Page 30 of Fang

“Probably,” Fang says.

“You sure Vapor’s not willing to back you on this?” Scalpel asks.“If the cartel thinks she’s valuable enough to drag her brother all the way to Mexico City, then maybe she’s exactly what you need to finally do these fuckers in.”

“He won’t budge,” Fang growls.“Doesn’t trust her.”

“Because I worked for the cartel,” I mutter.

“Sounds like a shit show.” Scalpel rubs his beard.“Look, I’m happy to offer my services to another brother in need, but if you’re going to Mexico City, you have to tell Vapor. I can’t cross into Mexico without his blessing. He’s not my pres., but I’m not going to go behind his back for that. This was different.”

“How so?” I demand.

“Thought this would be a fast extraction without a bunch of shit going down. Mexico City’s a whole nother can o’worms,” he says, letting his Texas drawl through for the first time. Guess he does that when he gets agitated.“If you get Rory back, call me. Otherwise, I can’t help you without your pres. blessin’.”

“Thanks for coming out,” Fang says, slapping Scalpel on the back.“I’ll be in touch.”

“So long.” Scalpel gets into the ambulance and drives away.

“Now what?” I ask.

“Vapor’s not going to agree to Mexico City.”

“Then we go without him.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Yeah.” His gaze slides off into the distance. After a few seconds, he shakes his head.“We’ll stay the night at a safe house where we can pick up supplies, then leave in the morning. Don’t want to go back to the clubhouse and risk running into Vapor. The less he knows, the better. As long as we get Rory back, Vapor won’t kick my ass.”

“We’re going to Mexico?” I perk up, dropping my arms to my sides.

“¡Viva México!” He gives me a wry smile, and I can’t help but return it. I’ve lost this round, but the game isn’t over. The cartel has taken the only person I care about. Now, with nothing left to lose, I’m more dangerous than they can possibly imagine. They’d better start watching their backs in Mexico because I’m coming, and I’m going to rain hellfire down on them until I can bring my brother home.

Chapter 12: Fang

We arrive at a small house on the outskirts of New Orleans. It’s nondescript, the kind of place that fades into the background. Perfect for our needs.

“Is this one of the club’s safe houses?” I ask as Fang uses a keypad to unlock the door.

“It’s mine,” he answers simply. “Off the books.”

The interior is spartan but functional. Multiple computer monitors dominate the living room. Beyond it there’s a kitchenette with minimal supplies. As I walk past an open door, I glance in. It’s a bedroom. With one bed. Great. Hopefully the couch is comfortable.

Fang moves immediately to his computer setup. “We need new identities, flights, accommodations—all untraceable to either of us.”

I stand behind him, watching as he navigates through dark web marketplaces and encrypted forums with casual ease. Many of the sites are familiar. The cartel uses them too. “How long will it take?”

“For basic travel documents? Four hours. For good ones that’ll stand up to airport security? Six.”

I sigh and don’t bother asking if there’s a way to speed things up. Getting into Mexico undetected will be worth the wait. I hate that we’re in this position, but there’s nothing I can do about it.

“Check the closet in the bedroom for clothes. There should be some women’s clothes in there. Pack whatever you think you’ll need,” Fang says, still typing.

“Did your ex-girlfriend leave them behind?” I ask, curious.

“No. She never lived with me, and that was a long time ago.”

The dismissive tone in his voice makes it seem like that relationship is old news, so I don’t press the issue. Instead, I ask the next obvious question, “Did all your one night stands leave without their clothes?” I try to keep my tone playful, but there’s an edge to it.

“If you want to know why I have women’s clothing, it’s simple. Sometimes I help people on the side, mostly women because that’s who I seem to attract. The club helps as many people as possible, but some women’s stories don’t quite add up. They don’t want to risk getting involved, but it doesn’t stop me. The perfect victim doesn’t exist.” He shrugs. “So, I help the ones that have sketchy stories.”

“Oh.” I glance toward the bedroom, wishing I’d kept my suspicious thoughts to myself.

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