Page 105 of Redemption

Sugar threw the door open and walked in, taking in each surprised face after the table full of men craned their necks to see who interrupted. She put her hands on her hips and smiled. “Good morning, boys, I was told that I would be looped in on all conversations. This doesn’t look like looped in to me.”

Marco Nunez picked his jaw off the ground and stood. “Well, if it isn’t Sugar Chase—”

“Sugar Westin,” she corrected him. “But you knew that already. There’s nothing about Jared Westin you don’t know, isn’t there, Marco?”

He dropped down and smirked. “Including how you had the reach to make this kind of intel request? Yeah, I know Titan has their hands all over this.”

Sugar ignored him and kept her hands on her hips, swaying forward, one boot step at a time. Her high heels echoed in the cold, windowless conference room. “What I want to know is why I wasn’t at the tablehours ago.” She crooked her finger at Marco. “Now that I see you’re here, I have my answer.”

“You were told that you would know everything you needed. You will.”

“What do you have on Vashchenko and my girl?”

“Since when is Victoria Massey your girl?”

“Since I said so.” Sugar blew a bubble of gum and let it pop, which she knew from years of working under him would drive him bonkers.

“The only thing I’ve got on Victoria is the Delta team Mikhailov rescue. Why didn’t Titan slap security all over her?”

“Consider security slapped on her now.”

“You?” Marco smirked and leaned back in his chair, pushing back so that the back two legs tilted, and the front two were suspended in air. “Maybe your old man is getting soft in his old age.”

Sugar grinned. “You know what’s funny?”

“What’s that?” Marco sneered.

“Calling my old man soft?” She clucked at him. “It’s not me who’s gonna let him know that you did.” Sugar danced eyes danced around the room, casually lingering on each man at the table. Marco’s disrespect would get back to Jared; she had no doubt. “And even funnier? You worship the old bastard.”

“Go to hell, Sugar.”

An empty chair next to Marco shot back. She raised her chin, asking without a word about the solid invite to join them from the big black guy on the other side of the table. “Thanks.”

He lifted his chin in answer. “Have a seat.”

“Damn it, Deacon.” Marco’s lips snarled.

Deacon didn’t bother to turn his head. “Nunez, if you think you’re calling the shots, you’re mistaken.”

“Easy, boys.” Sugar hooked her heel around the chair leg, snaking it over, and took the offered seat. “You know I get all hot and bothered when I see a turf war.”

“I’m a fan of yours,” Deacon continued. “And I’d be happy to talk about Vashchenko.”

Marco slammed his fist on the table, making Deacon chuckle and extend his hand. “Deacon Lanes, I’ve heard more tales about Sugar and GUNS than I may’ve ever heard of one person.”

Sugar took his hand and shook it. “Ninety-nine point nine percent are true.”

He tilted his head with a sly wink as their hands fell apart, and she sat back into her chair. Another person at the table shuffled a stack of paperwork to her, and she said hello to the rest of the men.

“Of all the stories, what was that point one percent that wasn’t true?” Deacon hummed.

“Everything is rooted in the truth somewhere. Just consider that missing percentage a gimme.”

Deacon leaned back in his chair. “A gimme, huh?”

“You’re a fed?” There were a lot of folks sitting around the table simply to be dealing with simple gang and gun activity. “Or do we have a DA who likes to jump into field ops?”

“Does it matter?” Deacon squared back to her.

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