Page 27 of Rogue

I still don’t know how Devil’s Nightmare MC managed to track him down. Probably through their eyes and ears in the underbelly of the biker world—a place that we have not yet managed to penetrate. Not that I want us to. There are no rules in that world. It’s survival of the fittest. And while I’d sacrifice myself any day of the week, I don’t want to risk any of my men and women. But our alliance with the Devils will, I hope, make that unnecessary while still giving us all the intel from the dark place. Maybe even on these Hydra assholes.

“The only thing I can tell you for certain is that no company by that name is registered anywhere in the US,” she says.

I pop a couple of slices of bread into the toaster and look at her. She looks very worn down, with a sallow complexion and green tinged bags under her eyes. The star-shaped scar on her cheek—which she got curtesy of the yakuza drug lord she belonged to before we saved her—is edged with red the way it sometimes gets when it’s cold.

She looks away as soon as she sees me look at her scar, pain crossing her big black eyes. Not my intention at all.

“Why don’t you get some sleep too,” I tell her. “This Hydra bunch aren’t going anywhere. Unfortunately.”

I crack a grin but her face stays perfectly still and very serious as she looks at me.

“You’re right, they’re not going anywhere,” she says. “And they’re not gonna stop targeting us either. So, the sooner I find something, the sooner we can take them out.”

“Can’t argue with that,” I say, pop the toast out and start making my sandwich. Cream cheese, pepperoni, salami, honey ham, jalapeños and black olives. With a touch of sun-dried tomatoes.

“But we can’t do that if I can’t find them,” she says.

“Well, we have their calling card,” I say and bite into my sandwich. It’s not spicy enough, because Lotus insisted we pick up the mild stuff. I should visit my aunt soon, get some of the real, homegrown jalapeños.

I don’t even know why I’m being so glib about all this. But I have a strong suspicion Melody and the date she promised me tonight has a lot to do with it. Good thing I went after her. But then again, there was no other thing I could’ve done. That kiss just begged for more. And man, touching just that little bit of skin she let me touch was electrifying. My fingers are still tingling from it.

“Are you even listening to me?” Skye asks, raising her voice.

I wasn’t so I just give her a very apologetic look and continue chewing.

“I was saying that the card has no address and no phone number,” she says. “I was so desperate, I begged Diego to run it through the crime lab to see if there are any fingerprints on it. Or if anything about the paper or ink can at least tell us where it was made.”

Diego is a forensics specialist at the LAPD crime lab and I’m sure he was just thrilled at taking on this task. They’re months behind on the cases they work on as it is.

“We can run it through one of the private forensics companies if all else fails,” I say.

“He said he’d do it,” Skye says. “But you’re right, it’s a long shot.”

Another reason why I’m not feeding into her desperation is because, as efficient and talented as she is, she has a tendency to completely fall apart when things aren’t going her way.

“We still have the earpiece, right?” I ask as I stuff the last piece of the sandwich into my mouth.

Now I desperately need to crash for a couple of hours.

“Yeah,” she says. “But once I start tinkering with that, they’ll know right away that we’re trying to track them. And then what?”

I dump the sandwich making stuff back into the fridge, upsetting Lotus’ carefully arranged order in there. But I’m sure she’ll put everything right as soon as she wakes up.

“I have every confidence that you can get it done without them knowing,” I say and grin at her. “But get some rest before you try.”

“But if they come at us… they already shot you…” She’s grown very pale, the circles under her eyes now dark green. “They could kill us all.”

“Don’t worry, that’s my job,” I say. “You just do what you’re best at and find out who they are so we can put them away.”

I squeeze her shoulder on my way out of the kitchen.

“Just do what you do best,” I tell her, because I’m sensing she needs this extra bit of reassurance. “The rest will work itself out.”

She finally smiles. Very weakly, but it’s something.

“It’ll take a lot for them to come after us again,” I add. “With all our connections, they’ll have to be real sure before they start messing with us for real.”

Between my huge family—about half of whom are cops—and the rest of the members’ connections—which span from the judicial system all the way to the mafia—we’re considered untouchable around these parts.

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