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Chapter Twenty-Six

Sutton

“ W here is the girl? Where is Mara Chen?”

I winced, my nails nicking the skin of my palm. I forced my fingers apart, catching the dashes of blood that held my secret frustration at the interrogation.

Creed messaged Tynan half an hour ago that the Straw Sandal had finally woken up, and we could question him.

I didn’t ask if I could come, and Tynan didn’t make a move to stop me.

We’d entered the garage to find Creed, his hips resting against the side of his bike, staring at the gagged prisoner bound to a chair in the center of the square on the floor marked six.

An impressive string of Chinese curses erupted from the Straw Sandal when Tynan ripped the duct tape off his mouth. But after that, there wasn’t much else that they’d gotten out of him.

“You will regret this,” the middle-aged Asian man snarled, a trail of dried blood still hanging from the corner of his mouth like a fishing hook had been ripped right through his cheek.

Creed looked to Tynan. I watched his jaw pulse once before he stalked right up to the chair and nailed the Straw Sandal across the face again. Not hard enough to knock him out again, but hard enough to make a point.

The man’s head snapped to the side with another curse.

“Killing you will be the least of my regrets,” Tynan said so flatly—his voice so entirely bereft of emotion, I was momentarily stunned. A moment that quickly passed as a wave of desire crashed over me.

He was doing this for me. Not just protecting me, but fighting for me. With me. He stepped into this battle not with a half-assed promise to help but with bloody knuckles and murder in his eyes, willing to kill to get the information we needed and bear whatever consequences would remain.

Because he loved me.

The idea was still so sharp—so striking—it felt like a different kind of weapon that he’d buried into my chest. One that could give me strength if I was strong enough to use it.

“Tell us where Mara Chen is.” And then Tynan hit him again.

“You have no idea what you’re doing—who you’re going against.” He spat blood onto the bright white floor.

“I don’t fucking care.” Another hit. “Where did you take her?”

“Screw this,” I muttered and pushed past Tynan.

“Sutton—”

Creed stiffened when I cut in front of him and bent so I was eye level with the pig.

“You only get one chance with me,” I warned and pulled my knife from where I’d twisted it up into my hair. “Where is Mara Chen?”

I aimed the tip of the blade straight at his forehead. To his credit, he continued to stare straight at me like I didn’t have the balls to do it.

“Suit yourself.” I sliced through his flesh, watching the line pool with deep red, ignoring the way he shook as I finished up the curve of the P. “How about now? Anything to say?”

“You’re insane,” he said, and I smiled at the compliment.

“Then I guess we keep going.”

This time, he shouted at the fracture of his skin.

“I don’t know!” he yelled at me, and I pretended like his volume meant nothing.

“Bullshit.” I dragged the knife straight down the center of his forehead in an I. “Now stay still and let me finish you up…pig.”

He stiffened—and not in the way that meant he suddenly decided to cooperate.

“It’s you.”

My head cocked, and I paused, the tip of my knife just about to start the G.

“You carved up Little Dog.” His face turned venomous.

“Since the first man I carved up is dead, I have to assume by Little Dog, you mean Jack Kang.”

Another nostril flare. I was getting somewhere.

“Who is he to you? What was he doing in that apartment?” I pierced his skin, and he snarled again like a rabid dog.

“You fucking cunt.”

With a deft flick of my wrist, I flipped the knife in my hand and rammed it into his thigh.

He roared in pain, shaking and wrenching against the chair, rocking it with his weight. But I didn’t move.

“Are you done?” I asked flatly and then pulled the knife from his leg, watching the blood seep and making the fabric of his suit pants shine.

He breathed heavily, saying nothing more but staring at me with wild eyes.

“Tell me or I’ll give you a matching one.”

“I don’t know where the fucking girl is,” he said, spittle flying from his locked teeth. “The Wah Ching handed her over after the attack on Little Dog.”

That was weeks ago. “Then who were you holding in the penthouse? Who was Kang guarding?”

The Straw Sandal’s eyes widened, and then he barked out a bloody laugh.

“Little Dog wasn’t guarding anyone.”

“If he wasn’t guarding anyone, then he was the one being guarded,” I said slowly, filling in the holes of his cryptic answers. I took the twitch of his lip as confirmation. “Why was he being guarded?”

Kang wasn’t part of the Wah Ching. He wouldn’t be afforded their protection. Not like that: in a penthouse with a high-ranking member of the organization bringing him drugged women to fuck.

I pressed the flat of the knife under his chin, forcing it higher and scanning his eyes. And there, I finally saw it.

“He’s family to you,” I said slowly. “Not a son…”

I pressed the knife harder until he couldn’t back out of its bite.

“My nephew,” he snarled, and when I didn’t let up, the truth continued to tumble out. “After you attacked him and then when some of my other…associates…went missing”—the men Tynan had killed at the townhouse—“I moved him to the penthouse to protect him.”

That was why Kang disappeared. Why Creed found Carson’s associates shuttling back and forth to the apartment building. Not because Mara was there, but because Kang was.

And the Straw Sandal was protecting him this whole time. Because of me.

“Where’s my nephew? What have you done with him?”

I stepped back and faced Tynan, feeling only an overwhelming sense of failure, even though he’d given up more information.

“What’s the passcode to your phone?”

“I’m not—ahh!” he shouted in pain as Tynan took a screwdriver and pressed it into the open wound on his leg.

“You want to walk again, you open your fucking phone, and you start talking.”

The Straw Sandal panted like he was in the middle of a marathon, resisting for one more nanosecond until Tynan shoved the tool deeper and the man screamed in pain.

“Little Dog created an app—for women. To find women,” he said, sweat mixing with the blood that dripped down his brow. “Word got out, and he was approached by a man?—”

“Carson,” Tynan interrupted, threatening to spear him with the driver again.

“Yes,” the Straw Sandal spat. “Brock Carson. He came to Little Dog with a proposition. Protection and distribution for his product by my associates.”

“And Kang was allowed to make that kind of deal?”

The Straw Sandal scowled.

“No, he wasn’t,” I said, picking up on the nuance of his face and adding it to what I knew about Jack Kang. “He made the deal because he wanted to be inducted into the…organization. He was trying to prove his worth.”

By bringing them the source of ninety percent of the heroin coming out of Pakistan.

The bloodied brute only snarled at me, replying to Tynan like I’d take his refusal to speak to me as a slight.

“He overstepped. But my associates were interested in the deal.” He turned his head and spat another glob of blood onto the white floor. “Carson wanted a show of our capabilities, and in exchange he’d provide a sample of the product.”

“He wanted Mara.”

“He wanted a girl with specific…attributes, and Little Dog found one.”

Mara.

“When you compromised him”—he said you with the same tone as he did when he called me a cunt—“Carson threatened to back out.”

“So you handed over Mara.”

His lip twitched. “And you just wouldn’t let her go.”

“So you tried to kill me.” I left an emphasis on tried.

His laugh made my skin crawl. “Oh no,” he said. “He wanted you, too, and we both know that fate would be far worse than death.”

I fought to remain unaffected by his words—fought not to think of Mara and if she was okay.

“Where is he?”

The Straw Sandal licked away a drop of blood that collected on his stiff upper lip but refused to answer.

“Enough of this.” Tynan strode over with the screwdriver, and the Straw Sandal pushed back so hard into the chair it almost tipped over.

“All right!” he panted, his wild eyes swinging between Tynan and the blood-coated steel aimed for his leg. “He’s not here yet—the man who wants her. They arrive with the product next week.”

“So Shazad provides the heroin. Carson and GrowTech get the drugs into the country and ready for consumption, and then you…distribute,” Tynan spelled out slowly. “Where’s the base of the operation? Where are they bringing the drugs into?”

The Straw Sandal’s glare was murderous, knowing he’d be signing his own death warrant by telling us.

“You can either tell me, or I can hurt you a lot, and then you can tell me,” Tynan tipped forward and threatened.

“273 Shoreside Drive.”

I guess life in prison was better than death in the streets.

Tynan immediately looked to Creed, who was already tapping the address into his phone and starting to gather information on the location and surroundings.

“Is that where Mara is?”

“I don’t know,” he answered through tight teeth. “Where is my nephew?”

Tynan ignored him and held up his cell phone. “What’s the passcode?”

“You’re making a mistake.” He shook his head and let out a bloody laugh. “The Wah Ching is nothing compared to their empire.”

“What’s. The. Passcode?”

“146146.”

Tynan typed in the numbers and then spun the phone to face the Straw Sandal. “Don’t fuck this up.”

In addition to the code, his phone required a voice password to fully unlock it, just like Kang’s had.

He muttered a Chinese phrase into the speaker, and the screen opened.

“How do you contact Carson?” Tynan asked, and I could hear the anticipation in his voice.

We were finally so close.

The Straw Sandal let out a long breath. The one laden with traitorous defeat and then told us which encrypted app they used to communicate.

“When were you going to finalize the arrangement?”

“Friday.”

I moved closer to Tynan, my heart thudding so loud I swore it was the only thing I could hear as he opened the app.

“Which number?” Tynan flashed him the phone again, and the Straw Sandal squinted.

“The top—what does he mean dead?” he demanded when Tynan pulled the phone back. His eyes were wide and frantic. “Who is dead? What have you done?”

My teeth ground together, ready to unlock and let him know the truth—that his nephew and two others were dead because they’d taken my friend.

But just as my mouth opened, I caught Tynan’s eyes—a steady, silencing stare that cautioned me to keep silent.

Ignoring the continued outbursts from the man tied to the chair, Tynan opened the message, the indicator lit with a dozen unread messages.

But how did Carson know about the dead men when they’d vanished? He couldn’t have been the one to find them and clean up the bodies…

I blinked quickly and started to read through the messages.

I’ve confirmed the meet for Friday. You and Kang need to be there, understood?

That was yesterday. Sent while the Straw Sandal was on route to the apartment.

I need your confirmation. Neither you nor Kang have responded. What the fuck is going on?

And then came the messages from this morning.

Three dead?! Are you trying to fuck this up?

I brought you in with assurances that you could handle this, and since then, six dead and all because of some fucking girl.

If you’re in a war with Damon Remington, this deal is over.

Tynan lowered his arm and barked over his shoulder to Creed, “Keep an eye on him.”

I moved to follow him as he headed for the door and I assumed the office, but then I paused next to the Straw Sandal, who was still demanding answers.

Bending, I looked him in the eye, cocked a half smile, and said, “Your Little Dog is dead.” The color bled from his face. “That’s what happens when you underestimate your prey.”

I caught up to Tynan in the office just like I expected. What I didn’t expect was to find Robyn there, staring at the news playing on the screen like they were reporting on the world’s first ghost sighting.

“What’s going on? Why was Carson talking about Damon Remington?”

Rob winced, her trance fracturing as she dropped the chain of necklace.

“Look,” she murmured, her lips so tense I was surprised any word could fit through them.

She hit the volume button on the remote, the female reporter’s voice carrying into the small room, the captions like a highlight reel of her words.

Breaking News.

“Suspected associates of the Wah Ching gang have turned up dead in front of the FBI building this morning. Left with a bow on their head and a card. My sources inside the bureau have informed me that the card only contained a single letter. R.”

“Remington,” Tynan said, his brow knitting tighter together. “How the hell did he know—did he find them? And why would he do that?”

I folded my arms, waiting for Rob to answer, but she didn’t. She had to know, didn’t she? Could it be I was the only one this was obvious to?

“Robyn…” he drawled, and still she said nothing.

I stepped up to the table, laying my bloody knife on the surface and staring at the dark stains on my hands.

The things we would do—the risks we would take to protect those we cared about.

“We just killed several members of the Wah Ching, including the nephew of the Straw Sandal who is currently tied up in your garage,” I began slowly, laying it out piece by piece as I saw it. At first, I thought Robyn might jump in and stop me—correct me or take over the explanation—but she didn’t. “Even if you took care of the bodies, the Wah Ching wouldn’t let that go. They’d look for their men, for what happened, and for who was responsible. They’d want revenge.” I swallowed. “Are you prepared to weather the wrath of the entire Chinese Mafia coming after you?”

“Shit…” Tynan’s head tipped, but Robyn, her face just continued to lose color. “Remington delivered the bodies to law enforcement with a signed note. He wanted to take the fall for all of it.”

“Why would he do that?” I murmured.

“Why does it matter?” Rob snapped like a statue coming to life. “He’s a criminal. They’re criminals. Maybe this is some kind of turf war that we’re in the middle of. Maybe Remington wants to be the sole distributor for GrowTech’s brand of heroin.”

“No, I doubt that. Not the way he helped bring down so many men associated with Belmont?—”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter,” Rob clipped, glaring up at Tynan. “What matters is that we are running out of time to find Mara. We have the address of the warehouse and a way to contact Carson—to lure him out. But how?”

I stiffened. “Give him something he wants.” I paused. “Me.”

Their eyes slid to me. Rob’s gaze was curious. Tynan’s was also curious but spelled with an F.

“You heard him. The Straw Sandal said those men weren’t sent to kill me, but kidnap me,” I began. “Shazad wants me, and Carson wants to get rid of me. I’m the loose end that appeases his business associates.”

“And if he lied? If he wants you dead?” Tynan growled, and I could hear a protest brewing in his chest.

“A dead woman isn’t nearly as valuable as a captive one,” I said low, the idea twisting my stomach into a knot. But it was the truth. Men like this…death would be a backup plan if he could make a pretty penny selling me to some twisted fuck who wanted to lock me up and brutalize me.

“It’s a good plan. Dangerous but good,” Rob weighed in, but my eyes were only on Tynan as he came toward me.

He didn’t stop until our feet interlocked and my chest ran into the wall of his every time I tried to take a breath.

“I don’t like it,” he said low.

I lifted my hand and flattened it on his left pec. “I know,” I said softly, not missing the resignation in his voice. He knew this was the best option.

“I’m going with you.”

Relief made my chest deflate, but it was the look in his eyes that brought the increasingly familiar burn of tears to my eyes.

He wasn’t going to try and stop me. He wasn’t going to take me out of this fight.

He was my Zeus. Placing me in the star-studded sky to hunt my prey.

“I know.”