Page 35 of Wild Reckoning

Hyett gazed at Ryker, his mouth dropped open slightly. “Go downstairs before I have to dig a grave in the backyard, moron.”

With a roll of his eyes, Ryker joined his dad, and of course, he found Quinton and Ethan sprawled out on the living room rug playing with the cub’s toys. The tension from earlier seemed to evaporate, replaced by the innocent laughter of a child.

“Uncuh Dyke! Pay!” Ethan said when he looked up to see Ryker standing there. The kid had an excited gleam in his eyes.

Now who could pass up that invitation? With a sigh that was more for show than anything else, Ryker dropped to the floor, earning a delighted squeal from Ethan. An hour later, he went upstairs to check on Stewart, only to find the man nearly burrowed under the bear, fast asleep.

* * * *

Tetlow’s hands gripped the steering wheel tighter as he navigated his way to his boss’s place. There was never a good reason to show up at Nico’s without a clean, resolved outcome. Favorable news was a rarity in their line of work, but problems that couldn’t be swept under the rug were unacceptable.

His palms were starting to sweat despite the cold outside, causing him to turn down the heat a notch. The last thing he needed was to arrive looking like he had just finished running a marathon. Tetlow needed to appear in control, like he had everything in hand.

The more he thought about it, the more Alonso’s incompetence burned like acid in his gut. It wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was an active liability. The idea that Alonso thought he could dump his mess on Tetlow was infuriating.

Taking a moment to roll his shoulders, he drew in a steady breath. If Nico even caught a whiff of fear—real or imagined—he’d latch onto it. Not literally, though that was a possibility considering Nico was a demon. The less Tetlow had to think about that, the better.

He pulled into the driveway of the nondescript house. It looked harmless from the outside, just an average suburban home. That had made it the perfect place for their operations. Nobody expected anything sinister from a place with a white picket fence and a wreath on the door. Hell, there were even garden gnomes in the front yard. Tetlow shook his head, suppressing a smirk. The place was an absolute joke, on the outside—and a damn effective one.

After exiting the car, Tetlow checked his appearance quickly in the driver-side mirror. He adjusted his jacket, making sure it hung just right, his collar flat, his expression calm. No point in letting anyone inside think he wasn’t in complete control.

Knocking twice on the door, he pushed it open and let himself in. The inside was a stark contrast to the postcard-perfect exterior. Smoke hung in the air, lingering like regret, while a few men lounged on the worn leather sofas, their eyes turning toward him as he entered. The tension was thick, an unspoken understanding that anyone who entered this house came in with stakes—either power or a death wish.

“Where’s Nico?” Tetlow kept his voice steady, with just enough authority to ensure the men knew not to keep him waiting.

One of the men jerked his head toward the back of the house. Tetlow nodded in acknowledgment before making his way to the door at the far end of the hallway. He paused and took a deep breath before turning the handle and stepping inside.

The room was dimly lit, the heavy curtains drawn. Nico was behind his desk, cigar perched between his fingers as he flipped through a stack of papers, his crimson eyes barely flicking up as Tetlow entered. For a moment, the silence in the room seemed to stretch, the tension almost palpable. The kind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“Tetlow,” Nico drawled, his voice like silk over shattered glass, a dangerous edge beneath the smoothness. “This better be good. You know I don’t like my evenings interrupted.”

With a forced smile, Tetlow stepped forward. “Nico, always a pleasure. Got a bit of an issue with the stash house.” He kept his tone light, like he was announcing a trivial problem, not a near catastrophe. “Alonso, well, the idiot ran into some...complications. Apparently, Frank's rented the place out. Two men and a toddler are there now.” He shrugged, the motion almost casual. “And Alonso, as you’d expect, panicked.”

Nico stared at him, the tip of his cigar glowing as he took a slow drag. The smoke curled from his mouth like a serpent, his crimson gaze never leaving Tetlow’s face. The silence grew heavier, pressing down, like the weight of a thousand unspoken threats.

“You’re telling me,” Nico said slowly, “that our product is sitting in a house with civilians?” He paused, the corners of his lips curling slightly, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. And Alonso just... panicked?”

Tetlow could feel the weight of Nico’s stare, like a blade pressed to his neck. But he simply nodded, his own expression unreadable. “I’ve got it under control. No one knows anything, and we want to keep it that way. The merchandise will be moved. Frank’s tenants won't be any the wiser.” He offered a confident smile. “With finesse, of course.”

Nico raised an eyebrow, leaning back. The chair creaked under his weight, and he took another puff of his cigar. “Finesse?” he echoed, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “You think Alonso is capable of finesse?”

Tetlow allowed himself a small, controlled exhale then shook his head. “No. Which is why I’m taking care of it personally. Alonso’s out. He’s proven he’s not cut out for this work.”

Nico’s eyes narrowed, the amusement fading. He leaned forward, the desk creaking under his weight, as if it shared his anger. “You’re damn right he’s out. And if you don’t get that product moved by tomorrow, you’ll be out too, Tetlow. Permanently.”

The implied threat hung in the air, but Tetlow kept his posture relaxed, dipping his chin in acknowledgment. “Understood, Nico. I’ll take care of it.”

Nico watched him for a beat longer before finally waving his hand in dismissal. “Get out of my sight. And Tetlow?”

Pausing at the door, Tetlow glanced back. “Yes?”

Nico's eyes glinted, his voice almost a purr. “Don’t screw this up. You know what happens if you do.”

He nodded, his throat tight. “Of course, Nico.”

Stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him, Tetlow felt the weight of Nico’s words pressing down on him. He wasn’t frightened, but he wasn’t stupid either—he knew Nico could and would make good on his threats if it came to that—but fear wasn’t something Tetlow indulged. Not when he had a job to do. He walked back through the living room, ignoring the curious stares of the men lounging there.

Outside, the cold air bit at Tetlow’s face, and he relished it. Slipping back into his car, he turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the gnome-adorned house without looking back. He had less than twenty-four hours to fix this, but that was enough. It had to be.

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