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“Unless Sergio doesn’t know about any of this,” Gunner spoke up, snatching up another piece of paper. This one was a wire transfer transaction. But the fucker was trying to figure out how to work the system so that this shit would be admissible in court. “Then where the fuck is he? He hasn’t answered any of my messages in days. If he wasn’t a part of this, why is he avoiding me?” Ryan asked, pulling my gaze to her. Clearly, she was frustrated by the lack of information as to where her pseudo-dad was.

For years, there’d been the rumble about a girl Mario had brought home like a fucking puppy, forcing his dad to bring her into the family. I’d met Sergio more than once when he’d come to meet with my da and my brother. I liked the fucker. He was a take-no-shit straight-shooter. Mario, on the other hand, was a twisted fucker. “You’re the Los Muertos arms dealer,” I stated, looking over toward Scar. Her cheeks heated under my scrutiny. I resisted the urge to smile at her look of guilt. “So Ryan doesn’t have a dick,” I stated, my eyebrow hitting my hairline as I directed the comment at my lovely wife. She knew her lie would lead to a fight between us later tonight, and I had a sneaking suspicion that she’d told the lie for that reason.

I never knew Sergio had made her a part of the cartel. It wasn’t common for women to be in the underworld in any other capacity than lying on their backs. Yet here I was in a room with two highly skilled women who not only worked in the criminal world but were dominant in their areas. It was a shame they had to operate under the guise of being men so they would be respected in the ways they deserved.

A chuckle came from Gunner. “No, she doesn’t, but you’re just finding that out, huh?”

I didn’t bother acknowledging him. Instead I gave a nod of agreement to Ryan as I stared her down, trying to decide whether she knew Gunner’s true identity. Because if she’d brought a fed into Scar’s space to nail her to the wall, she would have problems. I didn’t give a shit how much Scar cared about the arms dealer; if Ryan was trying to hurt our girl, I’d strike her down with zero leniency.

But her coffee-colored eyes held nothing but an inferno of rage for the information she’d just learned about Mario and the mess happening in her house under her nose. Whatever Gunner had done up to this point, it had been convincing, because this woman had no clue she was brushing shoulders with an FBI agent.

Turning, I headed out of the room before I said more than I meant to in front of the two. I needed to confirm my suspicion before I blurted something like that out.

I palmed my phone, dialing a number I hadn’t called in months. Anxiety crept up my spine at the fourth ring. Had something happened to him?

“What the hell, man? You know you’re not supposed to call me. Are you trying to fuck everything up?” he asked, his thick Irish accent making him sound even angrier than he probably was.

“That the way you speak to your favorite brother?” I asked, a smile pulling at my lips at his huff of frustration. “Listen, Rowan, do you still have that picture of the boxing championship? From three years ago?” I asked.

“The one where I lost to that cunt fucker who ended up being the goddamned law?” Bitterness seeped into the question, making me chuckle. Yup, he hadn’t let that go yet.

“Yeah, that would be the one. What was his name again?” I asked, plopping down on a stool at the kitchen island and running my fingers along the cool marble. The neighborhood might be shit, but damn if her apartment wasn’t nice. Light colors and lighting made up for the fact that the hideout didn’t have any windows to let in natural light. She did have skylights that mimicked can lights, though. They were too small for a body to drop down, and apparently, the glass was bulletproof.

Rowan’s gruff rumble refocused me. “Greyson McGregor. Our own fuckin’ kin betrayed us.” He paused, clearly busy doing something. “It’s sent. Why the hell would you risk calling me over this shit?”

A ding indicated the photo had come through, but I didn’t risk putting him on speaker so I could look at it. I’d have to wait until we hung up, which would have to be soon if we wanted to keep up the ruse that we hated one another. “I’ll tell you when I know more, but I might have just run into the asshole again.”

My blood brother practically growled on the other end of the line. “Put a fucking bullet in his brain for me. Not only was he the law, but he fucked up my win streak.”

“What win streak, Rowan? I beat you every single time we fought,” I reminded him. Warmth swam in my veins as I imagined his face and how he would wave his hand in dismissal. Losses to me didn’t count in his eyes.

As if on cue, he responded. “Doesn’t count. You know that. Now be careful, and don’t fucking call me again, asshole. If Da catches us, then all of this will be for nothing.”

I let out a sigh, dropping my head into my hand, suddenly tired. “It’s time, Rowan. We have to start making our moves now,” I responded, dread and excitement churning in my gut. “I’ll see you soon, brother.”

Silence.

Then finally, “I can’t wait. Will I get to meet that wife of yours? Or is she going away too? You created quite the stir when you denied Dominick’s offer of his daughter.” There were a million unspoken words in that statement. The words were pleasant, but I heard the irritation under the surface.

Why the fuck didn’t you marry his daughter? That was the plan.

That was the translation of my older brother’s statement. I caught myself smiling at the thought of Scar. “You’ll get to meet my wife. Make sure you keep your dick in your pants when you meet her, though.”

He chuckled, the tension leeching from his voice. “Holy shit. You took a woman hostage, and now you’re all in love with her.” My back stiffened at the comment. “Knowing how you three work, she’s got her hands full of dicks. And a mouth if my assumptions are correct,” he stated with no judgment in his tone.

He knew the three of us would share women on occasion. The idea of there being a woman that we could all be in a relationship with had been put on hold for years, but Scar seemed to be changing that. Somehow, she’d clawed her way in.

“Okay, I really have to go now before we get caught. I’ll be ready when you need me, brother,” he answered before the line went dead.

I pulled up the text message with the photo. Staring back at me was one Gunner—sans mustache—standing next to me and holding his silver medal.

“First loser and federal scum,” I whispered. I’d bet all my money that Greyson McGregor hadn’t turned over a new leaf to become a one-percenter. Pushing off the stool, I marched back into the living room space, determined to expose the fucker, but I stopped cold at seeing Scar wiping a tear from her cheek. Red was all I saw. Who the hell upset her?

My feet carried me across the room before I could think through the consequences of embracing her. That move would tip Ryan and Gunner off to our relationship. At the last second, I forced myself to resist wrapping my arms around her and drawing her into my chest. The moment the asshole left, I’d hold her.

CHAPTER 37

SCAR