Page 33 of Scorpion

Goldchild has been getting bolder by the day, and the Exodus has been giving me hell for losing control over the situation. All they care about is that we’re bleeding money. They don’t give two shits about the fact that my men are getting slaughtered like fucking animals.

I curse, swiping a hand over my face.

How many more innocent people need to die for this ridiculous feud? I don’t even know why my father killed Goldchild’s son, or when. Sergei hasn’t been able to color in the blanks either.

“Have you told his sister?” I ask.

He shakes his head.

I exhale slowly, trying to come up with a plan. “We’re going to continue to cover her treatment, and send her whatever amount Tommy was receiving, plus twenty percent. I want eyes on her at all times for the next two months in case that fucker tries anything.”

“And the warehouse?”

“Comb it. I want forensics in, and for you to personally question each and every man and woman who’s been through there in the past twenty-four hours. Reach out to all our informants to see if anyone has any information on who carried out the kill and where the rest of his fucking body is.”

A good person died for green and vengeance. Tommy’s never even picked up a gun, or done anything worse than committing traffic offenses. Goldchild’s gone too far this time.

“Tell everyone that Tommy is going to be buried at the end of this week, so his entire fucking body better be in that coffin.”

“Yes, sir.”

This is all a fucking mess.

I’ve put in a request to the Exodus to spare more men and resources so I can end this nightmare, but all they’ve done is sit on their hands. We’re meant to be above the government and everything else the sun touches, and yet they’re leaving me to clean up the mess I have no doubt they all had a hand in.

My father died long before he could prepare me to deal with more than just psychological warfare. I feel out of my depth with all of this.

“Is there anything else you suggest?” I ask. Sergei was my father’s right-hand man. There’s no way I would have survived this long without his help. The men respect him, and he knows how to survive this world. It’s more than I can confidently say about myself.

“Send a message.”

My eyes snap up to his. “Spilling more blood will only make it worse. Their retaliation will hit harder.”

“They killed one of your men,” he says solemnly. “Goldchild needs to know what happens when they act in cold blood.”

I frown, thinking about it for a moment. We’ve been on the defensive for too long. We’ve always acted out of necessity and in proportion to Goldchild’s crimes, staying above the dirt he’s been throwing our way.

“You’re right. Get it done.”

I massage my temples and stare at the mountain of paperwork on my desk. Some days, I’m not sure whether I prefer the legal or the illegal side of my family’s business. No one is dying in the hedge fund world, but I might drown beneath all the paper.

Tommy’s severed head flashes through my mind. I’ve been working for over fourteen hours. I need a break. Luckily, I have the perfect cure to a bad day.

Pushing out of my chair, I jog out of my office and into my backyard, following the winding path toward the pool house.

Perhaps I have become a psychic of sorts. Or perhaps I am wise beyond my years. Because there she is, sitting on the little porch, staring at the night sky.

Call it intuition that she’d be out here. A gut feeling. One that comes from watching hours upon hours of footage just to sate my curiosity. Or perhaps it’s hunger.

Either way, I’m here now. My methods for correctly assuming Zal would be outside will be my little secret.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. I know she can’t. Her file might say as much, but the bags under her eyes are a dead giveaway.

Her eyes snap up to mine and her blanket falls as she jumps to her feet, arms raised like she’s about to fight me.

PTSD is a real bitch.

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