“Maybe you should…”
“I’m going,” she stated. “I won’t work with people who don’t trust me to have their backs. Period.”
Heath was horrified.
He’d had a whole different plan in his head involving Nikita, and it basically was her staying in his bed for a very long time.
Well, that was over.
“I’m telling Emma,” he stated. “She’s going to kick your ass for being a caveman.”
Greyson was horrified.
He was being lectured by his bodyguard.
What the hell?
“Excuse me?”
Heath turned back around. It was clear whose side he was on in this one, and it wasn’t Greyson’s.
How the hell had this day gone so bad?
Oh, yeah.
It was Vegas.
It always ended like this.
* * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *
The Underground
Wednesday Afternoon
Honestly, Jeffrey Raye hated coming here. The whole place was a scummy dive where the dregs of society drank all day and did bad deeds at night.
Only, he didn’t have a choice.
This was where he would find the people who could help him.
Greyson Croft had come into HIS house and fucked with him, and he was going to make sure the man paid.
How?
He was bringing it to him. Since Greyson Croft wanted to go all in on a war, he was definitely going to get that, and so much more. It was now no holds barred.
Since Jeffrey had been the law in Vegas, at one point, he knew where to find the criminal element. He knew how to locate someone to do the job.
Like now.
It was time to find a new partner since Claude Black had been a miserable failure. The only good thing was he only paid him half up front.
He didn’t deserve the rest.
As he sat down, he knew how it worked. He needed to be patient, and he’d get the end results he wanted.
Hopefully.
As he sat at the booth, the waitress approached.
“What can I get you?”
“I need someone handled. It’s going to be a hard one. I’m willing to pay big money. Armageddon,” he said, whispering the code word he’d bought off the dark web.
It worked.
Nothing more was said.
She scribbled something down on her pad and walked away. Not five minutes later, she came back with a beer and placed it in front of him.
Behind her, two guys sat down.
“You need help?” the bald one asked. He looked like a cross between a killer and mercenary.
Perfect.
He needed someone tough to crack this whole Croft nut wide open.
The other looked about as loyal as a snake, but he didn’t give a shit. He needed muscle.
Croft was getting too damn close. When he’d thought the man had rummaged through his home, it freaked him out.
It was time.
He knew how he had to play this.
“Yeah, but I’ve been told by other people it can’t be done,” he stated. “Claude Black failed.”
That had their attention.
“Did he now?” the bald dude said.
“Yeah, he’s dead on a mountain. I need someone who is a little better at their job. He got paid and fucked it up.”
The man was curious.
“What is the job?”
“I need someone to go in, find this woman, and kill her,” he stated, sliding them the picture of the woman on his phone. “She’s a cop. She’s nosey, and she’s caused nothing but trouble for me. I want to dig into my part of Vegas. If you succeed, there will be more jobs. I pay well.”
They both smiled at that.
In Vegas, if you wanted a killer’s help, you told them the best had failed, and that the target was a cop. Money being thrown at a situation helped too.
Add to that manipulation always got it done.
ALWAYS.
“Where’s she at?” baldy asked, doing the math in his head how much this was going to cost the man.
“Sky Villa,” he offered.
They didn’t look put off by it.
That was a good sign for Jeffrey. It wasn’t an easy place to break into—especially now that Greyson was buying up condo after condo.
“We’d have to find a way in and that’s not easy. That place is a fortress. Fort Knox has less security.”
Oh, he was aware.
“What if I could get you in? Could you blow the power, get to the top floor, and take her out?”
“Yes.”
“How about this one?” he asked, sliding the picture of Emma Croft toward them.
That pictured registered.
“Are you insane? That’s Emma Croft.”
He took it back.
“That’s okay. I know that’s impossible,” he stated, seeing the looks on their faces. “Claude couldn’t do it either,” he said, lying his ass off to make it sound like the man had tried.
That piqued their interest.
In Vegas, everyone wanted to be the best. This was no different. The street cred on killing Emma Croft…yeah, that would make them big players who got paid anything they asked.
“And if we do take her down?”
“There’s a one million dollar paycheck if you can end both women. She’s pregnant and fat as a sow by now. How hard could it be?”
He had a point.
“Prove you have the cash.”
“How much upfront?” Jeffrey countered.
“Half.”
He hoped the men could do it. He was sick of losing that much cash.
“I’ll prove it with a deposit. Once you get it, the deal is on,” he stated.
“If you have the cash, I have the guys to do the job,” he stated, knowing that split four ways, that was a cool deal indeed. He’d be stupid to turn that down.
Jeffrey knew he had him.
Hook.
Line.
Sinker.
He got the account number from the man, and from his phone, he sent the first half of the money. Only, it wasn’t his money or his account. Wouldn’t Zachary be surprised? Not that he’d miss his money. Claude shouldn’t have let him see his phone. See, Jeffrey knew how to clone them. He was in the clear. If Croft found out, hell was about to fall on Zachary—not him.
Thank you, Greyson Croft, who taught him that.
When the man’s phone beeped, he opened it.
The deal was done.
“When?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll get him out of there and tied up, but the women will still be inside. They will be on one of four floors. The building across from Sky Villa is shorter, but you can still see the floors. All those windows,” he hinted, giving them the vantage point they’d need to spy on them.
Yeah, unlucky them.
The Crofts had gone too far. They’d come to his city and played his game. When he came to the city and started focusing on the LVPD, eighteen months ago, they should have recognized him as a power player.
His wife had disappeared.
He’d been a cop in the next town.
Yeah, he knew how it worked.
Money made the world go round.
“When it’s done, give me a contact number,” Jeffrey stated. “I want to know the second you kill them both. If you can take Emma Croft, and you can cut that baby from her and drop it off the balcony, even better.”
The man laughed.
“You really hate them.”
Oh, he did.
Jeffrey liked his privacy, and Croft had crossed a line. When he tried to take him down for his wife’s murder, the game was on. Greyson was going to go down for Emma’s. Oh, not as the killer, but as the man who could do nothing to stop it.
After she and Poppy died, they’d dig.
Who would they find?
Pathetic Zachary Lipton.
The man was crooked, but running drugs and buying hookers was
nothing. He was small potatoes.
Now he was about to get fried.
“If you handle this, I have some jobs for you, boys. See, I’m moving up the ladder. Between me and Croft there’s only one person.”
Yeah, Lipton.
His plan from months ago was coming to fruition.
All he had to do was keep Croft in the dark and off of his ass. Then he would be free to be king of Vegas.
Finally.
They were about to learn one hell of a lesson when it came to him. Oh, being the commissioner had been a way to make money without anyone noticing.
He wasn’t a cop at heart.
He’d never been one.
It was a means to an end, and now, it was time to end the game. Croft was about to get a message.
Don’t fuck with Jeffrey Raye.
He was really a loose cannon now.
And he was about to blow.
* * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *
Country Club
The Green
Wednesday Afternoon
Getting into the country club was easy. All it took was taking the time to pretend he’d ever want to be part of something pretentious like this place.
The owners wanted him there.
He didn’t want anything to do with a place like this.
Ever.
This was his version of Hell.
All the pink-wearing men, sporting plaid shorts and the same silly-ass hats. They drove around in their carts, acting like this mattered.
It was golf.
Golf wasn’t a sport.
It was a drinking competition.
First, you drowned yourself on the green with water, as you baked in the sun, and then you tried to counteract the boredom with Bloody Mary drinks and salty snacks afterward.
It was a vicious cycle.
Drown.
Dehydrate.
Medicate.
So, as they drove up on a cart, one he’d ‘borrowed’ from a caddy for a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, they found him on the tenth hole ready to take a shot.
Well, that wasn’t happening.
As they hopped out and headed his way, the man looked scared.
Really scared.
“What’s going on?” he asked, trying not to run for it. He only had his caddy since Harold didn’t show for work.
“We need to talk.”
“About?”
Greyson loved this part of his job. It was where he was able to track them, chase them, and make them prey. This man was so stupid that he didn’t even know that trying to stand up to him was a bad idea.
Really, he should make a break for it—and he was in a wide-open field. It wasn’t like he could shoot him.
Now.
“How’s the escort business?” he asked, making small talk as other golfers headed past them—staring too.
He laughed, trying to cover the nervousness.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Croft. I don’t use an escort business.”
“Yeah, right.”
“What about Neptune?”
That had his attention.
“Oh, yeah, you’ve been ratted out, friend. You see, we took care of your buddy there. We’re tracking your pimp. Where’s Tommy Shepherd?”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he said. “I don’t know any Tommy. I only know a guy named Nate. He hooked me up.”
Dimitri listened, and he wanted to break both of his legs.
Seriously.
“Yeah, someone is lying. Know how I can tell?” he asked the man. “You keep looking for a gun and to get shot.”
Dimitri pulled his jacket back.
There was the gun.
And a big smile.
Greyson was going to see what fell out of the tree.
“I also hear you’re trolling at the university.”
The man laughed nervously.
“Do you have a Lincoln?” he asked.
Zachary swallowed.
Okay, that was strike two. The man had been in Neptune, and he had picked up Candice French at the university.
Last strike.
“How’s The Hidden Pearl?” he asked.
The man actually looked confused.
“What?”
“That dive motel where Harold goes to drop off money and pickup call girls for you.”
He stared at him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Greyson laughed.
Yeah, because those girls ended up dead, and he likely didn’t want to be implicated.
Thus, why he used Harold.
“We have a little issue, Zachary. Stay out of Neptune and stop buying women. I’m going to prove that you got rough, you had your buddy Claude take care of them, and that you’re a killer.”
He looked horrified.
“You should go,” he said. “I’ll call the manager.”
He wasn’t worried.
“When you gun for a Croft, you get hurt. When you peddle flesh in my town, you die. I’m going to make sure I find a way to connect you to those women,” he stated. “I’m going to find a way to take you down.”
“I don’t know…”
He stopped him.
“I’m coming for you, Zachary. I’m going to find out what you’re hiding, and I’m going to take you down.”
He swallowed but managed to find his spine.
“I guess I’m going to have to switch clubs if they let you in here. Maybe they should be more selective.”
“You don’t say.”
Greyson signaled to his people, they got back into the golf cart and drove away.
They weren’t ten feet away when Greyson pulled out his phone and texted his brother.
‘Find me everything you can on Zachary Lipton. He’s up to something. I want to know what he’s doing in the business world—legal and illegal. Then I want to shut him down.’
That said it all.
It was war.
Only, that little voice in the back of his head said one thing.
Something was off.
“Let’s get out of here. I need a drink, and not from this place,” he stated.
Yeah, it was time to head home.
To think.
Zachary watched him disappear around the corner of the green, and he pulled out his phone.
It rang twice before a man answered.
“Nate! He was here asking about that club. What the hell have you done? You better not have ratted me out to him,” he said, angrily.
The man muttered something.
“I’m done using your girls. I’ll get my own.”
Then he hung up.
Zachary needed a vacation.
It looked like this might be a good time to take one.
Far away.
* * * G R E Y S O N C R O F T * * *
LVPD
Parking Lot
When he arrived back there from his impromptu lunch with Greyson, his partner, Virgil Christian, was already getting out of his car.
What he didn’t tell Greyson while at lunch was he knew who was going to be ratting him out.
He didn’t buy that whole camera thing or Nikita thing. He knew better. As of the last few weeks, he’d had a rocky relationship with his partner.
This was right up his alley.
Some cops still didn’t like the Crofts, and he’d been saddled with one. There was no doubt in his mind he was spying on his lunch date.
The only reason Riley hadn’t told Greyson was he didn’t want one more cop going down. It was a vicious circle, and the Crofts had enough on their plates.
One dead partner was a coincidence.
Two?
Yeah, people would start to believe he was a killer. Still, Riley wasn’t going to put up with a partner who was following him around, being sneaky, and spying on him.
If he wanted to have tacos on a Wednesday with a mob man, that was his damn business.
That was funny.
He never thought he’d say that.
Well, now he had to cleanup his own mess.
Delilah had told him that Greyson had met with the commissioner and captain. She reassured him that they were all on the same page, and the fact that Greyson was able to call the FBI director, and get the autopsy bumped, proved it—but how did he make his fellow cops understand that?
Yeah, there was going to be a showdown.
Here.
Now.
Right in front of work.
The days of Riley being intimidated by other cops were long gone. He was going to make sure he stood up for himself. He was going to make sure he could support his wife. While he always had a job with the Crofts, he loved being a detective.
It was time to stand his ground.
“Hey! Virgil!” he called as the man tried to get into the building without being seen.
Riley knew sneaky when he saw it.
When he heard his name, Virgil stopped.
Riley jogged up to him and knew it was time to call the man on it.
“Want to tell me why you’re creeping around, trying to play some game with me? Why are you following me?” he asked, taking a chance.
At first, the man’s face was blank, and then there was that mire of anger. Virgil hid it.
Yeah, this man hated the Crofts.
Clearly.
“Because I don’t trust you. You’re going to bring a shit ton of shame to this department,” he stated.
It hung there.
Well, ouch.
Clearly, there were still cops that thought he was on Croft’s payroll.
Ironically?
He was.
“So what are you saying?”
“After I head in, I’m talking to the commissioner. I’m reporting you. Then, I’m asking for reassignment. You can’t play both sides of the law. Croft is dirty. End of discussion.”
Riley was done with it.
He really was.
He was so fed up with not being able to have his back watched by his partner. Each day, it was a battle. He’d thought it would be better. In a way, it was, but still…
No Justice_A Croft Mob Family Book Page 45
