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“Word is, Jax, that this isn’t official Knight business.” Mercer dusts the cuffs of his suit. His gaze flickers to Malone as he grabs my bottle of rum and pours himself a drink. Then he sits on the armchair. I sink onto the sofa as Smith grabs his own drink.
His eyes dart around, like he’s looking for a sign of his kid.
Who’d be in my bedroom.
“What’s going on? I get that I have to make a fucking decision, and I have. I’m not doing it. I refuse to let Dakota burn.”
“Isn’t that her decision?” Mercer lifts an eyebrow.
Smith gulps his drink and sets down the glass, then buries his head in his hands. “This is fucked.” He looks at me. “Jones is…”
“Jones has business with the Collectors.” Mercer refills his glass. “And before you ask, Jax, I’m here instead of with my wife because I gave you those fucking drugs.”
I really don’t give a fuck about Jones right then. It’s starting to make sense if it’s personal on his end, having me dragged in today. It makes almost perfect sense.
Almost.
“So let me piece this shit together,” I say.
I’m good at this. I had to do it in Black Ops, taking a sliver of information and working out what it meant, seeing the connections.
“Jones holds his meeting earlier under the guise of us having to bring down the Collectors, the maestro as he calls him, to satisfy someone beyond Malone’s political client.”
“That someone is Jones. We’ll call it a personal vendetta. He knows handing over the kid to the senator isn’t going to fly without some blood for his client. But the blood the senator wants isn’t the maestro. I’ll bet Jones wants me to be worked up just enough to sink Malone, that sick fuck.”
“But,” I continue. “Even with Alicia in on this, cleaning up our mess, there’ll be real fallout hitting two billionaires, one of which we know the senator will want prosecuted. And if we do some kind of two-person hit, then it has to be timed.”
I snatch my rum and take a swallow and think about slamming a fist in the wall.
I still can’t make the fucking connection.
“We don’t fucking answer to anyone but each other,” I say. “We outmatch them even if their billions put ours to shame. They’re soft. We’re not. Get the senator his blood or not. Take that fuck out. The senator got his kid, and now he wants revenge. So offer him anyone, like the maestro. We destroy the maestro.”
“I said that,” mutters Malone.
“Details matter, West.”
“Go fuck yourself,” he snaps back at Mercer.
“Jones wants Dakota as bait.” Smith looks at me and there’s a haunted light in his eyes. It hits hard, making each breath hurt.
“We’re missing something. Why’s he so worked up? Why us? Why the fuck doesn’t Jones just go in and kill Brutus and then take out the rest? It’s not going to destroy the Collectors, no matter how many we hit.”
“I can take out a bunch of them with the right poison.” Mercer’s mouth sets. “But they’ll be aware of being knocked out.”
Malone looks at me. “And there’s no guarantee we’ll get this fucking Brutus; some people are cockroaches.”
“And we’re what? A fucking knitting circle?” I ask.
“Bottom line?” Malone looks at me. “Jones called me to say no one moves unless it’s done right. And we need this maestro. Alive.”
“He’s not disappearing. There’s a whole damn team he’d have to orchestrate to do that, and show ponies like him don’t fight big time and they don’t hide. What about getting to him through his entourage?” Suddenly I swing a look at Malone who’s sipping his beer and bouncing his foot on his knee. “Those two pretty people, the girl and guy? You flirted with her?—”
“Amelia?” His foot drops to the floor and he leans to the side to dig out his phone. “Pretty, about twenty-five? She’s a groomer and she’s brainwashed. She gets fucked by them, too. But she didn’t make the cut to be a special menu item.” He shrugs. “Guessing it’s the same for that Haydyn guy, too. She didn’t say it in so many words, but…”
“And those actors? Someone said there were actors?” I ask.
There’s still a piece missing.
