And I’ve never let him down yet.
Chapter 9: Fang
My footsteps echo against the concrete floor as I make my way to Vapor’s office, laptop tucked under my arm like a shield. The familiar weight of it grounds me, anchors me to what I know best—codes, systems, the elegant logic of technology. People are messier, more unpredictable. Like Mina. The thought of her sitting alone in my room, wearing my too-big clothes, trusting me with her brother’s life, sends an uncomfortable heat through my chest, something that feels dangerously close to responsibility.
I pause outside Vapor’s door, knuckles raised. This is the moment I could turn back and just tell Mina there’s nothing I can do. But the image of her face when she spoke about her brother flashes in my mind. It’s the same desperation I’ve experienced since Tommy disappeared.
I knock, three sharp raps.
“Enter,” comes Vapor’s voice, low and authoritative.
I push into the room, the familiar scent of leather, bourbon, and gun oil wrapping around me. Vapor’s office is a study in controlled chaos. A worn oak desk dominates the center, its surface covered with tactical maps of New Orleans, the territories marked with different colored pins—red for cartel, blue for us, yellow for neutral ground. The walls are adorned with club insignia, vintage motorcycle parts mounted liketrophies, and framed photographs of brothers both living and dead.
Vapor sits behind the desk, a glass of amber liquid at his elbow, untouched. His slicked-back hair gleams black as a raven’s wing under the low light of his desk lamp. Those sharp blue eyes miss nothing as they track my entrance, cataloging my body language and the laptop under my arm.
The muscles in my neck tense. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s up with Vapor, but his mood seems off. Normally he’s much friendlier and open to talking, but today, shit feels different. Maybe it’s because I didn’t tell him I was going to Texas. Or because I brought Mina here without clearing it through him first. He’s probably questioning my judgement. Considering what I’m about to ask him, his distrust isn’t going to help me make my case.
“I need to talk to you about Mina,” I begin.
“Thought we were going to discuss the woman during Church.”
“I could wait, but I figured it might be easier to explain if it was just the two of us.”
“If it’s going to be hard to explain, then that’s even more reason to talk about it during Church.” Vapor leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath his weight.
“It can’t wait.”
“Fine. Go ahead.” He nods.
“We’ve been talking shit over and she might be able to help us with the cartel.”
“You vouching for her already? That was quick.” He smirks.
“It’s not like that. I’m vouching for her skills,” I clarify, opening the laptop and typing in my password. “She stopped the cartel’s latest attack without breaking a sweat. She’s damn good at what she does.”
Vapor raises a brow and drops the sarcasm. “Show me.”
I turn the screen toward him, navigating through files with practiced efficiency. “They tried to hit us with a polymorphic worm embedded in what looked like a routine traffic camera feed. Smart approach—they know we tap into those feeds to monitor shipments.”
Lines of code fill the screen, a language as familiar to me as English. I point to specific sections, highlighting them with my cursor. “Here’s where their code starts to unpack itself. Nasty piece of work. Would have established a backdoor into our entire network, given them access to everything—member details, operations, finances.”
Vapor leans forward, eyes narrowed. Though he doesn’t understand the technical details, he grasps the implications immediately. “And Mina caught this?”
I shake my head. “No, but she redirected it. Look here.” I pull up another window showing a different segment of code. “She created a fake system that looks like our real one. Diverted the attack there, then traced it back to its source.”
“The cartel’s servers?”
“Better.” I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. Technical elegance always pleases me, even when it comes from unexpected sources. “She traced it back to the specific laptop that created it. Got the guy’s name, location, even grabbed screenshots through his webcam.”
I show Vapor the images—a scowling man with a patchy beard typing furiously, cartel tattoos visible on his forearms. “Juan Vasquez’s pet hacker. Guy named Rodrigo who runs their cyber operations out of a warehouse near the port.”
Vapor’s fingers drum against the desk while he processes the information.
“Impressive,” he admits. “But it doesn’t mean she’s not playing both sides.”
“I thought you might say that.” I close the hacker documentation and open a different folder. “So, I did some digging on Mina before I came to talk to you.”
Vapor’s eyes sharpen. “Without authorization?”
