And still, my breath hitched. I’d worked for Lassiter once, and had never suspected he was anything but an overzealous federal prosecutor. How could we not have known?
I didn’t remember pulling away from Redcars. The drive blurred past me, as if I’d been on autopilot. What jolted me back to the present was the crunch of tires over cracked concrete, the kind that hadn’t seen a repair crew in over a decade. I eased the car to a stop and looked around. A ruined Blockbuster with boarded-up windows had a placard on the fence declaring it part of a regeneration project, as if that somehow made it less dead. I left the engine running. The warmth from the heated seats coiled around my spine, but it couldn’t touch the chill in my chest. I was a block of ice. Frozen from the inside out.
What Robbie had revealed back at Redcars cracked something open in me. I hadn’t seen it coming. Didn’t want to feel it. But his words had burrowed in, slow and merciless. And now, they were dragging memories up from places I’d locked tight.
The way some clients smiled, as if they owned me, the second the money hit. Tuition didn’t pay itself. Rent didn’t wait. Groceries didn’t appear like magic. The right connections wouldn’t happen if the people I tried to ingratiate myself with knew there was a street rat with a past sitting opposite them.
I’d never been ashamed of the sex.
But there were names that I’d never say out loud—men who wanted silence and who paid for obedience but didn’t want a person, just a thing. And I’d given them what they wanted. I smiled through it. Played the game. Got what I needed even if it left scars. Some shallow. Some still bleeding inside.
My hands tightened on the wheel. I was shaking.
“Stop it,” I muttered, low and sharp.
I forced my eyes shut and breathed deep. Made myself think of something else—someoneelse.
Jamie.
Beautiful, infuriating Jamie. All edges and heat and danger. He made me want things. There was something magnetic about how Jamie thought—no grey, no compromise—and a razor-sharp conviction that bad people deserved bad endings, especially if it meant shielding the ones he cared about. It was brutal, maybe, but honest. Clean. And God, I envied that clarity.
I exhaled. Still shaking. But breathing again.
I turned off the engine. Let the silence rush in. What would it be like to fuck Jamie? To strip away all the bullshit andfeel—him, me, the burn between us. To pin him down, feel the fight in him, the surrender. Or for him to flip the script, take control, drag every hidden nerve out of me. That idea made my skin burn hotter than shame ever could.
I groaned and dropped my head to the wheel, leather cool against my forehead. This was ridiculous. Dangerous. I was Killian McKendrick, and I didn’t do distractions. I didn’t indulge.
But the thoughts didn’t fade. They lingered in my bloodstream, thick and hot and wrong in the best way.
I sat there for another long breath, then forced myself to head for my office, walking straight through and into the Cave. Caleb was at the wall removing pictures of Mitchell, Sonya next to him, taking the pins as he handed them to her.
“Leave that on there,” I said, and Caleb didn’t argue, pinning it back. “And I want Lassiter’s picture up front and center.”
Caleb frowned. “Federal Prosecutor Lassiter? You’re bumping him to the top of the list? He’s low-level.”
“Nope, top of the list. He and Marcus Kessler.”
The room fell into stunned silence. Caleb blinked as if he hadn’t heard right, and even Sonya froze with a pin halfway to the board. “Kessler?” she repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. The name hit like a punch, the kind that made your gut clench and your mind reel. For a moment, no one moved, the weight of it dragging the air down thick between us. “Billionaire, social media, owns half the world, Kessler?”
“Yep.”
“That’s gonna be difficult,” Caleb said. “Kessler, I mean.”
“I know. So, we go in hard on Lassiter and see what shakes out.”
“Are these the names you got from your meeting at Redcars?” Caleb asked, and he exchanged a confused glance with Sonya.
I didn’t question how Caleb knew where I’d been; I think he always knew where Levi, Sonya, and I were at all times. He probably knew I’d stopped at a freaking Blockbuster to have a meltdown.
“They were Mitchell’s ‘business associates’ that he reported to, and he would give them Robbie as a gift when they talked business. They hurt Robbie; they nearly fucking killed him. There’s more than just the money we took from Mitchell’s accounts; there are links to trafficking on files that Redcars are sending over.” I regretted we hadn’t connected the dots way back on the only case I’d worked with him.
We’d been building a slow, deliberate case against Lassiter for over a year, but it was admin shit. Contracts with too many loopholes. Real estate that didn’t line up. Money redirected overseas. It allreeked of someone who knew how to stay within the lines. Polished crime, buried under layers of legality and offshore accounts. He was not the only one abusing power; he was just another in a long, ugly line. But now, after what we’d learned, he wasn’t only another name. And billionaire tech giant, Kessler, who hadn’t even been on our radar, was suddenly right up there beside him at the top of the list. He was a fortress—so wealthy, so deeply connected, he was nearly untouchable. Despite his public image—cutting-edge space tech, next-gen fusion batteries, and a PR-friendly relationship with government leaders—he was someone we watched from afar. Too big, too protected for our small unit to touch. He had a private army of hackers wiping his trail, and he controlled a colossal server farm that funneled a chunk of the country’s internet traffic. He was top of our wish list, but we’d need more to get anywhere near him.
Lassiter was our primary focus, and who knew, something might emerge from our actions regarding Lassiter that could provide more information on Kessler.
What Robbie remembered—the fragments he recited with that blank, clinical detachment—had rewired how I saw our one solo dealing with federal prosecutor Lassiter. What I heard wasn’t that he waspart of some white-collar scheme. It was filth. Flesh. The list was endless, men buying boys, women auctioned off in back rooms. Debt paid in bruises. Control bought with silence. Everything off-grid. No emails. No bank transfers. All in Robbie’s head, run by Mitchell. Nothing that could be traced, because it wasn’t meant to beseen—it was meant to befelt. Pain instead of paper. That was how they kept it hidden.
“Files are coming in,” Caleb said, frowning at the screen. The fuck?” He peered closer, pausing one screen. “Okay, this… this is weird.”
