Page 68 of Fractured Future
“Morello. He’s high-ranking in the cartel.”
Nodding, I watch Warner write his name down then circle it several times. He’s been scribbling thoughts at random on top of recording the interviews as he pieces my tale together.
Axel squeezes a bright-yellow stress ball between his hands. “How many in Madden’s team?”
“Um… Three. Two male, one female. She was called Raye. Short blue hair, lots of piercings, real shitty attitude. I can’t really remember what the men looked like.”
“Tom?” Warner looks up at my brother.
“Yeah, got it,” he replies while writing fast. “I’ll check it out, but from memory, I don’t recall a Raye from our criminal case.”
“Check anyway. He found allies from somewhere, and the Madden empire was reduced to rubble. I want to know how he’s paying for their loyalty.”
“Who is this guy?” I look between them.
Pinching the bridge of his strong nose, Warner sighs. “Someone with a grudge against Sabre and our team. We put him away for his family’s crimes. I don’t know what his angle is now.”
“I helped build an airtight legal case against his family before Madden was arrested.” Tom places his fountain pen down. “He was convicted and serving a hefty sentence when he escaped custody.”
“Who escapes prison that easily? And isn’t found?”
“Someone with inside help,” he answers.
“You think he’s that well connected?”
Tom nods solemnly. “I know he is.”
“How?”
“The Madden family has ties to London’s criminal underworld dating back a whole century. In their heyday, they ran this city and every illegal import inside it. They’re bad news.”
“The point is…” Warner easily controls the conversation. “Madden helped you to ingratiate himself to us despite hating our guts. We need to know why.”
“I already told you everything I know. He didn’t hurt me. Hell, he even cut the tracker out of my arm before he gave me the phone then chucked me out.”
A short, surprised silence follows until it’s broken.
“A tracker?” Axel strangles his stress ball.
Warner has stilled, his attention fixed on me. “You didn’t mention that before.”
“You saw my bandage.”
“They put a tracker in you?” Tom demands.
Wincing, I look down at the table. “It was surgically implanted by Gael’s physician.”
“Fuck!” Axel spits a curse.
“Raye sliced it out of my arm. They took it with them to throw Gael’s men off the scent.”
“What the hell?” Warner rakes a hand through his hair. “That is just so screwed up.”
Rolling up the sleeve of my loose, blue dress shirt, I try not to focus on the thin scars that encircle my wrist. The adhesive bandage I stole from Tom’s medicine cabinet is stark against my forearm.
Peeling back the edges, I tilt my arm to show them the raised, stitched wound. It’s healing well. Madden’s stitches are neat and regimented in perfect, symmetrical lines.
“Gael couldn’t have his property wandering off, right?” I say bitterly. “Had to keep it chipped and tagged like a mutt.”
