Page 14 of Pretty Vengeful Queen

West Point is going to blackmail the Reapers.

6

DANTE

“I wantto hear about it even if you’re not sure whether they’re working for West Point or not,” I say, lifting my take-out cup to my mouth even though the coffee tastes like ass.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you need, Big D.”

Scales, a runner for the 17th Street Gang who owes me for saving his ass when he got into a tight spot with Halston’s finest a few years ago, bobs his head in a quick, jittery nod that tells me he’s using again.

Fucking stupid of him, but not my problem. What is my problem is that just like every other contact I’ve checked in with out on the streets, he hasn’t seen anyone from West Point doing anything that would point us toward where they might be keeping Riley.

I drain the last of the truly shitty coffee I picked up at the convenience store behind us, the one Scales somehow holds down a part-time job at when he’s not moving product for his organization, and toss the cup into the dumpster we’re standing next to.

“I’m serious,” I tell him. “It’s not just McKenna’s people I want to hear about. If you see anyone you don’t recognize and they so much as fucking sneeze in a suspicious way, I want you to call me.”

We don’t know who West Point is allied with at this point, but it’s almost guaranteed that McKenna has our girl locked down somewhere outside his own borders. The problem is, Halston ain’t big, but it’s not exactly small, either. No matter how far our reach is, we can’t cover all of it.

Scales nods again, his fingers flicking urgently against his thigh as he promises me that he’ll keep an eye out.

I let him go, then give in to my frustration and punch the side of the dumpster with a vicious curse, welcoming the hot burst of pain across my knuckles.

I’ve got no fucking clue if Scales will actually remember the promise he just made me after he gets his next fix, butsomeonehas to have caught wind of McKenna’s movements lately. I just have to fucking find that someone… and after two weeks of looking and coming up with fuck all for the effort, I want to do a hell of a lot more damage than just leaving a few smears of my blood across a back alley dumpster.

I’ve already tapped out all my informants and contacts today though, so I scrub a hand over my face and head back to the car, absently noting the rasp of stubble on my jaw as it catches on the calluses on my fingers.

Fine, it’s more than a fucking rasp. I’m probably getting close to full-on beard territory. I honestly can’t remember the last time I shaved, but I care even less.

“Fucking McKenna,” I mutter as I slide behind the wheel of the piece of shit SUV I’ve been driving ever since the Escalade got shot up.

I head for home, the agitation I feel over another fucking day with no leads to follow making me drive a little more recklessly than I probably should… maybe not entirely by accident.

The way Riley’s extended absence is getting to me, I’d almost welcome a problem coming my way that I could unleash a little of this pent-up aggression on. But fortunately or not, the route back to the house stays clear of all cops, and the rational part of me knows that really is for the best.

We need to stay under the radar as we search for our girl. We don’t need the hassle of giving the police a reason to start sniffing around our operation and activities, and we sure as shit don’t need to piss off The Six again.

My phone lights up while I’m two blocks from the house, and I swipe it open, glancing between the road and the screen as I read the message. Then I hit the call button.

“What do you have for me?” I ask as soon as the informant who just reached out answers. Claudia turns tricks right on the edge of West Point’s territory, and she’s got no love for McKenna or any of his men.

“Heard you were looking for a place West Point might keep someone out of sight.”

“And?”

She tries every last drop of my patience as she takes a long, loud drag on her cigarette before answering. Long enough that I’ve got the SUV parked and my feet on the ground before she finally fucking answers me.

“And… McKenna has a house he uses for shit like that. A fuck house for whenever he steps out on that ho he keeps around.”

“You’ve been there?”

She makes a rude noise. “I’m not letting that prick get any of this, but he’s taken a few of the girls there. I know where it is.”

“Where?”

I’m usually better with people, but not today, and whatever Claudia hears in my voice cuts off any attempt she’s thinking of making to squeeze me for something before providing the information.

But when she rattles off the address, I want to punch something all over again.

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