Page 21 of Fang

“With due diligence,” I counter, meeting his gaze directly. “You wanted me to vet her. I’m being thorough.”

“What did you find?”

“She has a brother. Name’s Rory Bishop.” I pull up his medical records. “Diagnosed with Primary Hyperoxaluria Type 1, a rare kidney condition, when he was about twelve years old. Currently in intensive care. Mina thinks she located him. If she’s right, then he’s in one of the cartel’s small hospitals in NOLA. His condition requires specialized equipment and constant monitoring.” I scroll through billing statements. “The cartel’s been covering his medical expenses through a shell corporation called Bayou Health Services. Over five million dollars in the past decade.”

“And why would they do that?” he asks. His expression doesn’t change, but I see the slight tightening around his eyes. He has a soft spot for family loyalty, for siblings looking out for each other. It’s one of the reasons we connected when I first joined the club.

“They’re keeping her brother alive in exchange for her technical skills. It’s a long story, but—”

“Spill it.”

I tell him everything Mina told me, starting with her mother leaving and ending with her joining the cartel. I even tell him about her cartel boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. That matters. If she was still hooked up with one of them romantically, then I’d never consider helping her. Her loyalty could easily be split. However, I checked and there hasn’t been any communication between Mina and Carlos in well over a year.

Vapor’s silent for a few seconds. The fact that he hasn’t shut me down yet means I’ve got a shot at getting him to help us.

“There’s more,” I say, pulling up a new window. “I found these in a cloud storage account linked to Mina’s email. This is one of the main pieces of evidence that makes me believe her.”

The screen fills with screenshots of text messages, each more threatening than the last.

*Remember your brother needs continuous dialysis to stay alive. Shame if there was a power outage.*

*Getting harder to source his meds. Better make this job count.*

*Your brother asked about you today. Told him you were too busy to visit. Should I tell him the truth instead?*

Vapor reads them silently, his jaw tightening. “These could be manufactured,” he says finally. “Set up to gain our sympathy.”

“They could be,” I acknowledge. “But I cross-referenced the phone numbers. They match known cartel burners. And the timing aligns with jobs she’s confirmed to have done for them.” I close the laptop, meeting Vapor’s eyes. “I believe her. She’s been a prisoner as much as a collaborator.”

“And you want to do what, exactly?”

“Rescue her brother. In exchange, she’s got more info on the cartel than what we’ve got. She’s been in their systems for years. Her knowledge is invaluable.”

“Are you sure you’re not letting your personal history cloud your judgment?” he asks softly.

The words hit like a physical blow. He’s referencing Tommy without saying his name—my missing brother, and the guilt I’ve carried for sixteen years. The reason I understand Mina’s desperation. But this isn’t about Tommy. It’s about doing the right thing, which is what we do. Vapor should understand this.

“I’m not clouded,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’m clear-eyed. She’s an asset we can use against the cartel, and she has legitimate reasons to help us. She wants to destroy them as much as we do.”

Vapor picks up one of the red pins from his map and rolls it between his fingers, considering. “The evidence is compelling, but not conclusive. This could still be an elaborate ploy to infiltrate us. After what happened at the old clubhouse…”

He doesn’t need to finish. We both remember the bodies, the blood, the club girls who never had a chance to run. The cartel has proven there’s no line they won’t cross.

“I hear you,” I say. “But I also know what I’m seeing in this data. And in her.”

Vapor replaces the pin on the map, his movements deliberate. “Show me something more. Something definitive,” he says. “Something that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’s cut ties with the cartel. Then we’ll talk about extracting her brother. We can’t risk walking into a trap. Not now. Not after everything.”

I shift in my chair, frustrated. “It’s not a trap.”

“You don’t know that.” He turns from the map, blue eyes glacial in the dim light. “This could all be an elaborate setup. The cartel’s been gunning for us for years. They blew up the old clubhouse, killing our brothers in the process. They’ve got to be even more pissed off since we shot Juan Vasquez. This girl could be a trojan horse.”

The memory of the old clubhouse hits me like a physical blow—the acrid smell of smoke and blood, the sound of timber cracking as flames consumed what had been our home. We lost a bunch of good men that night, and a few club girls who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Every few months, I’ll have a nightmare about it.

“I was there too,” I remind him, my voice tighter than I intend. “I pulled Miranda’s body from the wreckage.”

Vapor’s jaw clenches at the name. Miranda had been one of his favorites—not for sex, but for her sharp mind and sharper tongue. She’d been studying computer science at Tulane, moonlighting at the club for tuition money. I’d been teaching her basic network security the week before the bombing. Losing her was huge. She was such a great asset to the club.

“Then you should understand why I can’t just take this girl at her word,” Vapor says. He picks up his untouched bourbon, considers it, then sets it down again without drinking. “The stakes are too high.”

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