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“These two?” Malone hands me his phone.
I almost smile as I take it and then show the others.
Malone is chaotic, ruthless, and without morals. A dedicated hedonist who always appears to be there for the fun, but as I said, ruthless, and he can keep up with my connections.
“Yeah.”
“Rehab,” says Smith. He gives me back the phone, and I scroll to the article. Fuck. Rehab in the San Gabriel mountains. For rich and famous people addicted to drugs, sex, questionable and racist utterings online.
“Run by a Collector.” Malone rises and heads to the kitchen, returning with another beer. “But that we leave alone. For now. We need to spin you.”
“I don’t need shit,” I say.
“Like Jones said, they saw you take the kid. You had a mask, but the kid was taken in a professional hit. Same with Dakota.” Smith’s message is clear.
I’m a danger to his daughter.
“We spin it, use West’s senator’s connections both for us and against this Brutus. A little friendly arm twisting,” says Mercer with a dark, sharp smile.
Malone nods. “Could work. He used to be in the military, touts it. Didn’t do much, but it looks good for campaigns. If we tell him a mercenary from his army days lays claim to the rescue for a donation to vets, he looks good and gets his blood a different way.”
I shake my head and laugh. “Nope. He wants a body.”
“Prosecution.” Malone nods. “But a body works. I have one. Can’t pounce yet, but?—”
“Jones wants to get his rocks off on some homemade revenge?”
It isn’t fair of me, but I know what’s waiting. And even if I don’t help, even if I choose Dakota, she needs more—better—than me.
The best way out is to help Jones and get Brutus. To bring him in alive. I find it hard to see him as the maestro, but it takes all types. The best way to do that and get the other one who took the senator’s son is…
“There’s a way,” Smith says, his tone grim.
“Smith.” I shake my head. “They’d eat her alive.”
He says it. And the only reason I don’t murder him is the pain twisting on his face. But… he still says it. “Dakota’s key, Orion. I’ve gone over it. And as long as the head Collector exists, along with all his minions, she isn’t safe.”
He’s fucking right. “I’ll fucking kill him.”
“Timing,” mutters Malone.
“And,” adds Smith, “Jones wants him, too.”
It still doesn’t make sense. That knowledge is an itch I can’t scratch.
We go in and storm the place, we take Brutus and whoever the fuck that Malone’s waiting to kill, and this branch of the Collectors crumbles.
But I know I’m still a danger to Dakota. “I’m fucking missing something.”
“Because you are.” The door to my bedroom opens and she steps out.
Smith growls under his breath. Mercer looks interested and Malone doesn’t bother hiding his grin.
“Red’s going to take you home,” I say. “And your father’s arranging for his buddy, you, and your friend to take a very long vacation under heavy protection.”
“I’m not a fan of any of you right now,” she says coolly. “I’ve been through hell and I’m still standing. So stop making decisions for me.”
“Wind that back, Dakota,” Malone says, offering her his half-empty beer. I narrow my eyes as she takes it. “What are we missing?”
