” Eric grunts. He steps forward and accepts Cain’s hand, giving it a firm shake. Then, his eyes fall to me. “And you are?”

“Greyson,” I reply. “Cain’s second, Nighthawk’s third in command.”

“I presume your boss isn’t waiting in the car,” Eric says, glancing at our SUV.

“No. As discussed, I didn’t think it was appropriate for him to be involved in our dealings,” Cain says. “He can be… difficult to handle. ”

“More like a disaster,” Eric says. “He’s running the Nighthawks into the ground. Word has it that you pull the strings behind the scenes, while he gets shitfaced and fucks around.”

“Those are some harmful rumors to the wrong ear,” I pipe up, staring at Eric hard. “Where’d you hear them?”

The allegations aren’t wrong, Boyce is a walking hazard, but hearing that outsiders are questioning the Nighthawk’s integrity is deeply concerning.

It could lead to serious complications; it could endanger every single Nighthawk.

As soon as the sharks of the underground smell blood in the water, everything goes to shit.

“Here and there,” Eric responds, flicking me a quick, analytical look. “The question isn’t where I heard it but how many times I heard it—and from how many sources.” He smirks. “I’ve heard it at least one time too many.”

“We’re here to discuss a preemptive solution to the coming problems,” Cain interjects smoothly.

“I believe you and I could help each other, Eric. If it weren’t for Boyce and the way he’s let his operation run awry, the Nighthawks would be the most powerful contractors in the market.

Possibly in the world. And you would be their sole, exclusive supplier.

It helps that we have a few… shared interests for the short-term future. ”

“We both want Luther Sharpe dead,” Eric says. His eyes flash with rage, and his jaw clenches. He flexes and unflexes his hands, looking down.

“Yes,” Cain says carefully. “We both want Luther Sharpe dead. He’s a… problematic player in the current climate. Being rid of him would be beneficial to all parties involved.”

“Stop talking like a fucking politician,” Eric mutters.

“Or a fancy salesman. I’ve already heard your pitch and agreed to take the meet.

Now, we discuss next steps. I’ve made my position clear—I’ll only work with you if Boyce is completely wiped from the equation.

Make that happen, and I’ll sign an exclusive deal with you.

” He pauses, and his smirk returns. “Then, we can take out the trash together.”