Chapter Four

M ORE SUN SEEPS through my closed blinds as I sip from a cup of fresh brew, focusing my blurred vision on my screen split by various camera views—two trained on Roman’s backyard, after tapping into his security server. The second—courtesy of the camera attached to the back of the truck of our lady bird in waiting—gives an ample view of the road leading to the newly discovered warehouse. The last is from the bolted camera on the roof of the warehouse. A warehouse owned by the target we’re currently running a long game on—Anthony Spencer. One of a handful of Roman’s enemies who made the first cut. Enemies who have their own empires we plan to rob and dismantle before burning them to ashes.

By eliminating our competition, we’re making fucking sure we’re the ones who get to serve Roman justice and make bank while doing it. We haven’t made our pattern to take down Roman’s adversaries apparent to him yet. Still, he’ll be clued in soon enough when a few of the moguls he has an old beef with in neighboring high-rises start disappearing one by one due to methodical design, erasing all opportunity they could have had to get to him before we do.

He’ll know someone’s coming for him soon enough.

Frankly, I can’t fucking wait until he starts scrambling to find out who .

Time. It’s all just a matter of time.

I argued this tactic out with my brother as a condition since he refused to let me eliminate Roman outright. My reasoning? The least we could do is fuck with him psychologically while ensuring we’re the ones who make him pay. Though Tobias resisted the idea at first, his vindictive streak won out.

Jeremy’s Fleet Heating and Air van comes into view as he flies down the gravel parking lot and lines up next to where Tyler is parked. Hopping out, he searches for and spots the camera. Clicking on his earpiece, he flips me the company mascot between each word. “Testing. Testing.”

“You’re an idiot,” I utter, unable to help my grin.

“Afternoon, Princess,” he coos, chin lifted to the camera. “How’s that cushy chair treating your ass?”

“Keeping my balls nice and cool, bro,” I quip as Russell jumps out of the passenger side, opening the van doors behind him. “Maybe if you had done your math homework just once in your lifetime, you wouldn’t be the man with calloused hands for more reasons than one.”

“Don’t flirt with me right now, Dom. This is serious business we’re conducting. But tell me something, and be honest.” He turns and thrusts his ass out toward the camera. “Do these uniform khakis make my ass look fat?”

Russell shakes his head with a chuckle as he studies the warehouse and speaks up. “So, who found this one?”

Jeremy supplies the answer. “Tyler. It wasn’t listed in the douchebag’s company assets, but he found the address hidden in some of Spencer’s ancient paperwork.”

Tyler speaks up, already inside the warehouse. “Safe to say we can hear you, dipshit. Clear the line of bullshit. We’re on the clock.”

“What’s your status?” I ask Tyler, eyeing said clock on my monitor.

“Already at the door,” Tyler grunts. “Like I suspected, this is a pull-up ground lock, not padded, so if we don’t take anything, he’ll never know we were here. The lock is giving me hell to dislodge. Give me a minute.”

“You don’t have much more than that,” I warn.

Russell pulls on his gloves before retrieving two crowbars and handing one to Jeremy as Jeremy scopes the isolated building in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, which sits just inside our county line. It’s the warehouse’s location that lured us in. That, and the fact that after more digging, we found out that Roman sold the land and warehouse to Spencer when he was offloading worthless property years ago, back when they were still doing business together. The question is why Spencer kept it and why it’s titled as a personal asset. Jeremy speaks up, echoing my thoughts. “So, what’s in this one?”

“That’s what you’re there to find out, imbecile,” I grit out.

Jeremy turns to Russell. “He’s so bitchy lately.”

Russell stares at Jeremy as he always does, like he’s a lab experiment that went awry, as Jeremy continues his rant. “I get it, Dom. We all could use a day off. In fact,” he glances around, “we’re missing a bird today. Bet Sean’s tied up at the moment...ooh, maybe Cecelia gets down like that...it’s always the quiet ones.”

Just as Jeremy says it, my burner rattles with an incoming text from Sean.

S: Five minutes out. Got the gate code.

I don’t need a play-by-play, and we have that already. Get me something useful and look for my signal.

“Gotta agree, she is hot as fuck,” Russell adds as Cecelia appears on the poolside camera in a bikini, looking utterly fucking perfect in the sun, long chestnut hair blowing around her flawless face, her build that of a wet dream. The mere sight of her gnaws at me as she studies the surface of the pool, seemingly lost in thought. Jeremy latches on to Russell’s assessment, breaking up my own. “As off limits as she may be, if I were the one tied up, I would probably let her do some really drastic shit to me...feathers, oil...maybe even leather .”

Jeremy slowly gyrates on Russell to emphasize his point, and Russell shoves him away. “Get the fuck off me, freak.”

“Playtime is over,” I bark, pulling my eyes away from Cecelia, knowing the second Sean sees her, he’s going to fail to give us anything useful—despite the assurances he gave Tyler last night. The second Sean hit the top of the stairs after driving Cecelia home, Tyler ambushed him, catching him and reaming him out in the hall just outside my bedroom door. I didn’t bother weighing in or taking part in the argument. After relaying things would be ‘business as usual’ at the garage to those in on our secret, I made peace with the fact that Cecelia’s nothing but an obstruction we have to work around. Sean eyed me apprehensively just before I kicked my door closed on their argument and went back to work.

When Sean tested the water at the coffee pot this morning, I made it clear I wasn’t interested as he tried in vain to give me some of the ‘advantage’ spiel he did Tyler last night before I tuned them out.

Ignoring the gradually brewing resentment for Sean, and dragging my eyes away from Cecelia for a second time, I clear my head for the bird’s fate currently resting in my hands.

“Thirteen minutes until deputy dipshit comes through,” I remind everyone on the line as I scan the warehouse entrance. “Van three, where the fuck are you?”

Peter speaks up. “About to pull up now, man. Denny and I got stuck behind a fucking tractor.”

Checking the camera attached to Layla’s F150, I spot her leaning against her open tailgate—dressed provocatively as requested—in case we need her as a last-minute distraction for the security guard who checks the warehouse like clockwork.

“How’s it going, lady bird?” I ask Layla, whose focus is on the direction of security’s routine approach.

“All clear,” she says, wasting no time in an effort to keep the line open, especially with her fiancé in on this secret.

Just after, I catch sight of the third van as they pull into the driveway, flying in from the opposite direction of where Layla waits. Skidding to a stop next to the first two vans, Denny and Peter jump out and burst into motion, opening the back doors before pulling gloves on.

“Got it,” Tyler says, opening the bay door. Within seconds, they collectively disappear inside.

For a solid minute, I hear nothing but bickering and grumbling. “It’s dark as fuck in here,” Jeremy gripes as a small crash sounds. “We should have brought flashlights.”

“In case you idiots forgot,” I snap, “there are no interior cameras. I’m flying blind.”

Denny speaks up first. “We’ve got a dozen stacked crates and a few boxes. We’ll need to grab the dollies if we want to clear it.”

Jeremy chimes in. “Pry one open, man, and see what’s up. We don’t want Spencer’s ancient comic book collection.”

“He’s not going to have security checking the building every forty or so minutes for a comic collection, jackass ,” Tyler snaps. “Pry the top crates open...gently.”

“Twelve minutes,” I warn.

“We need more crowbars,” Tyler barks, “Russell, back of my van.”

“On it.” Russell flies into my line of sight, grabs a black duffle, and disappears back into the warehouse as Jeremy speaks up.

“I got the first crate open...What the fuck? Tyler, over here.”

“Eleven minutes. Tyler, talk to me.”

More shuffling ensues, the sounds of the crates being pried open coming through my speakers as Sean appears poolside on Roman’s camera as Cecelia emerges from doing laps. Denny speaks up, stealing my focus. “Got another one...fuck, these can’t be real.”

It’s Tyler’s reaction that has me tensing. “Jesus Christ. These are military-grade, and they sure as fuck aren’t toys.”

Russell sounds just as shaken when he tosses in, “You sure this is Spencer’s warehouse?”

My patience thins out. “Eight minutes,” I snap. “Talk to me.”

Tyler speaks up. His voice strained with barely concealed fury. “We’ve got six crates of M9s and M fucking 16s, man. Along with bulletproof vests and enough ammunition to take out ten goddamn city blocks. Guns no fucking CEO of any freight company should ever be able to get his hands on without the right connections.”

Tyler makes it a point to walk just outside the bay door and looks up at the camera, at me, his warning clear. “By connections, I mean my fucking type . This is above our paygrade for the moment, and if these do belong to Spencer, he fucked up using a flashlight cop to guard this place because whoever these do belong to isn’t going to let it go when they find out they’re missing. What’s your call?”

Mind racing, I ready myself for a deep dive as I open my second screen and begin typing. “Take the bulk of the guns and send me everything on them. I’m going to see if I can get a line on who’s in the market to buy and which piggy has them for sale.”

Tyler jumps into the back of his van and begins to dump the contents of six large black duffle bags before he turns and barks orders into the warehouse. “Get the fuck over here!”

“Five minutes,” I bark, logging in on my second screen. Jeremy, Russell, Peter, and Denny leap into my visual, joining Tyler as he passes out the empty duffels while doling out frantic orders. “Guns only. Leave the crates we haven’t opened and switch the bottoms with the tops so they look untouched. Not a single fucking box looks out of place. I’ll sweep up, GO!”

Jeremy and Denny appear first with bulked-out duffle bags and load them into their vans as Tyler, Russell, and Peter load the remaining vans.

Clicking on the street view of the main road, I spot the security car half a mile away and give Layla the heads up. “Incoming, lady bird, stand by.”

Layla gives me a fast reply, pulling up her tailgate to take her wheel. “Ready.”

“Out of time,” I clip as Tyler shuts the bay door, locking it from inside the way he found it. In seconds he reappears from behind the camera, leaping into his van. All three vans fire up and line up, flying toward the gate—a gate that takes fifteen seconds to open and close. Seconds we might not have.

“Lady bird,” I say as the car draws a quarter mile away, “if you could pull out slowly in front of him to buy us a few more seconds, we’d appreciate it.”

“On it,” she says as I clip out my order to the rest of them. “As soon as you can clear that gate, floor it. I want you half a fucking mile in front of the mall cop...Layla, now .”

The blare of a horn sounds as the mall cop lays on it while Layla cuts him off and plays her part, laying on her southern accent. “I’m so sorry. It’s my first time driving this big truck!”

“Get the hell out of the way, lady!”

When the gate opens just enough, all three vans gun out of the parking lot, speeding in the opposite direction.

“Good job, lady bird,” I say, watching the gate creep toward closed, heart thundering in my chest from the adrenaline rush.

“Anything for my boys,” Layla replies fondly.

“If you truly mean that,” Jeremy speaks up as if it’s an offer. A second later, we’re all privy to a pained grunt. “...ouch, Jesus Christ, Denny, I’m driving! Such a jealous man.”

Jeremy continues to torture Denny as I tighten my fists, breath bated. “I was simply going to ask for a little trim...a haircut! Fuck! Layla, you do know you’re marrying a Neanderthal, right?”

Layla laughs. “Counting down the days. See you at home, baby,” she says to Denny before she signs off.

The security car appears seconds later and painstakingly waits for the archaic gate to open before leisurely turning into the warehouse parking lot.

“All clear,” I report through all lines.

“Fucking hell. That was too close,” Tyler rasps out.

Jeremy pipes up, spluttering more bullshit. “I swear to God, it feels like my balls just shrank a little...or maybe they grew. Denny, take a look.”

“Jeremy,” Denny grunts in his zero-bullshit tone, “you whip anything out , we both die today.”

Shaking my head with a grin, I keep the amusement out of my order. “Get to the compound. Denny, put these deep underground.”

“Will do.”

Shoulders sagging with relief, I toss my earpiece as the news pops up as programmed on one of my screens. Killing it, I check the message Tyler texted about the guns we just lifted, hoping I made the right call as I prepare to descend into another rabbit hole to find out what the fuck Spencer is into—happy I’m nowhere in Tyler’s current vicinity. Right about now, the magnitude of what we just discovered is hitting him, and the fact that dirty military—his Achilles heel—may be involved, has me shooting up a silent prayer for those around him.

Glancing back at Roman’s pool camera—which gives an ample view of the pool and a large amount of side yard—I catch Sean standing in the shallow end with a lit cigarette in hand. Cecelia treads water at a safe distance, her posture suggesting mistrust as she weighs him up while they converse. A conversation I can’t hear because Roman hasn’t updated his security cameras since he built the house.

As Sean lures her closer with his pretty boy charm, he makes it a point to lift his chin in acknowledgment to me. Just after, I command the camera’s red light to blink twice, unsure if he’ll see it. Lifting my burner, I shoot off a text to the bird waiting nearby to scoop him up. Knowing I need to switch my focus, I observe their posture for another few seconds and get confirmation of my earlier assumption. Sean’s doing anything but fucking taking notes for the club’s benefit, far more focused on details for his own.

Even so, facts are facts. For now, and because of Sean, we’re one step closer to accessing that house.

I’ve often had an inkling that Roman built that mansion to use as an overpriced safe. His secrets hidden somewhere between the walls, which is most likely why he keeps his distance from it.

Time will tell.

When Sean lifts from the pool after our bird pulls up, Cecelia watches him saunter off, staring after him long after he’s out of her line of sight. It’s then that I get my first inkling.

This could work.