Page 564 of Hell Hath No Fury
“Remember that phone we obtained from the Wingmen dealer?”
I nod. We lucked out cornering that street-dealing motherfucker and obtaining the numbers of key figures in the rival organization. “What about it?”
“Fuckhead over there was supposed to strip the info from it. You know what he did instead?”
“Destroyed it?” I frown.
Hooch huffs a laugh. “Lost it.”
“Like fuck,” I exclaim, loud enough to turn a few heads.
“Legit.” Hooch leans an elbow on the bar and turns to scowl at Digits. “Since when has that anal motherfucker lost track of anything?”
I glare at the restrained cunt, angered he has the gall to fucking stare back, and connect the dots. “You think he’s your mole.”
“Fuckin’ hope not,” Hooch grumbles. “But it looks that way.”
“What does that mean for us now, then?”
“It means,” he says through gritted teeth. “He lives.”
I push off the timber and knock a stool over. “Fuck off.”
He levels me with a hard stare and thick arms folded high on his chest. “You know it’s the right thing to do.”
I catch sight of Digits in my periphery. The asshole grins. He knows my outburst means the conversation has swung in his favor. “Tell me how,” I challenge Hooch. “Explain this shit to me, otherwise you can count my support out.”
He gestures for me to move closer with a hitch of his chin. “If he has contacts either within the Wingmen or on the outer rings, then we need to make sure we don’t sever that lifeline by taking his.” He reaches over the counter to snag a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. “You’ve been with me long enough to know I don’t make this decision lightly.”
“I have.” It was his guidance that meant I made it through the madness of my prospect years. “Torture the info of him,” I counter. “Break his fucking legs and crush his goddamn fingers until he spills.”
Hooch studies the guy in question with a suffering sigh. “His stubborn streak runs too deep. I can’t risk him being willing to take this shit to the grave. Not when it might mean the difference between endin’ this drug bullshit or livin’ under the DEA’s microscope another year or more.”
“He fucking killed her,” I say. “Shit, man. I might not have liked the bitch much, but she’s one of us. Beth’s up there, devastated, and I know she ain’t gonna be the only one cut up when they hear the news.”
“I get that, man.” Hooch scrubs a hand over his face. “But they’ll understand when it all pans out.
“Ifit does,” I snip. “What you want me to say, then?”
Pres pours us a glass each before he answers. “It still don’t sit right that he left Lincoln before the rest of us.” He pushes my drink toward me. “He ever tell you why?”
“Nope. But I guess now’s as good a time as any to find out.” I down the fucking amber in one shot. “We use him for this exercise and then you promise me he goes six feet under.”
“I can’t do that.” Hooch straightens, throwing his head back to toss down his drink. “You know the proper way for these things to run. It has to be tabled.”
“And I know that rules are made to be bent,” I snap. “Like we have in the past.”
“Exactly,” Pres bites back. “That was the past, and that’s where we leave it. My old man let too many assholes twist the rules to suit them and look where that got us.” He slams his tumbler down. “In this fucking mess.”
“I’ll let you break the news to Beth, then.”
Because fuck knows there no way I could without feeling as though I betray her.
Keeping the motherfucker alive who shot Heather dead sends a message alright.
That none of our girls matter a damn.
CHAPTER THREE
