Page 33 of Shadow's Edge

I jumped up, barely dodging the wreckage as he stalked across the room, his body vibrating with rage. Then, without hesitation, he startedpunching the wall, over and over. Fist to drywall. Fist to brick. Blood smeared across the surface, but he didn’t stop.

“Preach,” I barked, keeping my tone sharp but controlled. “Stop.” He didn’t. I stepped forward. “Preacher, stop.”

His shoulders rose and fell in ragged breaths. His forehead pressed against the cracked wall, his bloody knuckles flexing at his sides.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Ifailedher, Jagger.”

His voice was so broken, sotormented, that it hit me right in the fucking chest.

“No, you didn’t.”

His laugh was bitter, sharp. “How could Inotknow what was happening to her?”

Kyle’s mom had been amanipulativebitch, we all knew that. She’d damn near started a war between us and another MC. Preacher had stopped that, laid itallout in front of her, and given her an ultimatum. That day, he had told her to pack her shit andleave, or he’dmakeher disappear.

She had madea lotof enemies. He had known she was aliability. Aproblem. A psychotic mess that he needed to cut out of his life. But what hehadn’tknown was that she had been beating hisdaughter bloody. That she had made Kyle’s lifehellevery single day. That she hadbrokenher in ways no one had seen.

His grip on the table of liquor was so tight his fingers turned white. He picked up a bottle of whiskey, pulled the top off, and took a deep pull before setting it down with a thud.

“What do I do?” he rasped.

“Tell her the truth, Preacher.” I let the words sink in before adding, “Sheneedsto know.”

His throat bobbed as he nodded slowly, his gaze locked on the floor. “I’m going toloseher,” he whispered.

I had the same fear, but I was going tofightfor her, and he needed to, too.

Before I could say anything else, Duke burst through the door, his expression hard.

One word left his mouth, letting us know the shit had officially hit the fan.

“Church.”

KYLE

We were gathered in Church, and the air thick with tension. The nameDemingohad been brought up again, and it sent a wave of unease through the room.

Then Duke strode in, his expression grim, and threw a stack of papers onto the table. “We found some shit.”

The room went silent as we passed out the papers he’d thrown around. One by one, we read through the documents. It was bad,reallyfucking bad. I felt myselfstiffenas I processed what I was seeing. More papers hit the table, Data was still finding more.

My fingers clenched around the pages as my stomach twisted. Then I saw it. The piece that lockedeverythinginto place.

“Son of afucking bitch,” I gasped. My pulseroaredin my ears. “He did it.”

Duke’s jaw tightened. “It appears,” he ground out, “that old Demingo was the head of theDiavoli cartel.”

A sick feeling settled deep in my gut.

“He worked his way to the topbeforejoining the FBI,” Duke continued. “Once he got his badge, he used it to becomeEl Jefe. With the combined power of the cartel and his federal authority, he had near total control over one of the major routes from Argentina to the U.S.”

JesusChrist, that kind of power? It wasunprecedented. Normally, traffickers and cartels operatedseparately, carefully avoiding each other unless necessary, but this was somethingelse.

Most powerful cartelsran their own show. They had control, sure, but they still had to navigate the politics of other crime syndicates, and Demingo had bypassed all of that. With afederal badgein his pocket and cartel muscle at his back, he had built something no one had everfucking seen before.

And the most terrifying part? No one had noticed. No one hadstoppedit.

“How thefuckdid he pull this off?” Jagger muttered.

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