Page 29 of Ruthless Keeper
Order is everywhere, but the room isn’t completely bare. A brass lamp casts a warm glow at one corner of the desk, softening the severity. To the side, a low leather couch sits against the wall, angular and precise, the kind you sit on only when invited. A glass-topped sidetable holds a decanter and two crystal glasses, the only concessions to comfort.
The whole space feels like a command post dressed in refinement—every item serving a purpose, every detail measured, nothing wasted.
Cain greets us from behind his desk, nursing a tumbler of liquor. He flicks a blank gaze over me and Max, gestures for us to sit in the armchairs across the desk, then returns his gaze to one of the many computer monitors.
“The Widowers are moving,” he says, not bothering with small talk. “Their headquarters are moving to a different state. The good news is, Eric managed to dig up their new location and shared that info with me—the new spot doesn’t have the same security measures as the original headquarters, so it’ll be easier to hit. The bad news—”
“They’d only move operational base if they knew we were coming for them,” I finish for him. “Where was the leak?”
“We’re about to find out from Eric. Be forewarned that he’s in a foul fucking mood, so it’s probably best if the two of you keep quiet—but I want you in on the call. We need to remake plans.”
I share a glance with Max, then nod at Cain. “Ready whenever you are.”
Cain picks up his phone from his desk, taps around on it, and a moment later, ringing fills the otherwise silent office. The line only rings three or four times before Eric picks up.
“Cain.”
“Eric. I appreciate you taking the time to speak. I’m here with my two generals.”
Eric pauses. “Fine. Let’s get to it. The new Widowers HQ will be set up in rural Montana, in the depths of the mountains. There’s only one road to and from the headquarters, and no space for a helicopteror plane to land. Luther found and killed one of my sources, which is why they’re making the move… but I have more sources to squeeze. It looks like Luther’s going to try to disguise the move as best as possible, because he suspects I’ve got eyes on his current HQ. He'll leave the majority of his force there, take a select few to the new location, and start setting up security measures with them. Our operation will now have to be split between two places at once.” He clears his throat. “Which means we require more manpower.”
“When will the move take place?”
“Not sure yet. Estimations are in the next two or three months.”
“Why can’t we hit the current HQ in that time?” I ask.
Eric grunts. “Personnel will probably be scattered—Luther’s sending more groups of men out on missions. We won’t be able to get even half of the force at once, which means it’s not worth it to strike and waste resources. We’re back to thisfuckingwaiting game.”
Cain glances at me briefly. “Is everything alright with your own business?” he asks Eric. “You sound… out-of-sorts.”
A pause ensues. “Family issues,” Eric grunts. “None of your concern.”
“I see,” Cain responds affably. “Well, if you require any assistance resolving those issues, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
Eric doesn’t respond to that, which tells me where we stand. He might trust us enough to run an operation with us, but I don’t know if he trustsanyoneenough to tell them about his personal business. The guy is guarding alotof secrets. But then again, we all are.
“Let’s meet next week, once I have more information,” Eric says.
“You got it,” Cain replies, and hangs up the phone. He looks between me and Max with a contemplative expression. “Luther’s scared. That’s a good thing.” He clears his throat. “We’ll keep all operationsrunning as usual, but I want every Nighthawk on hair-trigger alert. Everyone needs to be ready to go on this op at a moment’s notice.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Max says with a nod.
“See that you do,” Cain replies, then turns to look at me. “How are things with your chosen?”
“Progress is steady.”
“But slow,” Cain assumes. “You’ve got three months, Grey. I’ve made no secret that I’d prefer it if the girl were dead—”
“That’d set a bad example,” Max interjects on my behalf. “The guys are starting to get accustomed to the idea of having Chosen ones, but they need something to look up to, lookforwardto. Greyson and Scarlett overcoming their bad history would set a standard. If they can do it, everyone else can do it. Despite your insistent fervor that Chosen ones are the right move for the Nighthawks, there are mixed opinions. The guys here fight sex slavery; they don’t want to become part of it.”
“It’s not slavery,” Cain says with an eye roll. “The chosen will be honored members of our ranks.”
“How can anyone believe you when they haven’t seen proof?” Max questions.
Cain’s gaze turns deadly as he senses a hint of challenge in the air. “I don’t give a fuck if they believe me. I care that theyobey. Anyone who doesn’t is worthless to me.”
“Obedience is earned,” I pipe up. “Don’t become Boyce.”
