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There was a soft click, then when her voice came back over the line, it was quiet. “Okay, I’m in the bathroom.”
“Good. I’m hanging up now and calling Andy. Stay there. Don’t let anyone into your apartment until you hear his voice.” She said nothing, and I growled, “Tell me you fucking understand, Wren.”
“I understand.”
“Good girl.” I hung up and dialed Andy.
“Mr. Rivera?”
“I need you to go and collect Wren. Take her to my apartment. Keep the Glock in the glovebox with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
I called Wren back. “He’s on his way now.”
“Okay.”
The call disconnected, and it was a fucking miracle I let go of the phone. Dropping it to the desk like it was on fucking fire, I shut my eyes and tried to draw in calming breaths. My rage was still darkness swirling inside of me, an insidious run of thoughts. Digging my fingers into the back of the leather chair, I bowed my head and counted to ten. When I finally reached that magical double-digit, I felt slightly more in control.
Slightly.
Sending Andy to Wren hadn’t been my first choice. Dagger would’ve been a much deadlier choice, but my Little Bird hadn’t met him, didn’t know him, and the thought of making her even more scared was a hell-fucking-no for me. Andy could hold his own, though. He was also ex-military, so he knew his way around a weapon and was adept at hand-to-hand combat. As an added bonus, he’d been trained as a field medic.
Not that Wren was hurt, I reminded myself.
Releasing my fingers, I straightened, then swallowed the rest of my whisky. As I drained the last of the glass, there was a knock on my office door.
“Yeah,” I snarled, slamming the tumbler back down.
I bit back the curse when I saw who it was. Detective Cox strolled in like she owned the damn place. Her blonde hair was slicked back away from her face, held like a hostage on the back of her head in a bun. The black pantsuit she was wearing was well-pressed, her white shirt underneath crisp.
“Fuck, what do you want?” I snapped.
“Nice to see you too, Bane.”
I glared at her. Fuck her. I didn’t give a fuck if she was a cop. Now was not the time to fucking walk into my office, especially when I was ready to commit goddamn murder. “I don’t have time for this shit, Detective, so tell me what you want to say, then we can move this night right along.”
Her lips pursed, but it did nothing to take away their appeal. She had a mouth made for fucking. “You know I’ve been keeping an eye on your club,” she began.
“If you wanted a job here, all you had to do was ask,” I baited. “You’d be a nice addition to my Dolls.” Her face contorted into a mask of disdain. “You know, you shouldn’t knock it until you try it. There’s something rather thrilling about liberating a man of his hard-earned money.” I glanced down at her finger—no wedding band. “And a good-looking, single woman like you would fucking clean up down there,” I finished, gesturing to the club below.
“Unlucky for you, I’m married to my job on the force.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I’ll keep a spot open for you.”
Cox folded her arms over her chest. “I didn’t come here to discuss job opportunities.”
“Oh? Why did you come then?”
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and I got the distinct impression I would not like what she was about to say. “Did you know Hugo Ramirez was killed today? Shot in cold blood. Two in the chest. One in the head. When we searched his body, he had coke on him. His bedroom was full of coke too… almost five pounds worth. He was only seventeen-years-old.”
Keeping my face blank, I shrugged. “What does this seventeen-year-old punk kid have to do with me?”
She slammed her hands onto my desk. “Because he was one of your dealers, Bane.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I don’t have any dealers unless you count my Dolls? They deal in sex, but it’s one hundred percent legal as you’re well aware.”
Her expression darkened, her gray eyes turning to steel. “You know, I hate men like you.”
