Page 91 of Rooster

This man is nothing like his brother.

And knowing that is terrifying because where Robert would never hurt me, I think Henry's only goal in life is to do just that.

Chapter 34

Rooster

Long before I started working for Cerberus, I knew that men working without a moral code are the most dangerous people walking the earth. They're the ones who would step on anyone to meet their own goals. Their egos wouldn't allow them to have compassion for anyone who stood in their way.

Henry has never conformed to any form of societal expectations. If he wants it, he's going to take it, and it doesn't matter who he has to plow through or run over to meet his end goal.

I know that his end goal isn't to win Morgan or have her in any way. His goal is and always has been to ruin my life. It creates a higher level of urgency to find Morgan because she's completely expendable in this game of his. Simply taking her and making me scramble to find her isn't good enough for Henry. If he wants to gut me, I can't help but think that he'll cross boundaries he hasn't crossed before and hurt her.

I don't know if that pain would be through physical acts of violence, but he has grown increasingly volatile over the last several years.

Imagining all the things he could do to her that could cause lasting trauma makes my skin fucking crawl.

"I'm still not sure that she isn't involved with him," Whiskey says, his eyes locked on his hands as he scratches at the cuticle on his right thumb.

I glare at the man wanting to tell him to get the fuck out, but I know I have to remain calm.

They were all presented with evidence that she was some sort of mole, not that there was anything for her to find. This was never about getting information. If she were a plant, which I adamantly believe now that she wasn't, she would've been put here to hurt me, just as the text messages said.

Wren has found proof that the texts were generated through a program Henry created, and he used the same program to communicate with Heathen from me before she left work.

"If she knew or were involved in any way, there would've been no need to pretend to be Rooster in the messages he sent to her at work," Bandera reminds him. "Morgan is in need of our help. She isn't part of Henry's plan."

"So we just sit here and fucking wait?" Whiskey asks, and I get the feeling he wants a little excitement more than he's worried about Morgan, and that makes me want to crack my fucking keyboard over his head.

"Wren is working," Bandera says. "There are over ninety thousand hotel rooms in Vegas. We won't find shit if we don't know where to look."

With a huff of annoyance, Whiskey sits back in his chair. He doesn't have to sit in here with the rest of us, but I know the man wants to be the first one out the door once there's news, or we have a direction or clue that can be followed with actual action rather than scouring the internet and other programs looking for her.

The comm on my computer lights up, and my hands shake profusely as I reach for the button to answer Wren's call.

"What have you found?" I ask. The time for niceties and common courtesy is long gone.

"Your brother is more skilled at this shit than anyone else I've ever tracked," Wren says, and I do my best not to take it as a jab because, for the most part, I can hold my own with computers and such.

"So, you haven't found anything?"

"I didn't say that. He's good, but I'm better."

All of the guys sitting at the conference table sit up a little straighter, each one waiting for news so they can actually do something to contribute to bringing Morgan back safely.

"I figure since we haven't located him on many of the city's traffic cameras, he didn't get very far. He hasn't bought a plane or train ticket."

"He wouldn't," I say, feeling even more frustrated because, of course, I had already looked up those things and have a program running in the background of my system to alert me if his name pops up on any public system in Vegas and the surrounding areas.

"I ran his name in a database to look for hotel rooms and short and long-term rentals, but nothing flagged on that either," Wren continues.

"He wouldn't use his name for anything. It would be more likely that he printed his own keycard to access a room," I explain. "What have you found?"

"Less than I'd like," Wren says, and I can hear the irritation he has in his voice at not having found my brother.

The guys settle back into their chairs at the conference room table, and I can feel another wave of defeat settling inside of me.

"I'm still searching all the hotels for aliases," Wren says.

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