“Why?” He coughs, his eyes wide in pain. “Why do you care?”
I stab him in the thigh, and he squeals like a pig. “Because I lead an organization, and if you’re a member, you’re protected. In other words, you’re mine. Somebody made the colossal mistake of kidnapping and killing a little girl of one of my men.” Right off the street. It used to be that if you were protected, everyone knew it. Not now. The criminals aren’t in tune with the . . . well, criminals. “So I owe it to him to draw blood. I can’t have my men thinking I don’t have their backs, right?”
“I didn’t kill no little girl,” Max whines.
“I know.” She fell out of the van during the initial chase and died. It has taken me two weeks to track this guy down, and he’s not the one I want. “Give me the name, or I’ll start cutting off body parts.” I slice off his ear. “Oops. Started early.”
He shrieks and plants one hand over the hole, probably to keep his tiny brain inside. “His name is Nelson. That’s all I know. I give him whatever money or drugs I can get, and he hands over the kids. Most are homeless or came alone across the border and nobody knows they’re here. Nobody’s looking for them. Your little girl must’ve been a mistake.”
I stand and smoothly kick him in the neck, making sure to dig in with my heel. The crunch is satisfying as his larynx collapses. His eyes widen with a flicker of terror, and a gasp of air somehow makes its way out of his mouth. He claws at his throat, trying to reestablish an airway that has crumpled. Gravity wins, as she always does, and he drops to his knees to drown in his own blood.
He is forgotten within seconds.
The crack of a neck breaking echoes to my left, as Justice becomes bored with his knife and finally takes care of the other pimp.
The wind shrieks through the night, spinning the rain end over end with the stench of waste. God, I hate it here.
Justice stares down the many rows of tents and makeshift cardboard boxes before stepping gingerly over another pile of shit. I look up at the tall building with its seventy percent vacancy. The first several floors used to carry high-end designer stores, while the upper ones were luxurious apartments. The more homeless on the streets, the quicker anybody who can flee San Francisco does.
“Is the building in foreclosure yet?” I ask, not feeling the rain or the wind, dressed as I am in clothes I’d never wear in public. Contrary to popular opinion, I do not hide out in my fortress. People just don’t know who I am. Or if they do, they either forget rapidly or stop talking altogether.
“Couple more weeks.” Justice looks down at his boots and sighs. “All I got is a name. Nelson,” he says, his gaze scanning the area for threats.
“Me, too.” I look around. “Do we know who put these homeless on this street?”
Justice snorts. “As far as I can tell, Beaumont is spreading the drugs.”
Mathias Beaumont is an asshole, but I have to admire his business acumen. He floods the streets with drugs, turning the homeless into walking zombies who force property owners out of the city. Then he bribes or coerces local government into creating laws that allow the disaster to continue down the spiral to hell. When all the property falls into foreclosure, he buys it up cheap. How he plans to rid the city of the homeless after he owns all the property, I don’t know yet. I can’t imagine his plan is a pretty one.
For now, I offer more cash for the buildings than Mathias can.
Justice taps his phone and scrolls down. “Huh?” The strong mint that I’ve had in my mouth dissipates and his tone slides over my taste buds like good coffee. It is one of the reasons he’s sometimes allowed close to me. He reads the screen of his phone, having already forgotten about the two dead bodies on the syringe-covered sidewalk. “There has been a development with Alana.”
Hearing her name sends the fleeting taste of honey across my tongue. “What kind of development?” My voice goes hoarse.
Justice looks up, no expression on his face, but concern in his eyes. “I don’t know. According to my source, something is going down with her in an hour. Something dangerous.”
Everything inside me tightens and goes deadly still. “Move. Now.”
FOUR
Alana
My five-inch stilettos stick to the floor as Ella, Rosalie, and I converge in a back corner of Martini Money, which can only be described as one of the cheesiest bars in Palo Alto. The clientele is a combination of wealthy startup owners and underage girls. The music is thick and throbbing, the booth hard and bright, and the alcohol expensive.
“I cannot believe he wants to meet you here,” Ella says, her eyes carefully hidden behind thick glasses and her figure under what could only be considered a potato sack. Sometimes I feel as if she’s taking her need to stay under the radar a little too seriously, but then again, considering my family is trying to force me into marriage with somebody I don’t know, perhaps she has the right idea.
Rosalie snorts. “What are you worried about? Why don’t you just go give the youngest Sokolov brother a good ride? Aren’t you tired of not getting any?”
I roll my eyes. It’s an old argument and one I don’t have the patience for right now. “Why would I do that?”
“Yeah,” Ella chimes in. “Alana wants true love, not a ride on a dick of a . . . dick.” She chuckles.
Rosalie sighs. “It’s so much fun to talk about sex with the two of you.”
Ella gulps her martini, her eyes wide. “I still think this is a bad idea,” she says. “We can get you out of the country within an hour.”
“I honestly don’t think there is a place on earth my father can’t find me. I have a better idea than running away.” I stir the olive in my gin martini glass.
Rosalie tips back the rest of her drink. “You think you’re going to talk Cal Sokolov out of marrying you?”
I have no plans to marry him, yet we can help each other. “Yes. He likes his single life.” The guy has more escapades on social media than do I. “If we combine forces, we can strengthen both platforms. Our families will just have to stand down on this.”
“What?” Rosalie asks. “Stand down? Have either of your families ever stood down?”
I don’t know the answer to that question, so why respond?
Rosalie looks over her shoulder at the VIP area, where red velvet couches and faceted mirrors decorate the area. “We have to figure out a way you don’t have to marry that himbo.”
“Himbo?” Ella laughs. She takes out her phone and scrolls through Cal’s account on Hologrid Hub. She’s the best hacker around, probably because she’s traveled all over the world to train with legendary geniuses while staying under the radar of her stepmother and stepsisters. No doubt they tracked her, but hurting her would be too visible, so they haven’t made a move yet. “All Cal really posts about is working out, getting laid, and driving cars.” She winces. “He’s definitely not the brains behind the business.”
“No. That would be his older brother Hendrix.” Rosalie exhales. “I’ve heard that guy is as evil as they come.”
“Aren’t there three brothers?” Ella motions for another drink.
I motion as well, wanting a nice buzz before I head into the VIP area. “I remember there being another brother.”
“What’s his name?” Ella taps her chin.
