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Maybe I’ll kill him along with his brother. Purely for thinking his niece is worthless. Because he’s saved money by just handing over the girl.
But I play my game.
“I’m rich, powerful, and unlike you, I understand the criminal mind. I just want a taste of the life you have. It opens doors.” And I smile. “To bigger and better arenas.”
He frowns. “This thing with Scarlett’s temporary. A stepping stone for you.”
“If you think I want part of your business, you can rest easy. I’m not into shipping.”
Grant Hanlon’s hand jerks as he lifts his drink, and I’ve hit on something. Greedy fuck, no matter what secrets he has or pies he’s got fingers in, he doesn’t want to share.
I can use that. “But you’re right, she’s a stepping stone. And even with all my power and money, I’m always looking for ways to easily expand my business.” I pause. “And not the bigger and better arenas. I’m talking ways to move goods here.”
“Through shipping?”
I can almost see his greedy mind tick.
“Through a company I can trust.” I smile and lean forward. “But that’s down the road. You’re protected, and now I need to find out who’s behind the threats. Any enemies, big or small? I also need to know the biggest clients…”
Scarlett isn’t back when I get home. I hang up my jacket with a deep sigh. Can’t say I’m not disappointed. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my enemy’s daughter since I fucked her sweet pussy with my tongue this morning.
Her uncle didn’t give me much in the way of finding the client list, but one thing’s clear. The whole fucking thing’s caught up in twisted secrets. The man knows more about what they ship than he wants to let on.
Of course he does.
Look at who his fucking brother is. A man like that isn’t going to balk at moving things like human cargo.
But Grant did let it slip that maybe some of the people who apparently don’t use them do. It was the way he said some things that pricked my ears. How he said the client list is kept very, very secret to protect not just themselves, but clients, too.
He gave me some names, but after going through them, I don’t find anything new, no one we don’t already know of. I want the other names. The people they ship for who create so much nefarious activity in the dead of night.
Because the shit listed on the papers Grant gave me? The illegal and legal businesses? Those shipments mostly happen early mornings or during the day. Child’s play compared to what I’m looking for. I need to get into the office on the dock. The one that’s always fucking busy.
And I need to get into the foreman’s notebook and iPad.
My phone screen lights up with a text message.
Scarlett’s been to her house in Brooklyn. She went there after leaving Sugar Hill. There’s nothing interesting in the update. She went home, left, bought a coffee, and now she’s out shopping. Nothing interesting, I amend, unless she was there to hide things. But I doubt it. She’s not duplicitous.
I call Smith.
“Set up a meeting with the client.”
“Am I your personal assistant?” he asks.
“You don’t have the legs for the short skirt I’d want my personal assistant to fucking wear.”
He doesn’t laugh. “The guard who had that photo’s clean.”
“As in he wasn’t into underage girls?”
“As in he probably was into looking, but there were no stories about him fucking any. Or any affiliation to groups who do that shit. Apart from picking up shifts with the Herald Bros., he worked around a lot of different people in the business. From Dark Desires to members of the Collectors to Bishop.” His voice hardens on the Collectors.
No wonder. Those fucks took his daughter, and Orion saved her from a fate way worse than death. We still keep an eye on all the surviving members and the little splinter groups that form. But nothing with sex slaves has popped up on our radar. At least, nothing with unpaid, stolen sex slaves acting against their will.
If someone wants to hire themselves out as a plaything, they can. It’s when they’re taken it becomes problematic for the Knights.
But that group won’t pick up steam in the sticky underbelly of legality until everything settles and is forgotten.
