The Wolf (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #2)(8)

No wonder the guy’s brain was a sparkler.

“Quite a supply,” V murmured.

“He’s a big dealer.”

“Not anymore.”

Hollywood picked a Target bag up off the floor. Shaking the thing out, he forearm’d what had to be two hundred little packets of white powder into it.

“How’s this asshole hanging here by himself with all this coke?” V headed back to the couch and went face-to-face with the gaping, twitching human. “I’d think he’d have backup. Unless you shot anybody else?”

“Nope, just him,” Rhage said agreeably. “He must have a reputation and a half.”

The dealer’s watery, bloodshot eyes rolled back as he exhaled his last breath. After which he became just like the piece of furniture, another used-up object in the squalor.

“Well, that’s that.” V straightened. “And maybe you and I should do some target practice in the training center during the day, true? You know, perishable skills and all that.”

“I need Zyrtec.” Rhage sneezed. “The problem is my nose, not my aim.”

“We can get that down in the clinic, too. Come on, Hollywood, let’s blow. With the blow.”

As V browed-up a couple of times, the brother shook his head. “Like I said, I liked you better before you got a sense of humor.”

“Why, you jealous I’m good at something else now?”



Down on the ground in the alley where she’d been hit by a car, Rio was trying to rub the pain out of her left leg—and thinking of My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Windex. If only she had some Windex.

So maybe she had a concussion, too.

As the Charger had come at her, she’d managed to jump-and-roll just before impact, and her timing had saved her legs from being totally shattered at the shins. But that didn’t mean she didn’t break something or that she wasn’t going to be a quilt of bruises in the morning—because the human body was not supposed to act as a squash ball.

“—have to go for a threesome. Wait, that came out wrong.”

As the male voice registered, she looked to the source.

It was the supplier she was supposed to meet. The one who had saved her life. He was talking to her, but for some reason, she couldn’t hear what he was saying—

All at once, the words that had registered were properly deciphered by her brain. “I’m not sleeping with you,” she blurted.

As he stood up, he waved his palms, all just-forget-it. “Like I said, came out wrong. Do you need a doctor or not?”

“Not. Most definitely not.”

It was a surprise that someone in the drug trade wanted to pull the rip cord on a call to 911 for anything, but then he knew she was one of Mozart’s top lieutenants. So maybe he was just preserving the potential revenue stream. If she kicked it, or was taken out of circulation, he’d have to find another contact.

Like Mickie.

As Rio went to stand up, she braced for a lot of pain. Fortunately, it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be, just a matched set of bass drums in her legs. Meanwhile, the supplier—Luke was the name he was using—looked at her like he was expecting her to list to the side and knock herself out cold on the pavement. When she held her balance, he whistled under his breath.

“You’re impressive as hell, lady.”

Whatever, she thought. A couple thousand pounds of metal and glass coming at you gave you wings.

Talk about a Red Bull ad.

She kept all that to herself. “So let’s talk pricing.”

“Um, yeah, do you see that fireball down there?” He nodded to the river, where the Charger had exploded on some kind of impact, and a bright orange fire was showing no signs of burning out. Then he cupped his ear. “You hear those sirens? Shit’s about to get complicated around here, especially because I shot the shooter, even if I didn’t shoot the deputy. You want to talk, we’re going somewhere else.”

Rio hell-no’d that. But not because she was injured. She needed to find out whether the phone call she’d gotten before the shit hit the fan was connected to what had just happened. Had she been a bystander . . . or a target?

“I gotta go. We’ll meet tomorrow.”

Luke, likely not his real name, just stared at her. “You fuck me off, I’ll go to Mozart myself.”

“Yeah, good luck with that. He doesn’t meet directly with anybody.”

“I got special skills.”

“So do a lot of people.” Her bored tone was a cover-up for the stress prickling under her skin. “I’ll be in touch and we’ll try this again tomorrow night.”

And like the Caldwell Police Department patrol units had read her mind, those sirens the guy had pointed out doubled in volume, either because twenty more squad cars were coming in their direction or because the twelve dozen that were on their way had just turned the final corner.

“Suit yourself,” the supplier said. “But I was willing to make the deal tonight—and I’m moving on to someone else if you don’t take more of what I gave your organization last night. Also, you owe me.”

“Excuse me?”

“I saved your life, twice.” His golden eyes narrowed. “You owe me, Rio. And I collect my debts.”

“I didn’t ask you for a damned thing.”