Page 33 of Bad Little Bride

Six men are inside, spine straight and attention focused on nothing as they face forward. “Protocol 4,” I order, and all at once, they pull their bandanas down, letting them rest loosely against their necks, their full faces now revealed—something they are only allowed to do when asked and we’re in closed quarters with zero outsiders.

I cross the threshold into the room, taking in each one from head to toe as I walk by. I make it to the second before pausing. “Out.”

The man says nothing, just refits his bandana over his nose, spins on his combat boots, and goes back to his regular duty.

I know all these men. They wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, but they’re not here to chat so using their names is unimportant right now.

Behind me, Mino tries to cover a laugh by clearing his throat and I whirl around, raising a brow at him, but the bastard only grins.

Mino has been with me since the beginning, when we were nothing but two punks stepping out of juvenile hall as penniless eighteen-year-olds. He’s the man who would take over both my surface persona and underground one if someone managed to take me out, and one of two people I trust in my life. I would sign everything I have over to the man, hand him a loaded gun and turn around without a single ounce of fear he’d pull the trigger. He’s family in every way but blood, and he’s laughing like he’s got a secret he can’t wait to share.

I turn back to my men, sending the fourth and fifth in line away, focusing on the sixth.

“You were just moved to warehouse watch,” I say to Garrett.

“Yes, boss.”

“You want this position?”

His eyes slide to mine, his mouth forming a tight line, and a low chuckle leaves me.

“I asked.” My grin is slow. “I won’t tear your tongue out for answering honestly.”

Garrett gives a curt nod, shaking his head a second later. “No, boss. I don’t. I like where I’m at.”

“Good.” I jerk my head toward the door, and he visibly exhales as he fixes his bandana, exiting a moment later.

I focus on the last two, considering them both.

Henderson is ex-military, turned private investigator, turned Fikile soldier. He’s got the nose of a dog and patience of a saint. He’s a weapon I like having in my arsenal. He’d be perfect for the job.

The other, Connelly, was a correctional officer at a maximum-security prison upstate. He was fired for fucking a lawyer in an interrogation room…while her abusive husband sathandcuffed to the chair across from them, forced to watch the show.

My brows snap together. “Out.”

Connelly bows his head, remasks himself, and leaves the room.

Mino steps up beside me, slapping his hand on my shoulder as he looks to the last man standing. “Go on, Henderson.”

Henderson holds still for three seconds, and when I don’t demand he stay, he too leaves the room.

Mino looks to me, trying and failing to fight a fucking smirk.

“Don’t,” I warn, but he ignores me.

“Knew you’d send option number two packing the minute you laid eyes on him.”

I glare, refusing to ask why, not that I need to. I know fucking why.

The guy looks like me.

Six-two with dark hair and dark hazel eyes. An easy hundred and ninety pounds of pure, hard-earned muscle. The kind you get from fighting by the canals and doing pull-ups on busted park hoops. There’s a reason I use the fucker as my decoy when a decoy is necessary.

“But I gotta say, though, my man,” Mino eggs on. “I didn’t expect you to be worried about the pretty boy.”

“I’mworriedabout no one.”

“Uh-huh. Then why have we spent the last six days sending away man after man?”

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