Page 28

TWENTY-SEVEN

SPRINGFIELD WASH

ROYCE

E ast End.

The goddamn East End of Springfield.

As my eyes keep darting over to the app on my phone showing off the blinking green dot I’ve been following for the last hour, I’m torn between worrying over Nicolette’s fate and cursing my cousin to hell and back.

If I’d been at home or the Playground, I could have made it across town in twenty minutes. From the moment Link got through to my cell, I was already racing toward my car. There isn’t a cop in Springfield who’d try giving me a ticket once I told them who I was, so with my lead foot to the pedal, I might’ve even made it in fifteen.

But I wasn’t in Springfield. I was in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere—okay, it was Merrill Grove, a small town over an hour out of the city—when I got word that Nic was missing and my heart nearly fucking stopped.

Because this isn’t like when Link would sneak off from the Playground or an evening meet so that he could sit outside of Ava’s house. Nicolette went a few blocks away from our apartment building, right in the heart of Sinners territory. She was supposed to go get tacos, there and back again, but when a half an hour passed and a call to the taqueria revealed she never made it, it became obvious to Ava that she wasn’t just missing.

She was taken .

Ava called Devil who cut short his meeting with the Valdez crew to rush home and be with her. Once he arrived at the penthouse, he sent Ghost out to see if he could find any sign of Nicolette.

He did. Courtesy of calling her phone nonstop as he searched, he found that, her purse, and her wallet shoved in a trash can on the corner of 6th Avenue, two blocks away from Paradise Suites—and conveniently next to a narrow side street that could pass as an alleyway.

I don’t blame Ava. I don’t blame her for waiting so long before alerting the boss that Nicolette was gone, just like I don’t blame Nic for going out on her own to pick up some chow. I made it my point to tell her that, when she’s with a Sinner, she’s safe. I wanted her to believe, and she should have.

So no, I don’t blame them. I blame the fucker who waited for me to be gone for the evening before he took the first opportune moment he could get to snatch up Nic.

There’s no doubt in my mind that that’s what happened. Unlike when Ava was snatched up by the Libellula Family last summer, there aren’t any witnesses to what happened to her. No Sinner who sold her out, either, as far as I know. Just her tossed purse, and my certainty that she wouldn’t leave me behind if she had the chance.

To keep me from losing my mind as I race toward her, I have to believe that.

I blame me, too. If I’d been in Springfield…

Fuck . A rare show of repressed temper, I slam the flats of my hands against my steering wheel, then take a sharp turn, hoping to shave off a few minutes as I head toward the East End.

It’s common knowledge that I don’t often leave the city. I’m Springfield-born and bred, and before I joined the syndicate that rules the West Side, I’d spent my formative years running all over these streets. It takes a lot to get me to head out of town. Usually, it’s just orders from Devil—something he needs me to do, something I have to take care of in his name—but, tonight, I actually had to get the boss’s permission to do some clean-up on my own.

Fucking Jake. I knew how badly he was chasing after this new girl. After seeing what happened with the first two, I’ve picked up on his M.O.

First, he plays the nice guy. He might bump into them at the store. Hold a door open for them. Remark about the weather.

I got a face that makes people want to see if they can beat me at the casino, maybe knock me down a peg or two. I’m probably too pretty for my own good, and while that made finding willing bed partners easily enough, I had to prove myself when other gangsters though I’d be an easy mark myself.

Just because I’m not fast to draw my weapon, doesn’t mean I’m a pacifist. Fuck no. Lincoln was one of the best brawlers in Springfield. As an impressionable eighteen-year-old weakling, I looked up to him. That’s how our friendship started out, with him beating the shit out of guys, and me watching in amazement—and jealousy. Eventually, he took me under his wing, teaching me everything he knew.

Games of chance have always been more of my thing. Three-card monte at first, then poker. Blackjack. Craps. The roulette wheel. I get a thrill out of being the most competent, smooth-talking fucker around, but a pretty boy like me won’t last long on these streets if I couldn’t throw a punch or take one. With Devil as my teacher, the punches I threw became harder, and I dodged faster so that I barely had to take them.

Link kills those who piss him off. I prefer to knock them around to teach them a lesson first, then arrange for them to disappear if they don’t. As the underboss, I have at least ten enforcers who stand out from the rest of the soldiers. One word from me and anyone testing the Sinners Syndicate gets their second—and final—lesson. That’s not even counting when I’ve outsourced, calling on professionals like the Reed twins whenever I’d rather it not be traced back to our crew.

Then there’s Jake. My cousin isn’t like me. He has a face that’s pleasant, yet nondescript. What color is his hair? Brown. His eyes? Brown. He has an average build, with an average height, and the best way to describe him if you had to is boyish . He’s twenty-eight, could pass for younger, and absolutely no one would think he was a threat… until he goes from being interested in a girl to deciding that she’s his.

When that happens, the only person in this world that’s safe from him is her—and, damn it, me.

Family, right? I’m family, and if I wasn’t, if I wasn’t trying to protect my idiot cousin from his mistakes, this never would’ve happened. But when Jake called, I had to go. I’ve spent years doing my best to rein him in, keeping a short leash on him so that Link doesn’t decide he’s more trouble than he’s worth. As long as Jake understands that any consequences—like what happened after Heather—are not anyone’s problem except for his, I’ll be there for him.

I thought he got that. After passing along Link’s message a few weeks ago, Jake promised that he would do better this time. If Simone wasn’t interested, he’d accept that. Considering I had Tanner run Jake’s new obsession and I found out she was married to some guy named Will, I figured he’d get the hint that this was another lost cause.

I should’ve known better. Understandably, I’ve been a little distracted lately with falling in love—and, okay, obsession—myself. Jake was quiet, Link wasn’t pushing me to get rid of him, and I was happy to focus on Nicolette… until I got the call from Jake earlier that he needed my help.

There was a reason why Jake’s been quiet. My cousin followed Simone out of Springfield two weeks ago—and had a fatal run-in with her husband. Will Burke was killed in some back alley in a small town I’d never heard of until Jake needed help with clean-up.

He’s never gone that far before—but he did early this morning. I went because I had to, and I’d brought a couple of my crew with me to clean up my cousin’s mess. We were just finishing up when I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket and Link snapped at me to get my ass back to Springfield.

Killian and Bruno stuck around to make sure nothing could be traced back to Jake; a favor to me, and one I know they’ll definitely call in one day since I basically abandoned them in bum-fuck-nowhere in my haste to get to Nic. I had to hurry. One peek at the app at my phone and I knew exactly where she was.

Dragonfly territory.

I don’t tell Link. Just in case I got it all wrong and Nic betrayed me, choosing to return to her grooming bastard of an ex, I keep it from my boss. He’ll understand. It’s like how when Ava was nabbed and Damien wanted a meet with Link. Link went alone.

For Nicolette, I’m going to do the same damn thing.

Is it insane? Yup. Should I rely on my brothers in the syndicate to back me up? You’d think so.

Will I?

No .

I promised her she’d be safe. Whatever is happening to her, it’s on me. Besides, the only one who knows that I injected a tracker in Nicolette after that fucking wallet got his hands on her and it took me longer than I liked to find her is Tanner

. He created the microchip and the injector that buried it beneath her skin, and unless Link asks him, he won’t offer up the info.

Link will figure it out. For one, I only got the idea to chip Nic because Link insisted on doing that to Ava a couple of months ago. Seeing her be taken by Damien’s Family really did a number on him which is why he had Tanner come up with a sub-dermal tracker in the first place. Her overprotective, possessive husband needed to know where she was at all times after that.

She wasn’t the only one he got chipped, though. He did it to himself—making my days of guessing where he went over—and then, as his underboss, jabbed me next.

Once I don’t head straight to the Suites to figure out our next step, he’ll track me—and that’s assuming he doesn’t have the app on his phone open the same way I am.

I don’t care. From the moment Link told me she was gone, all I want is to get her back. That’s it. So it might be suicide, walking into Dragonfly turf when our truce is shaky at best. One of those assholes has Nic.

And I’m getting her back.

The tracker insists that Nicolette is somewhere close by.

It led me to the back exit of a laundromat. At first, I’m not sure if that could be right, but then I think about it. Sinners deal with guns, girls, and gambling. Dragonflies do drugs and dough. Simply put, the Libellula Family gets their wealth and power from the illicit drug trade and a massive counterfeiting ring.

To make fake bills look used, I’ve heard his pros wash the bills, then put them in a dryer with some rocks. Why wouldn’t the Dragonflies do their business as blatantly as possible, in a joint called Springfield Wash?

There are two doors back here. One has a window that peers into the busy laundromat. The other? It’s solid metal covered in chipped white paint and a crooked EMPLOYEE’S ONLY sign.

The green dot turns red when I move in front of that one.

It’s open. I don’t know what I would’ve done if it wasn’t, but when I grab the knob on the outside, it turns under my hand. Before I yank on the door, I pull out my nine-mil. Disengaging the safety takes a second, but I do it. I don’t have any idea what I’m walking into. Could be nothing, could be an ambush. Just in case, it’s better to be prepared.

My gun up, I use my left hand to pull open the door. It’s gloomy, a pair of cement stairs leading me underground. Over the blood pumping through my veins, thudding in my ears, I think I hear… whimpering.

I tip-toe down the stairs, ducking my head as soon as I can to get a peek at what’s below.

On the floor, I see fabric. Laundry bags? Maybe. Pallets of fake cash line the walls, fresh from the printer, I bet. And there, curled up alongside one of them, is a head of golden blonde hair I’m intimately familiar with.

She’s turned away from me, and if I didn’t hear the soft cries coming from her, I would’ve feared she was dead.

Regardless, my gut tightens, fingers twitching on the trigger as if she is .

A quick sweep reveals that she’s the only one down there. I spare two, maybe three seconds to make sure of it, then murmur, “Nicolette? Baby?”

At my voice, she starts, then slowly moves. No. She rolls over, and when I get my first look at her, I have to clamp my jaw down so I don’t howl.

What the fuck did he do to her?