Page 121 of Corpse Roads
I incline my head in thanks. The younger Rodriguez brother is far too loud and dramatic for my social anxiety to tolerate, but I’ve started to make peace with his place in our lives.
Pacing the room, Hunter dismisses me with a glower. He has ditched his suit jacket in favour of a rumpled shirt and loaded gun holster. Everyone else looks equally dishevelled.
“I never should’ve brought her here.” Hunter fists his loose hair with another curse. “This was a huge mistake.”
“You did what you thought was best,” I point out.
He scoffs. “How many times can I use that excuse? My best judgement has caused us enough casualties over the years.”
Powering up my laptop, I hammer the keys hard. Sabre has extracted a very heavy toll on us all. Casualties have paid for the luxury our team lives in. Luxury I cannot fucking stand.
The hum of an engine outside the hotel causes our remaining staff to scatter, taking handfuls of paperwork and laptops elsewhere. I know who it is without looking up. Hudson’s 1967 Mustang GT has a very specific growl.
“Took them long enough,” Hudson complains.
Enzo scrubs a hand over his face. “I told Brooklyn to grab the other three. We need all hands on deck for this.”
“You dragged them back in from retirement?” Hunter frowns at his teammate. “Why?”
“Because they’re the only ones that can think like Harlow,” I answer for him. “None of us can begin to understand.”
There are worse people to enrol than the infamous inmates that turned our company upside down. Enzo’s right. Only Brooklyn and her men can fathom what Harlow’s been through.
“Enzo, sit down.” Hunter slumps into a chair. “We’ve got our best people out there.”
“Sit down?” Enzo’s face darkens. “Sit down?!”
“Lower your damn voice.”
“Fuck you, Hunt.” He points an accusing finger. “Harlow’s out there and it’s your fault for not keeping her safe. I will not sit down and wait for that bastard to find our girl.”
Snatching up his leather jacket and gun holster, Enzo brushes straight past Brooklyn in the hotel entrance as she yells his name. Hunter’s fist crashes against the table.
“Our girl,” he mutters. “I warned him. I fucking warned him and now look at us.”
“Did you warn yourself too?”
Hunter bares his teeth at me. “You’re one to talk. I’ve seen the whole bloody cupboard of evidence you’ve collected on Harlow. How long’s that collection been going on?”
“It’s my job.”
“Bullshit. It’s bordering on obsessive.”
“I’m trying to help her!” I raise my voice.
Leighton’s forehead thumps against the table in frustration. Before Hunter can hit back, we’re joined by our latest arrivals, sliding the panelled doors shut against the rest of the hotel.
Hudson straightens from his casual lean against the wall. “Who drove then? Keys. Now.”
Pouting, Phoenix tosses them through the air. His shaggy, chin-length hair is currently a lurid red colour, compared to the lime green it was when I saw him last.
With impish features, a shining nose ring, and tight black jeans that show off his toned legs, he’s the resident wind-up in their team and an all-round pain in our asses.
“Sorry, Hud. I dented the bonnet.”
“Not funny.” Hudson narrows his eyes. “If there’s so much as a scratch on my baby, I’ll run over your video games. No more GTA for you.”
Phoenix’s lips curl into a grin. “Who needs games? That was a sweet as hell ride. I’ll steal your baby myself and live out my real-life gangster fantasy.”