Page 2 of Mated into the Mob

The computer would be password protected.

The device was off, and as it was so old, it’d take ages to boot up.

If I did gain access, there’d be nothing to see. The information I was looking for was over twenty years old. Clunky as Arnie’s computer was, it was doubtful it stored ancient employment records.

And most likely, the incident that changed my life wouldn’t have been recorded, assuming my theory was correct.

It’s now or never.

After glancing around, I sidled into the office. My palms were sweating buckets, and fear prickled over my skin.

The old computer hummed, its blue screen flickering slightly. The screen was littered with files, the names mostly reams of numbers and letters. There was a tattered notebook beside the computer with the same numbers and corresponding scrawl in Arnie’s unintelligible handwriting, but I couldn’t decipher it.

Rubbing my sweaty palms together, I sat in Arnie’s chair, the only modern piece of equipment in the office. I clicked on a couple of files but they contained columns of figures.

During the long nights when I lay awake and puzzled over how to find what I was looking for, or alternatively, exact revenge, I wondered why Arnie used an outdated computer system, one that wasn’t connected to the internet. The obvious answer was that he didn’t want anyone hacking into the computer. The price of computer security and the ease of storage on the cloud versus what? An almost unhackable system.

Except when Arnie was distracted and an unscrupulous employee snuck in. Me!

My fingers danced over the keyboard, but I paused, because if I got caught, Arnie would also be punished. I cringed, thinking of the consequences. Arnie had been careless, but that didn’t necessitate someone breaking his knuckles.

There was my vivid imagination again. He’d get chewed out by the boss or more likely Emilio, nothing more. I convincedmyself that was the worst that could happen. Arnie was a sweet guy. No one would hurthim. Me, on the other hand…

Damn! I should have brought in an old memory stick currently buried in the bottom of my drawer and copied the data. Frustrated, I gave up on the computer and scanned the few paper files, some covered in layers of dust which spiraled into the air, and I plugged my nose, holding back a sneeze. I refused to allow my spying to be undone by damn dirt.

But it was the picture on the wall where my gaze rested. Peek behind it or ignore it? I was no safe cracker, but I had to know if my intuition was correct. And why would there be a safe in this office? Surely secrets would be in the boss’s domain, a storage facility or an office building the family owned.

I lifted one corner of the old frame, flakes of fake gold leaf speckling my hands. There was nothing there, just smudges of dust. My sinuses convulsed, and I let go of the frame and barely registered when it banged on the wall. I squatted, covering my nose, begging my body not to betray me with a sneeze.

When I was satisfied I’d stifled it, I stood and moved the chair to its original position. As I made sure the room was as Arnie had left it, an ominous click punctuated the silence. I clenched my teeth, adrenaline coursing through my veins while an excuse was on the tip of my tongue.

But something cold was shoved on the back of my neck, a metal something. I gulped, because while I’d never handled a gun, I was pretty sure that was what was pressed on my flesh.

“You’ve just made the worst mistake of your life, kid.”

2

FLINT

Most of my office was cloaked in darkness, just as I liked it, apart from two lamps behind me.

The grainy light filtered over my sanctuary while I leaned back in my chair, the squeak as I twisted left and right a reminder I needed a new one, while I stared, unseeing, at a column of figures on my laptop.

Damn, this was a good month at La Luna Noir, or so Emilio told me. I should have been celebrating, but there was an issue, one only I could deal with. More twisting and squeaking as I planted my perfectly shod feet on the soft carpet and slammed the laptop closed, not gaining any satisfaction from the monthly profits.

La Luna Noir. How many times had people said the name was grammatically incorrect? Too many to count. I’d shrug, not caring to offer an explanation.

My grandfather had named the club, because unlike most of the shifters in our pack, he had a fatheranda mother, instead of alpha and omega dads. They’d arrived in this country from different places. La luna was for her. The moon, bright,shimmering, and stalwart because her mate and son adored her. Noir was for his father, dark and threatening.

My office perched above the club, and the soundproofed walls blocked out the pulsing music from the floor below. Occasionally, I’d wander down via the discrete staircase located at the back of the club, greet the staff, and chat to patrons in the private areas, roped off from the rest of the clientele, or the VIP rooms. Deals were made and signed, not in blood, but verbally for sensitive matters, on paper for the more mundane such as a property sale.

I drummed my fingers on the gleaming desk. Emilio would be here in a minute with the guy. There’d be words, the man, whoever he was, would offer an explanation, beg, cry, and bargain, hoping to avoid his fate. I’d pretend to listen and deliver his punishment. The end.

Emilio was my right-hand man or Beta, though he was never referred to by that name. My people understood his role and the power he wielded, but he answered tome.

Tapping my fingers on the mahogany desk my grandfather bought forty years ago, I wondered why Emilio wasn’t here. I checked my phone, the coded seven-word message ofI’ve got a kid to show youon the screen, telling me whoever it was had made a mistake. An employee? Or a patron? I’d heard someone got outta control, but that had been dealt with.

Had this kid been planted by a rival? Was he an undercover cop? Whatever, I’d discover his real identity. Emilio called everyone under forty a kid, so him using the expression gave me no indication of how old he was. Not that his age mattered. He was old enough to know better.

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