It was always better for everyone all around if swings didn’t start getting thrown. It was always better, though it rarely happened like that. And, to be honest, I liked it that way. I didn’t mind the physical aspect of the job, had never minded that. I was good at keeping people in line, at using my fists to remind assholes what they needed reminders of when words just wouldn’t get the job done. It also helped that I was able to get all this pent-up aggression out, and all the better that it was done while whaling on the kind of men who’d taken everything from me.

The kind of men who’d taken her from me.

It was early—not even ten o’clock—and I thought briefly about going out for a bit. Hitting the bar down the street, maybe get hooked up with some company for the night and push away the memories that always came knocking when I was working a job. But before I could make a decision on whether I wanted to head straight home or go somewhere else for a while, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing Gage’s name on the screen.

Pressing Accept, I kept walking toward my apartment building as I answered. “Hey, man. What’s going on?”

“Ry.”

The tone of his voice stopped me dead in my tracks, halting me in the middle of the cracked sidewalk. It was the same tone he’d used for years while running jobs with the crew. The same tone he’d used when he needed people to listen. It was the tone that said shit was about to get real. “What is it? Is it Madison?”

“No. No, we’re fine. But I need you to listen to me, very carefully, okay? Listen to me and do exactly what I tell you to.”

I blew out a breath, my shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“You need to go see Aaron.”

My brow furrowed. It wasn’t unusual for me to see Aaron, to get information I’d need for a job, so it didn’t seem that odd. Didn’t seem worthy of the urgent tone of voice he was using. At least not until he said, “Do you remember the place?”

He was referring to the location we’d set forever ago, one we would use only if the situation called for complete secrecy. We’d never written it down, had never spoken of it again after we’d settled on it—we’d never needed to. And because of that, I knew this wasn’t a simple job.

I lifted my eyes, raking the street for anything out of place, anything out of the ordinary, because with those simple words from Gage, my tension was cranked up to a thousand.

Some serious shit was about to go down. Or was already happening—I didn’t know which.

Clearing my throat, I said, “Yeah.”

“Good. Aaron’s there waiting for you with a bag. Everything you’ll need is in it.”

“Okay, but—”

“I need you to go there immediately. Don’t fuck around wasting time.”

“Gage—”

“Immediately, Ry. Reset your phone, clear it out, and don’t use it again.” Then the line went dead, and I was left wondering just what the hell was going on.

*   *   *

I met Aaron at the shady dive bar Gage and I had settled on back before I’d even really been a part of the crew. Back when he’d just been getting started in it. It felt like a lifetime ago. Even back then, he’d been prepared for the worst.

Glancing around, I took stock of everyone in the place, ignoring the thinly veiled looks sent my way from some of the female patrons. After a quick pass, I finally noticed Aaron in the back corner, sipping a beer while he pretended to watch a couple tough-looking girls across the room. I knew, though, that he was doing exactly what I’d been doing—always calculating, always studying the surroundings.

I walked over to him, pulled out a chair, and took a seat. “Hey.”

“Hey, Kid.”

I rolled my eyes at the nickname that would, apparently, follow me to my fucking grave. “You know I’m twenty-three now, right? Not a fourteen-year-old trailing after my big brother…”

“Yeah, well, shit sticks with you.” He shrugged as he cracked a small smile and took a pull from his beer, his eyes taking in everything in the place. He looked relaxed, leaning back in his chair, his body language giving off a laid-back vibe, but I knew better. He was on alert, ready for anything. Just like I was.

“Do you have what I need?” I asked. I knew better than to say much more than that. Knew better than to name Gage—even using his crew name of Ghost—as the person who’d sent me. Anyone could be listening. Anyone could be watching.

He tipped his head toward the empty chair between us, and in my peripheral vision I could make out the outline of a black backpack partially hidden under the table. He didn’t say anything about the bag or the exchange, didn’t need to. His eyes spoke volumes.

Aaron lifted his beer to his mouth again, tipping it all the way back and swallowing the rest of it before setting down the bottle on the gouged wood table. “Getting late. I better jet.” He held me in place with his gaze, telling me without words that I needed to stay put for a while to avoid being seen leaving together. “See you later, Kid.” He clapped a hand on my shoulder, then walked out the way I’d just come.

The next thirty minutes were the longest of my life. I ordered a beer, then sat and waited, rebuffing the couple girls who came by my table and tried to get me to take them home. I barely glanced at them. I couldn’t think about anything but what the hell was going on. I watched the clueless people milling about, all the while my mind churning at a hundred miles per hour, conjuring up all the different reasons why Gage would’ve had to put a plan like this in place.

At the end of those thirty minutes, after I’d finished my beer, I grabbed the backpack and slung it over my shoulder, casually walking out the front door and into the night.

*   *   *

When I got to my place, I flipped the dead bolt behind me, then made a quick sweep through my apartment, checking to ensure I was alone. After pulling all the blinds, I sat down at the table, black backpack in front of me. With steady hands, I unzipped the bag, methodically pulling out all the contents. Inside was a small laptop, a prepaid cell phone, and a pouch with a wad of cash I didn’t bother counting, but by the size of it I guessed there was several thousand dollars there.

Before I could dig for a note or open the computer to search for some information, the phone rang, piercing the silence of the room. I snatched it up, seeing that the number was blocked—not a surprise—but I answered immediately.

“Yeah.”

“Boot up the computer.” It was Gage’s voice, hard as steel, and I did as he said without hesitation.

It didn’t take long before it came to life, a login screen popping up and prompting me for information. “Password?”

Gage’s voice echoed in my ear, and I typed in the random letters, numbers, and symbols he gave me, then waited until the desktop was displayed. The background was empty, save for one lone folder, labeled simply E.

“Open it,” he said.

I did as he instructed, double clicking on the icon and inputting the new password he recited when the computer asked for one. Once the password was confirmed, a dozen other files popped up, each labeled as cryptically as the folder had been.

“I’m in. Which file?”

“Open the one labeled STN.”

Once again inputting the password he gave me when prompted, I waited and watched as what looked like a newspaper article came up on the screen. I read the headline—“Kirkland & Caine Throw Another Successful Fund-Raiser for the Children’s Hospital”—and rubbed my fingers against my forehead.

“What am I supposed to be looking at here? All I see is an article about a fund-raiser.”

“Scroll down to the pictures.”

There were only three shots in the article—the first and largest a photo of the entire event, round tables filled with hundreds of rich people all decked out in tuxedos and fancy dresses, their attention focused on a stage where a man spoke behind a podium. The next was a shot of two men, both in their late sixties, if I had to guess, smiling as they chatted with a group of people. I darted my eyes to the caption below it: “Senator Caine, former senior partner at Kirkland & Caine, makes an appearance at the annual fund-raiser.”