Page 84 of Prodigal Son

Morgan held up a finger. Getting to that. “I did some digging on the sly, called in some favors with old friends, that sort of thing. Pseudonym was, at that point, making a killing all on its own, but to start with, it got off the ground with a massive flood of cash. From the government.”

“Why?” Eden and Fox asked together.

“From what I’ve managed to dig up, I think they’re trying to reboot Project Emerald. That’s the only thing that explains wanting Morris. Only this time, they’re covering their tracks better, and they’re insulating themselves with all these legitimate companies, making themselves indispensable.” He snorted. “Kind of like the Lean Dogs that way.”

“I was trying to figure out if they had our old files,” Devin said. “That would prove something. They did, and I took them, and now, well.” He shrugged. “Here we are.”

Fox took a breath. Another. Let it all sink in. “Fuck,” he finally said. “Just…fuck.”

“They’ve got our trail this time,” Morgan said grimly. “And they won’t let us get away again. We’re too much a liability on multiple fronts.”

It was…a lot. A whole lot. The others started talking, half low and urgent, half as dazed as he felt. He couldn’t deal with that noise at the moment, so he retreated within his thoughts, deep down, and threw up a mental screen against distractions. Wiped the slate clean and properlythoughtabout it.

At its core, Pseudonym wasn’t a massive conglomerate, or a government conspiracy, or a boogeyman; it was a snake, one that needed its head cut off. A familiar problem for Fox. That was what he did for the club, after all. This snake was bigger, meaner, and far more venomous. But the same basic principle applied: someone was threatening his family, and it was time to go to work.

“Okay, so how do I kill them?” he asked.

Everyone looked at him.

“What?” Morgan said.

Abe chuckled.

Morgan, frowning: “I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

“No. No, it’s really not. These wankers are a problem. A big one I’ll grant you – but a problem. I kill problems. Point me in the right direction, and pull the trigger.”

Abe’s smile was small, but pleased.

Devin looked openly proud.

Morgan kept frowning.

Fox tried to catch Eden’s gaze, but she sat studying her hands as she worked her fingers together in nervous twitches.

Evan, eyes about to bug out of his head, said, “Dude. Did you not hear…any of that? Like, it’s a whole company.Andthe government. How…how do you go up against that? No offense, but, like…you’re just a dude with a cool leather vest. And, again, no offense, but…you’re not very tall…”

Abe cuffed him across the back of the head.

“Ow!”

Fox spread his hands. Invitation, maybe supplication. “I’m being serious here. This is what – what weall” – gesture at Dad, Abe, Morgan – “do. We neutralize threats. It’s a big threat, yeah, but that doesn’t mean this is impossible. And there’s not a choice: get rid of these guys, or wind up dead.”

Morgan sighed. “You aren’t wrong, but–”

Fox’s phone rang.

Twenty-Four

“For the record, this is a terrible idea,” Axelle said as she slid into a booth across from Raven. It was a very corner booth, one Raven had unceremoniously kicked a group of paying customers out of; they’d tried to argue, but something about a woman in spike heels, with wild hair, and wilder eyes, swinging a vodka bottle, inspired them to get up and move. She’d then tucked herself back against the old worn leather, the fronds of a potted fern falling over her shoulders, and poured herself a shot.

She downed it and blinked. Shook her head. “Noted,” she said, and poured another. “Will you have some?”

“No.” One of them should stay aware, she thought. “Thanks.” She twisted around to look over her shoulder and scan the pub. On its face, it was a regular night at Baskerville Hall. A mix of Lean Dogs and civilian customers, come in off the street to unwind scarves and shrug out of jackets and order frosted pints amid the low lights and warm air.

But a low tension vibrated through the scene. A sense that something wasn’t quite right; the light smeared, the music a notch too loud, the laughter a little forced. It set Axelle’s teeth on edge. She saw a few patrons dart glances between the bar and a small knot of Dogs hunched over a table together, white-edged, nervous glances they tried to cover with lazy grins. Everyone could feel it: that buzz of urgency.

She turned back, and the shot glass stood empty again; Raven poured another round.

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