Page 9 of Fang

Vapor’s eyes never leave my face, and his expression’s stone cold.

“Things went sideways,” I continue, trying to save my ass and justify what I did behind his back. “I accidentally triggered an explosive device. Burned the whole warehouse down. In the chaos, I managed to grab her—and a flash drive she was carrying. I locked her gun in my office. She claims the drive has everything we need to take down the cartel’s digital operation.”

“And does it?” Vapor asks, his knuckles whitening as his fists tighten.

I shake my head. “There are only twelve files on it. Nothing like what she promised. I’ve run every recovery program Ihave, checked for hidden partitions, steganography, encrypted containers—nothing.”

“Could you have missed something?”

The question isn’t accusatory, but it stings my professional pride nonetheless.

“No,” I say firmly. “If there were more files hidden on that drive, I would have found them.”

Vapor leans back, his chair creaking under his weight. The veins in his neck are still visible, pulsing with barely contained anger. “You realize she could be setting us up. This could be exactly what she wanted—to get inside our defenses. Trojan horse shit.”

I had the exact same thought. After all, I’m paranoid by nature.

“She claims she’s not working for them by choice,” I say carefully.

“And you believe her?” Vapor’s eyebrow raises, skepticism etched into every line of his face.

“I don’t know what to believe,” I admit. “But if there’s even a chance she’s telling the truth—”

“Was she trafficked?” Vapor cuts in, his voice sharpening on the word. The cartel’s human trafficking operations are a particular trigger for him, for all of us in the club.

“I don’t know,” I repeat. “She hasn’t told me anything useful yet.”

Vapor’s massive hand comes down on the table with a thud, hard enough to make the wood vibrate beneath my forearms. “All we know for sure is that she works for them. If the cartel realizes she’s missing, they’ll tear this city apart looking for her. And if they trace her back to us—”

“They won’t,” I interrupt, certainty hardening my voice. “They don’t even know if she survived the warehouse blast.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Chatter on the dark web. The explosion killed at least a dozen people. They’re using dental records to identify the remains. It’s going to take time before they realize she’s not one of the bodies.”

Vapor studies me for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing enough to make me want to squirm in my chair like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Finally, he pushes himself to his feet with a sigh that seems to carry the weight of his entire presidency.

“You created this mess by bringing her here,” he says, each word precise and final. “It’s up to you to find out what she’s really about. If she’s with them, it’s your job to get rid of her. If she’s not, also your problem. Fix it.”

The conversation is over. I’ve been given my orders. As Vapor walks away, his shoulders still rigid with tension, I feel the weight of his expectations settling around me like a second skin.

What Vapor doesn’t understand—what I can’t bring myself to tell him—is that something about Mina’s story strikes a chord that resonates through the hollow spaces in my chest. Something about her defiance in the face of certain defeat feels hauntingly familiar.

Something about her reminds me of other trafficking victims we’ve rescued. Maybe she’s not lying. Maybe she’s just being trafficked for her technical skills instead of that smokin’ hot body.

Sitting here won’t help shit. I need to find out what I can about her. The best way to do that is get online.

Chapter 5: Fang

My office deep inside the clubhouse welcomes me with the familiar electronic hum that’s more soothing to my ears than any lullaby. The blue glow from six monitors bathes everything in a spectral light, turning my skin the color of a drowned man’s and making the stacks of circuit boards and hard drives along the walls glisten like wet stones. This is my sanctuary, my domain of absolute control—unlike the chaos I’ve created by bringing Mina onto our property.

I sink into my chair, the worn leather conforming to my body with the memory of countless all-night coding sessions. The conversation with Vapor sits heavy in my chest, a weight pulling down my shoulders as I reach into my pocket and extract the flash drive.

It’s unremarkable to look at—black plastic with a manufacturer’s logo worn nearly smooth from being handled countless times. Nothing about its appearance suggests it could be worth dying for, yet Mina had clutched it like a lifeline even as the warehouse burned around us.

I plug it into my primary workstation, the one with custom hardware I’ve pieced together from components no legitimate retailer would sell to a civilian. The machine hums a bit louder, acknowledging the new connection, and my fingers dance across the keyboard.

“Alright,” I mutter to the empty room, “let’s see if I can figure out if you’re hiding anything. I’ve already checked, but one more shot…”

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