Page 169 of Brutal Collateral

Griffin

Two hours later, Imove down the hall of Rand Miller’s hotel like a dark shadow, the tension in my gut coiled like a spring. Connor and my cousins are in sync with my silent steps. Shane stays in a car on the street to manage a drone flying outside Miller’s hotel window. He’s also keeping an eye out for any protection Miller might have lurking on the street.

Connor is at my back with Trace and Rhys flanking him. It’s nearly two a.m. The dingy hotel the great Captain Rand Miller has chosen is as dim as it is quiet. It’s a perfect setup to stage a crime-of-passion murder.

After tonight, he will no longer be a thorn in my side.

They’ll find his body dead from a drug overdose by a scorned victim. Shane has the social media posts ready to go from a fake account. I motion for Trace to halt when we reach Miller’s suite. I pull out a keycard that Shane had made up. He’s an expert in hotel technology from his days working at The Sterling with Sabine.

Yeah, the irony.

Rhys crouches in front of the door and slides under it a camera on the end of a wire to give us a lay of the room.

The video feed hits Connor’s tablet. “The woman is still in there,” he whispers.

“Fuck,” I hiss, really not wanting to kill an innocent prostitute.

A faint moan vibrates from behind the door. This might work in our favor if he’sdistracted.

Dressed in black, we quickly pull down our ski masks. I count on my fingers, one, two, three, and after a swipe of the keycard, Rhys rushes in with Trace on his six.

A few turns later, I find Trace, Rhys, and Connor with guns drawn, trained on Miller’s head. He’s sitting naked on the bed where a young brunette, his date for the night, is servicing him. Now she’s about two seconds away from being a wide-eyed complication who starts screaming.

Connor points his gun her way. “Get dressed, sweetheart. We’re not here for you.”

She bolts up, hands covering her tits, and looks at Miller for direction. But a glance at Connor’s menacing stance has her dressing without another word.

Seeing no weapon around, unless Miller’s got one hiding up his ass, I trust Connor to make sure the girl leaves. With clothes on. Paying her extra to forget what she saw.

Shane will further deal with her on the street if needed.

After a signal from me, we remove the ski masks and Rand Miller hardly looks surprised. His gaze darts between Trace and Rhys, finally sensing danger like an animal facing down a pack of wolves.

“It’s different, isn’t it,” I say, stepping in front of my enforcer team. “When youknowsomeone is mafia and dangerous, but then their army shows up and shoves guns in your face.”

Miller’s grin only widens. “I got an alert that you saw my Navy file. I’ve been waiting for you to come knocking, Quinlan. Thought maybe you lost your nerve, so I decided to get my dick sucked.”

“Do you even get hard?” Rhys asks, cringing. “Or are you scared shitless to see us?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Miller barks.

Connor comes back, and with him, our special guest.

“Someone order a Fentanyl overdose?” Dr. Cormac O’Rourke stands there holding a medical bag.

Jesus, he does one heck of a transformation from classy medical school professor in sharp suits and nice shoes, to combat boots and a long ominous dark trench coat covering his muscles and ink down both arms.

“How much pussy are you getting at that college where you teach now?” Trace asks his best friend.

Christ, it’s only been a couple of weeks, but Cormac blushes.

Before we start hearing about the co-eds he’s banging, I bark, “Brats, we’re on the clock. Chit-chat later.”

Neither Trace’s nor Rhys’ aim falters.

Miller looks up at me, eyes glinting with a strange sort of pride as if he lured us here and orchestrated this himself. “A drug overdose. That’s the best you can come up with?”

“With all the complaints against you about to go public from those records we hacked?” I smile because Miller’s grin is finally wiped from his ugly face. “Detectives and the Capitol Police will believe it’s a revenge hit.”

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