Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Heart attack, they said.
Candle didn’t go out from a fucking heart attack.
Frost shifts in his seat, arms folded over his chest, Huntsman badge bold beneath his one percenter. Blond hair buzzed on the sides, longer on top, his blue eyes cutting between us like he’s trying to read what Beast isn’t saying.
“You think the Russians hit him?” Bull asks, not dancing around it. Of course he doesn’t. Subtle isn’t his thing. “And what, made it pretty for the cops?”
Beast shakes his head. “If Viktor wanted Candle dead, he’d have sent flowers after. Man’s old school.” His lip curls. “He also knows I’d put every Baranov dog in the ground if he touched my father. He’s not that stupid.”
“So we head into Eastbeach?” Nyx asks, tilting his head.
“Nah, stick to West. Don’t want to ruffle his feathers too much right off the bat,” I answer before Beast has to. “Not that we would. Viktor was the one who fed Beast the first crumb about Candle while we were in Vanguard.”
Silence.
Beast’s eyes glass over. He doesn’t flinch, but I can tell he’s back there. Underground. Concrete walls, Vanguard patch on some bastard’s shoulder, the humming buzz of fluorescent lights, the way Protocol 6 was always shouted and never whispered.
Execute all commands without question.
“Back when he was still Vanguard’s good little whore,” I continue, voice mild, making it worse on purpose. I tap the table once with my finger. “He knew too much then. He’ll know something now.”
Beast’s jaw jumps, but he lets it roll. Temperamental bastard. I need to call Yana. Tell her she ain't hitting it right.
Bull nods slowly. “I’ll call Zane. Give him a heads up we’re coming. Make sure his boys aren’t playing footsie with any stray Russians we don’t know about.”
“Do it today,” Beast says. “Tell him we’ll be there tomorrow night.”
It doesn’t take long to get over that way. Around four hours through the Gorge and straight into the Peninsula. I can already feel Hellraiser biting at the bit in the shed, red frame begging to open up on those coastal roads.
“This isn’t a friendly drop-in,” I add, looking around the table, making sure every man catches it. “We’re going to check Candle’s trail. We’re going to see what Viktor’s been hearing, if any of Zane's boys know more than they're letting on. Anyone gets in the way, we move them. Clear?”
Grunts answer. A couple of the boys hit their knuckles on the table in agreement. No one says no. They never do when it’s about Candle. The old bastard raised half the men in this room. The other half owe their lives to him.
Beast reaches for his smoke, taps it against the wood but doesn’t light it yet. His fingers still. “Frost,” he says, finally turning to our new Huntsman. “You got anything else?”
Frost straightens. “Nothing solid,” he admits, voice clipped. “I’ve talked to every cop we’ve got in pockets. No chatter about forced entry or struggle at Candle’s. Nothing missing. No weird vehicles in the neighborhood on CCTV. No Russians in the area the week before he died—at least not under the names we know.”
“Too clean,” Bull mutters. “Fucker was supposed to go out guns blazing. He'd be pissed about that and that alone.”
“Yeah.” Frost’s eyes harden. “Whoever was near him that night, they either belong in this room or they’re ghosts. And if they’re ghosts, they’re the careful kind.”
I feel something cold move down my spine. Not fear. Just that awareness you get before shit goes sideways. Candle knew this life. He’d have smelled a stranger on his street a mile out. Whoever got close either came with a familiar face, or he invited the fucker in himself.
Beast flicks his smoke away unlit, like he’s disgusted with the whole idea of calming down. “We go shake the tree,” he says. “If it’s Viktor’s people, he’ll slip up. If it’s someone else, they’ll start to move when they hear we’re sniffing in Westbeach. Either way, I’m done sitting here with my thumb up my ass while my father’s put in the ground and forgotten.”
Forgotten.
That word sits wrong.
Candle is in the wood of this table. In the rules on the wall. In the scars on Beast’s hands. He doesn’t get forgotten. He gets avenged or he haunts us. That’s it. Two options.
I lean forward, forearms on the table, my cut creaking. “Some of you will hold down home. No bullshit while we’re gone.” I cross my arms, letting my gaze drag over each face. “That includes pussy you’re trying to impress.”
“Anything else?” Beast asks.
Nobody speaks up.
His hand slams down once on the table, not with a gavel, just bare palm on wood. The sound ripples through the room.
Chairs scrape back, boots hit concrete. The low drone of voices starts up again as men file out, some heading for the bar, some for the yard, some for the dorm rooms where they’ll fuck, fight, or pass out, maybe all three.