Page 92 of Mob Queen

“You killed him?”

“No, but he’s dead.”

“You had him killed?”

“I shot him, in the stomach, then I had him taken out to sea, and dumped.” My stomach churns with unease. “I wanted him to hurt for what he’s done.”

“How do you feel?”

“Killing him meant nothing, but he has a warehouse he uses for his brothel.”

“Where?” I ask.

“Industrial area.”

I push the covers off of me, and stand to my feet. “Give me the address, I’ll take care of it.”

“But, that’ll open you up to scrutiny,” she says.

“Give me the address, Frankie.” Scrutiny is the least of my problems.

“I’ll have my people fix it.”

I stop at the foot of the bed, and rake my hand through my hair. “Give me the fucking address.” Frankie stares at me for a hard moment before finally relinquishing and telling me where this brothel is. I search for my phone and notice the ungodly hour. But I dial the number.

It rings three times before he answers. “Must be important if you’re calling me at two in the morning,” Tyler says.

“I just received a tip and I think you might want to jump on it.”

“Who tipped you off?”

I look to Frankie and give her a wink. “That’s above your pay grade, Lewis.”

“I’m a FBI agent, not much is above my paygrade.”

“Do you want the tip, or do you want me to call it into the local PD?”

“You’re an asshole,” he says between yawns.

“I’m going to text you an address. You’ll find a warehouse filled with women who are forced into prostitution.”

“Whose are they?”

“No idea,” I lie. “But I received a tip that the warehouse has a lot of women.”

“How did they get there?”

“I have no idea. That’s all I have.”

“How did you get the tip?” he’s asking questions that he can cross reference. If I say email, he’ll subpoena my email. If I say phone, he’ll do the same for my phone records.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went out for a walk. Someone approached me.”

“Bullshit.” He’s figured out that I know what he’s doing.

“Do you want the tip or not?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

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