Page 66 of His Twisted Game
Peace washed over me. I had to deal with a corpse, but she was safe. I called one of my men to tail her back to the apartment, then took care of the Hatchcom scum.
Back at the farm, one of the recruits checked; sure enough, the man was Hatchcom Focus, one of the few soldiers they had left.
Letting them get close to Fiona in any capacity wasn’t acceptable. It was time to put an end to this.Now.
Wilder rounded up the rest of the new recruits and some of our veteran men into the Dairy Barn. The new recruits kneeled down, guns in front of them, waiting for my command.
“Roth treated you like ammo,” I said. “Objects to be used, to be discarded like shells. But at the Feldman Farm, we know that our business depends on our men.Youare our business.” A pleased grunt came from some of them. “Roth only has half of his soldiers left. You know where they are. You know what to do.” Their eyes locked with mine. “This is how you will prove your loyalty to our family. And in return, we will take care of you.”
They grabbed their guns, our men accompanying them. Wilder looked at me, though he didn’t say a word. I nodded at him, confirming that this was what I wanted.
I knew our business. And I knew how to win.
CHAPTER 15
Fiona
The next day, the fluorescent lights of the staff room beamed down on us. I held my breath as Erica cocked a brow at me.
“So you think I might be able to find something different from you? With researching?” she asked, crossing her arms.
Not quite, but close enough. “Yeah,” I said.
“But I just started here.”
“I need a fresh pair of eyes on this thing.”
“Okay. Let me get this straight. You want to look up Sawyer’sdad?” Erica asked. “Why? Do you have a daddy fetish or something?”
“Come on,” I said. “You said you wouldn’t ask questions.” I threw up my hands. “Besides, he’s dead!”
“All right. Let’s see.” She tapped the keyboard, signing into her remote desktop. “What’s his dad’s name?”
“Forrest Feldman.”
She typed for a moment, then scanned the results. “Billionaire family legacy. Great at livestock farming. Yadda, yadda. Ahh.” She pointed at the screen. “Died last year. Gunshot wound.” Erica scanned the rest, then gasped. “Murder!”
I leaned over her shoulder. “What?”
“I’m kidding,” she laughed. “It says ‘natural causes.’”
Natural causes? I checked the birth year and death year. “But he was in his late fifties,” I said. I pointed at the county coroner’s signature. “Look this person up.”
“On it.” She opened a new tab and typed into the search bar. She smacked the final key and straightened her shoulders.
No Results Found!
“Is that even possible?” I asked.
“Let me double-check.” She scrutinized the signature, then typed again.
No Results Found!
“That’s weird,” she muttered.
“That’s weird?”
“Usually there’s some kind of result, you know? Even if it’s the wrong one.” She shrugged. “What’s this about, anyway? Did you hear something weird about him?”
