Chapter Thirteen

Wick

Wednesday, 2 PM, at Win, the Derby at Historic Derby Lane, St Petersburg, Florida…

"Fuck! How I hate this place."

Wick's heart sank as she stepped into the bustling atmosphere of the year-round greyhound racetrack. The excited chatter of the crowd and the distant barking of the greyhounds filling the air made her stomach churn with unease. As a passionate dog lover, the mere thought of these magnificent creatures being exploited for entertainment and gambling made her blood boil.

She made her way through the throng of spectators. Her eyes drifted toward the expansive track before her. The oval-shaped course stretched out with its sandy surface meticulously maintained for the races. Tall, metal fences lining the track were designed to keep the greyhounds focused on their singular purpose—to chase the mechanical lure that zipped along the rail.

"I don't even want to guesstimate what this damn place had cost to build," Wick growled under her breath as her gaze was drawn to the starting boxes, where the greyhounds were being loaded for the next race. The sleek, muscular dogs quivered with anticipation as their eyes were fixed on the lure while they were placed into their assigned compartments. The moment the boxes sprang open, the greyhounds exploded onto the track, their powerful strides propelling them forward as they chased the elusive bait. The crowd erupted as the prospect of a win thrilled them.

"Just look at them. Greedy fucking bastards with no care for the poor creatures suffering," Wick muttered sotto voce as she watched the dogs race around the track. Her heart throbbed with a blend of awe and anguish. She marveled at their incredible speed and grace as their bodies stretched and contracted with each stride. Yet, the knowledge of the often-cruel reality behind the sport tainted her appreciation. She couldn't help but wonder about the fate of these dogs once their racing days were over.

"God, how I wish I could save them all," she muttered. Lost in her thoughts, Wick almost didn't notice Bradley's arrival. Still, he was hard to miss since his formal dress code made him stick out like a sore thumb.

"Ah, fuck, here comes the asshole," she muttered as she watched his approach. A smug grin was plastered on his face. Wick struggled to suppress the disgust that welled up inside her. His tailored suit and polished shoes stood in stark contrast to the suffering she imagined the greyhounds endured. She forced a neutral expression, determined not to let her true emotions show.

"Right on time, as usual, Ms. Bitch. Let's hope what you have to report will impress me just as much," Bradley said by way of a greeting. Oblivious to the inner turmoil that gripped Wick, he exuded an air of nonchalance. It pissed her off to no end.

"Shall we?"

"Forward march, Mr. Gray," Wick grumbled the sarcastic response but had no other choice than to follow him as he led her toward his private owner's box. Revulsion at the opulence that surrounded them rippled through her. The plush seats and well-stocked bar felt like a mockery of the noble creatures that raced for their lives below.

Keep it together, Wick. You can't afford to let him know you've switched sides.

Wick took a deep breath as she steeled herself for the conversation ahead. She knew she had to play her cards right and perform her role to gather the information she needed. It was imperative to maintain her composure.

"Let's have a drink, shall we?"

Wick didn't respond but took the glass of bubbling champagne he offered.

"Ah! Another win," Bradley preened as he lowered the binoculars. "I knew the money I paid for that bitch was worth it."

Wick chucked the contents of the glass down her throat. Better tipsy than ending in jail for kicking the bastard"s balls up his ass. The vision of him choking on his own stinking nuts made the desire to do just that difficult to suppress.

As the cheers of the crowd rose to a crescendo when the greyhounds flashed past the finish line, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being forced into a complicit situation.

Wick's heart raced as she stood before Bradley Gray, the ruthless and parasitic swindler at the heart of their scheme. She knew her reputation was on the line, just as much as Jax Crowthorne, but she refused to let the sense of doom consume her. Folding her arms across her chest, she tamped down the anger and unease swirling within. As much as she wanted to unleash a tirade of expletives, she had to play this carefully. Straightening her shoulders, she met Bradley's icy gaze head-on.

"Well, Ms. Bitch? Do I have to drag it out of you?" Bradley sneered as his lips curled into a cruel smile. A shiver raced down her spine.

Wick took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts as she recalled Jax's predictions about the links surfacing on the dark web. The virtual world was abuzz with unconfirmed rumors of Jax communicating with the Genolere Mafia, but none of the links could be traced. The dark web was a breeding ground for criminal activity, and Bradley Gray knew how to manipulate it to his advantage.

"Some rumors have surfaced on the dark web, but we're still running due diligence on its authenticity. Unless they are confirmed—" Wick began, but Bradley cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Nonsense." His satisfied smile ground on Wick's nerves. "You know the saying, where there's smoke, there's fire. Send me the information on the secure email I supplied. By tomorrow, I'll be at the top of the polls again."

"Mr. Gray, I'm sure you know that the dark web is a hidden network of websites accessible only through encrypted browsers for a reason. Anonymity reigns, which makes it a hotbed of illegal activities like drug and arms trafficking. With the right technical know-how, one could find anything, real or fabricated, on its shadowy channels… Unfortunately for people in positions of power."

"Get to the point," he sneered.

Wick placed the champagne flute down on the bar counter. Her fingers trembled slightly as she turned to face him. She noticed the true nature of the man behind the fa?ade the public adored—a ruthless, calculating individual who would stop at nothing to achieve his goals.

"If that's true, then I'm afraid neither Crowthorne nor you would make the polls, Mr. Gray," Wick said, her voice steady despite the anger bubbling beneath the surface.

"What are you talking about?" Bradley's expression turned ominous, his eyes narrowing as he leaned closer to Wick.

"We use specific algorithms to do dark web searches, which means we have tons of information we have to refilter to find what we're looking for," Wick explained, a sweet smile playing on her lips. "Just as there are rumors about Crowthorne, so are there about you. Vicious ones, much more damning than those on him." She paused, relishing the look of confusion and anger that flickered across Bradley"s face.

"So, I'm not exactly sure how you want me to handle this going forward, Mr. Gray. Should we pursue the bogus links pointing to Crowthorne's supposed criminal activity or yours, which we are able to deep dive into without too much effort?"

Bradley's face turned a deep shade of red as he slammed his fist on the counter, causing bottles and glasses to rattle and clink together.

"That's…that's…" he stammered, his eyes darting back and forth. "That's ludicrous. Someone is setting me up!" He ran a hand through his hair, his composure crumbling. "This is fucked up. It must be Crowthorne."

Wick raised an eyebrow, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched Bradley unravel before her eyes.

"Do you want me to confirm that?" she asked in a voice laced with a hint of sarcasm.

She kept her tone even and firm, refusing to let Bradley detect the roiling emotions beneath her cool exterior. Trepidation gripped her, knowing the ruthless lengths he would go to in order to win. But she had to appear unflappable, letting him know she wouldn't be intimidated or manipulated. The game had changed. The ball was in her court now.

"I didn't hire you to bust my fucking balls, Ms. Bitch. Either do what I'm paying you for, or I will see that your business' reputation is tarnished for good. No one threatens me."

Wick spread her eyes wide. "I'm afraid you misunderstand me, Mr. Gray. I'm not the one threatening you. I came across damning information about you. All I'm doing is offering to… how shall I put it… make it go away." She shrugged as she headed to the door. "But if you're not interested and would rather I concentrate on diving into bogus and fake trails, that's what I'll do. It's your money. I guess you can waste it any way you see fit."

"Wait!" Bradley's breathing sounded like a locomotive blowing off steam. "What kind of information did you find?"

"Similar to that of Crowthorne, except we came across hard evidence of email communication and encrypted folders you shared with Angelo Grecco, also known as Iceman, and a confirmed front boss for the Genolere Mafia."

"Fuck!" With hands that trembled visibly, he poured himself a stiff whiskey and chucked it down in one swallow. His eyes were wild when he looked at her. "I want that evidence to disappear, Ms. Bitch."

"That's going to cost a lot of money, Mr. Gray, since it's outside of my normal scope. I don't do criminal activity and—"

"Just fucking do it. I don't give a shit how much it's going to cost. I'll make it up in no time once I'm mayor and I can start running the business the way I want to."

"Very well, Mr. Gray, but let me be clear. I always keep a backdoor open in situations such as these. Fuck me over, and the information will be released by an undisclosed source."

"It's very unwise to threaten me, Ms. Bitch."

"It's not a threat, Mr. Gray, but now you know I'm no pushover. I suggest you remember that."

Wick's words chased after her as she walked out. The moment the door closed behind her, she ran, needing to put as much distance between her and a man she now knew couldn't be trusted as far as she could see him.