Page 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

OLIVER’S APARTMENT SMELLED like coffee, stale pizza, and that faint, burnt plastic scent his computers always seemed to give off. The place was a disaster—half-empty takeout containers stacked on the counter, cords snaking across the floor like tripwires, and a mountain of laundry he kept promising to deal with but never did.

It was exactly what I needed.

“You’re quiet,” Oliver said, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he leaned into his desk. His glasses had slid down his nose, and the soft glow of multiple screens lit his face. “Which is weird. Usually, you don’t shut up.”

I smirked, sinking into the worn couch that creaked under my weight. “Sorry to disappoint.”

He didn’t look up, his attention locked on the lines of code scrolling across one of his monitors. “Not disappointed. Just making sure you’re not planning to implode in silence. That’s not really your style.”

“I’m fine,” I lied, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to my chest.

“Liar,” he muttered, clicking on something with a dramatic flourish.

The hum of his machines filled the space between us, broken only by the clatter of his keyboard. It was comforting, in a strange way, being here with Oliver. He never asked questions he didn’t want answers to, and he accepted me as I was—chaos and all.

I’d met Oliver six years ago, purely by accident. He was getting mugged in an alley, and I scared off his attacker. He’d been shaken, so we sat down for coffee. The rest was history.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, or should I just keep hacking in blissful ignorance?” he asked, finally glancing at me.

I hesitated, my gaze falling to the threadbare carpet beneath my feet. “I let Spinner get too close.”

His brows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice tight. “And he turned on me.”

He adjusted his glasses, studying me like I was a particularly tricky piece of code. “You want to tell me what happened?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m still trying to process it.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Come on. Spill, or I’ll start guessing, and you know how bad my guesses can get.”

“It’s complicated,” I said with a sigh. “The club doesn’t trust me. Spinner doesn’t trust me.”

He frowned, his expression confused. “I thought he was, like, your guy or whatever.”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “So did I. But apparently, a couple of notes, a staged picture, and a jacket with my name on it were enough to convince him otherwise.”

Oliver’s frown deepened, and he turned back to his screens. “Sounds like someone’s playing you.”

“Fang,” I said, the name burning like acid on my tongue. “He’s been after me from day one, and now he’s managed to turn the club against me.”

“Classic misdirection,” Oliver muttered. “And let me guess—Spinner took the bait faster than the government collecting taxes?”

I didn’t answer, but the look on my face must’ve been enough.

“What about Zeynep?” he asked, his voice softening. “Does she know you left?”

“I couldn’t risk it,” I replied, my shoulders sagging. “Her guard dog never leaves her side at night. There was no way to tell her without him overhearing. But she’s safe, and that’s all that matters.”

Oliver shook his head, muttering under his breath as his fingers flew over the keyboard. “Well, this should take your mind off things,” he said, shooting me a smug look. “I dug up some dirt on the cartel Dragon Fire’s working with.”

“Really?” I leaned forward. “What’d you find?”

“Hold on,” he said, his attention snapping back to his screen. “Just a second to bring up the file.”

I watched him work, his focus absolute. Oliver wasn’t the type to throw a punch, but when it came to finding information, he was the champ. He could track anyone, uncover anything, and turn chaos into patterns like no one else.

“Got it,” he said after a few minutes, leaning back with a triumphant grin. “The guy running the operation is Gabriel Lopez. I pulled financial records, property leases, even a few interesting emails. Looks like he’s funneling money through dummy accounts to pay off some... ‘associates.’”

“Associates?” I echoed.

“Men like Dragon Fire. And cops, mostly,” Oliver said, clicking on another file. “He’s got half the local force in his pocket. That’s how he’s been moving so freely through the state.”

I cursed under my breath. “Of course he does.”

“There’s more,” Oliver said, his grin fading. “They’ve got a shipment coming in soon.”

My stomach twisted. “What kind of shipment?”

Oliver turned to me, his expression serious. “I hacked the dock records for incoming container ships. One of them belongs to their organization.”

The weight of his words settled on my chest, heavy and suffocating. “When?”

“Two weeks from today,” he said, his fingers flying across the keyboard again. “I can’t guarantee it’s what we’re looking for, but my gut says it is.”

I let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the couch. “I think you’re right, Oliver.”

He glanced at me, his concern clear. “Maybe we should turn this one over to our contact.”

“No,” I said, my voice quieter now. “She can’t do anything without solid proof.”

He nodded, turning back to his screens. “I’ll keep digging.”

I didn’t argue, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. This was exactly what I needed, a distraction, a purpose. Something to pull my mind away from Spinner.

This was what my life was about—saving people who couldn’t save themselves.

And I wasn’t giving up.