Page 37 of Preacher

Zip-tie. Gag. Move.

From somewhere in the maze, I heard the brief scuffle of Crowbar handling the second man. A choked sound, a thud, then silence. My earpiece crackled once—Crowbar’s signal that his target was down.

Two clicks from Ghost on the perimeter. All clear outside.

The stairs were metal, industrial, the kind that wanted to ring with every step. I took them slow, shifting my weight to the outer edge where the bolts met the wall. My wolf was straining, wanting out, wanting to finish this on four legs with teeth. I kept it leashed. Royce needed to see my face. Needed to know exactly who was taking his empire apart.

The second floor was a converted office space. Drywall partitions, a desk visible through a half-open door, the blue flicker of a computer monitor. Two voices. Royce and someone else.

I pressed my back flat against the wall beside the doorframe and listened.

“—told you we should’ve sent more than two.” The second voice was reedy, anxious. “Moe still hasn’t checked in. That’s eighteen hours, Royce.”

“Moe’s probably drunk in a ditch somewhere.” Royce’s voice was smoother, practiced, the cadence of a man who’d learned to sound calm even when he wasn’t. But I could smell the sweat underneath the aftershave. His heart rate was elevated. “He’ll turn up.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then he doesn’t, and we adjust.” A chair creaked. “Just got word Hammer didn’t survive, which means the Holloway debt defaults to the brother. Mike’s no good for it. He’s broke. But his brother’s got a job. Kid’s also been hanging with the bikers. Deluca’s got some kind of hard-on for protecting him, which means—”

I stepped through the door.

The men in the room froze. Royce was behind the desk, leaned back in a leather executive chair that looked absurd in the bare-bones office. Mid-forties, thinning hair slicked back, a gold chain nestled in chest hair visible through an unbuttoned collar. The man beside him was younger, narrow-shouldered, holding a tablet like a clipboard. An accountant. The numbers guy. He took one look at me, and the blood drained from his face so fast I thought he might beat Trent’s fainting record.

“Get out,” I told the accountant. The Glock at my side wasn’t raised.

He ran out of the room.

Royce didn’t move. His hand was resting on the desk, six inches from the top drawer, and we both knew what was in that drawer.

“Deluca.” He said my name like he knew me personally. “Breaking and entering. That’s beneath you.”

“Shooting up my place wasn’t beneath you.” I stepped farther into the room. The fluorescent light overhead buzzed, one tube flickering, making the shadows jump. “So here we are.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His fingers inched toward the drawer.

“Move that hand another centimeter and I’ll take it off at the wrist.”

Royce’s hand stopped. His jaw worked, the smooth facade cracking at the edges.

“Moe gave you up,” I said. “Every detail. The route, the rotation, the shipment schedule, and the part where you sent two men with rifles to put holes in my building while my people were inside.” I let the pause stretch. “While a civilian was inside.”

Something flickered in Royce’s eyes. He was running the math, trying to figure out which angle would buy him another sunrise.

“The Holloway kid? He’s nothing."” Royce leaned forward, and the chair groaned under him. “That’s what this is about? Some skinny waiter who can’t keep his junkie brother in line? Come on, Deluca. You’re smarter than this. He’s a means to an end. Mike owes me forty-two grand. I don’t care where it comes from.”

That was a hell of a lot more than I’d been told. Royce was an idiot for allowing the debt to get so high.

“It’s not coming from him.”

“Everything comes from somewhere.” Royce spread his hands like he was being reasonable, like we were negotiating a car deal instead of a life. “You want to cover the debt? Fine. Write me a check and the kid walks. Business is business.”

“This stopped being business when your man put a gun to his face.” I took another step. “When Hammer punched him hard enough to crack bone. When you sent shooters to my property. You escalated this beyond money, Royce. Beyond business. Far Beyond anything a check can fix.”

Royce’s tongue darted over his lips. The sweat was visible now, a sheen across his forehead that the overhead light turned greasy. “So what do you want?”

His hand shot for the drawer. Fast for a human but not fast enough for me. I cleared the desk in one motion, and my hand closed around his wrist before his fingers found the grip of whatever he’d stashed in there. I wrenched his arm sideways, felt the joint pop, and slammed his face into the desktop hard enough to split his lip against the wood.

“That was stupid,” I said into his ear.