Page 29 of Angel

She glared at him. “If you want to get technical. Scar thinks he’s the only one who can get away with that lone wolf shit.” Her hand went to her side as if on impulse.

Bear pushed his way through the crowd and down the stairs. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” Ivy argued.

“Actually, you’re not,” Bear told her. “You’re bleeding down the outside of your pants.” He took her arm and dragged her over to the couch. “Someone grab my medical bag!”

Will, another prospect, ran to grab it.

Ghost walked down the stairs to take possession of the captive. He wasn’t wearing a cut, but the Pythons who attacked Angel and Bree hadn’t been either. Angel’s eyes narrowed on the man. Who was he?

“She’s been shot,” Bear told Steel over his shoulder. “Just a deep graze but she pulled her stitching.” To Ivy, he asked, “Who the fuck stitched you up? Edward Scissorhands?”

Her eyes narrowed. “I did it myself,” she snapped.

Bear shook his head. “Don’t quit your day job.”

Bulldog walked up to stand behind Bear. “How do you know Scar?”

Ivy gave Bulldog a wide, sassy smile. “Why? Jealous he didn’t tell you about me? Upset your bestie’s been keeping secrets from you?”

Angel couldn’t see Bulldog’s face but could imagine his annoyed expression.

Will came running in with Bear’s medical bag. While Ivy was distracted with Bear taking out her old stitches, Ghost and Lucky carefully got the hatch to the cellar open and dragged the captive down the stairs. Will then moved to close the cellar door and to allow them back up when they were ready.

Keys walked down the stairs with a tablet. He handed it to Steel.

Steel read what was on the tablet before he spoke. “Ivy Benson, former SWAT officer with the Atlanta PD. Thirty-one-years old. Parents are Josephine and Zane Benson, both deceased. You were a decorated officer until two years ago when you started receiving disciplinary actions. You were put on administrative leave but never returned. Why?”

Ivy scowled at Steel over Bear’s head. “Surprised your magic tablet doesn’t tell you that.”

Keys leaned over and hit a button.

“Your sister died.” It was subtle but Angel caught Ivy’s flinch at the words. Steel probably did too, but he still continued. “She OD’ed on heroin.” His voice softened slightly as he added, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“You can shove your condolences where the sun don’t shine,” Ivy snapped. “Saying sorry isn’t going to bring my sister back.”

If Steel was offended by her words, he didn’t show it. He kept reading. “Following your sister’s death was when you started to have problems at work. After you were forced on leave, you basically disappeared. There’s not much over the past eight months, but enough to form a pattern. You’re heading north.”

“Your magic tablet does know it all then.”

“But not why you’re here, why you’re after the Pythons, or how you know Scar.” Steel handed the tablet back to Keys. “Or who that man is.”

Ivy looked down at her side where Bear was spraying something onto her wound. “Am I going to live, doc?”

“Nurse,” Bear corrected. “My ol’ lady’s the doctor.”

“You’re a nurse?” she asked skeptically.

He flashed her a wide smile. “Nurse Bear at your service.”

Ivy shook her head like she was trying to shake around something she didn’t understand. She looked up at Steel. “I tracked the drugs that killed my sister. The Pythons launder the 3Ts’ money.”

“Who are the 3Ts?” Steel asked. Keys handed him the tablet back. Steel let out a long sigh and started reading again. “According to the Atlanta police and corroborated by the DEA, the 3Ts is a gang that started in Miami and has worked its way north to Atlanta. Their gang symbol is literally three Ts, which stands for ‘terror’, ‘torment’, and ‘turmoil’.” Steel looked up and said offhandedly, “Not exactly scholars that we’re working with.”

“No, but they know how to make some serious poison,” Ivy sneered. “They recently added prostitution to their resume and not all of their girls are willing workers. That’s how I met Scar.”

Angel and Cage exchanged a look. Both of them doubted that Scar had been a pro’s john.

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