Page 3 of Hawk

It was the direct line to his office.

The man didn’t waste time or words, and he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. If he was calling me mid-interrogation, it wasn’t to shoot the breeze.

And answering wasn’t a suggestion.

“Reaper,” I muttered, stepping back and tilting my head toward the bastard we were threatening. “It’s Midnight. If heeven breathes wrong, shoot him somewhere painful. But don’t kill him. Yet.”

We’d caught the asshole trying to push product through the club’s bar, The Midnight Rebel, where I often helped out with security when not on assignment for Iron Shield.

When it came to Iron Rogues territory, we didn’t fuck around. We practically owned the entire town of Old Bridge, Tennessee, along with most of the surrounding area. What wasn’t technically ours still fell under our protection. Nobody took a breath without us knowing about it. That included law enforcement and local politicians.

The Iron Rogues weren’t some fictional MC ripped from a movie script. We operated outside the law, but we lived by a strict code. Honor. Loyalty. Brotherhood. And our own brand of justice. When it came to people who fucked with the club, we were the judge, jury, and when the situation warranted it, the executioner.

We had zero tolerance for drugs in or anywhere around the club.

That alone was reason enough to have a conversation with the bastard currently about to piss himself in front of us. But it wasn’t just that. We’d uncovered a plan to boost a shipment of priceless cargo acquired through questionable means. We were escorting the delivery for our best client. Nic wasn’t just our prez’s best friend—he also happened to be the head of the DeLuca Crime Family.

This idiot clearly had no idea who he was mixed up with. No sane person would ever rip off one of our organizations, much less two.

Now we expected the sniveling prick to cough up the details. He hadn’t been all that cooperative so far, but judging by the whimpering, it wouldn’t be long before he cracked.

With one last dark look, I stalked over to the corner of the room and pressed the phone to my ear. “Yeah?”

“Back to the office,” Midnight said, voice gravel-thick and unbothered. “Now.”

“You’re pulling me off this?” I started this job and intended to finish it. “He’s almost cracked?—”

“Reaper will handle that shit. Get your ass back here now.”

My spine stiffened, and I wanted to argue, but then he added, “You’ve got a new assignment. Priority.”

Priority.I could practically hear the air quotes.

Shit.

I should have known. Midnight never redirected my work unless it was serious.

“Be there in twenty,” I ground out before hanging up.

I stalked out of the small concrete building we called The Room, hidden deep in the woods behind the compound. The place existed for exactly this purpose—secluded, silent, and soundproof.

I stopped by the clubhouse and took the time to scrub off the flecks of blood and change into clean clothes before I hopped on my bike and headed to Iron Shield HQ.

When I arrived, our receptionist was typing away at her desk.

“Midnight’s waiting,” Sheridan muttered, not bothering to look up when I passed.

“Nice to see you, too, baby sister,” I grumbled, mouth quirking up.

She finally glanced at me, pushing her red glasses up her nose before glaring daggers at me.

I paused long enough to flash her a lopsided grin. “Still pissed?”

“You lied to my date and told him I was underage,” Sheridan spat.

“You’re not old enough to drink.” I pointed out with a frown.

“That’s not what he thought you meant, and you know it!”

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