Above All Else: A Bad Boy Military Romance (Easy Team Book 2)

by Gemma Hart

  “My son,” Roy said, confirming my guess, “is becoming ready to take over. He’s worked hard for the Family.” Roy paused as he took another puff from his cigar. “He deserves to have his name put on a few of those holdings.”

  So Marco’s name had been absent all this time because of Roy’s greed? That was really the reason why? But it didn’t seem to make total sense. Marco was missing everywhere.

  “You’d like me to transfer some of the ownership titles to Marco?” I asked, clarifying.

  Roy nodded, grinning to himself. “That son of a bitch has avoided responsibility long enough,” he muttered, almost to himself. Then he raised his head and nodded again, saying in a louder voice, “Pick a few of the holdings from the East Coast and have them transferred into Marco’s name. Aim to give him a 35% majority ownership.”

  35%! That was huge! Marco essentially had 0% stake in anything valuable currently. To raise him to 35% meant he would only be second to Roy. That was a breathtaking rise in fortune!

  “You’re a notary too, right?” Roy suddenly asked.

  I nodded dumbly, still too shocked to respond.

  Roy puffed his cigar and nodded, pleased. “Good, good,” he said. “File the paperwork, send me a copy to review, and then notarize the transfer.”

  “But,” I said worried, “this kind of transfer would also require the signature and approval of the recipient. Marco would also need a copy of the papers.”

  Roy brushed my words away with a flick of his hands. “This is Family business. A father can’t look out for his own boy without everyone sticking their nose in it?” he asked in a voice of mock outrage. “Just draw up the papers and send them my way. Then you can notarize them yourself.”

  “But—” I started again.

  Roy cut me an icy glare. “Margot, I hired you not only for your skills but also for your discretion and loyalty,” he said, enunciating each word with a chilling emphasis. “Now either you can do what I ask you to do or you can walk.”

  I swallowed, unable to help the slight shiver that ran down my spine as Roy talked. Despite being older now and quite heavy, he was still a frightening man to come face to face with.

  I nodded. “Of course, sir,” I said quietly. “I can have those papers drawn up within a few days.”

  Roy nodded, satisfied. “Good.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to have avoided anything explosive. I saw Roy nod at the guard behind me, a clear dismissal to have me escorted out. I rose from my seat, eager to leave.

  But before I could even take one step towards the door, Roy called out in an offhand voice, “Oh and I have a very large deal coming up with another Family very soon. I’ll send the details over. Make sure the accounts are good and the money flows into the right pockets.”

  I paused before nodding again.

  Roy returned to his paper and cigar, dismissing me completely.

  The Juarez Family deal. He had finally brought it up.

  Now the real plan would fall into motion.

  Chapter Twelve

  Halle

  “What about these? Have you seen these names on the documents?” Agent Hadfield asked, lifting up a piece of paper to the camera.

  I squinted as I read the names. “Yes, Baccali and Gregor were in some of the files I reviewed. It listed the acquisitions of those Family’s properties,” I answered quietly into my laptop.

  I was in my room, sitting in bed with my laptop raised on a pillow on my lap. I had my headphones in to minimize the noise and was speaking as quietly as I could.

  As an employee of the Desmond Mafia, I only moved when Roy told me to move. And so far, all my movements had been restricted to the house. So there was no way for me to touch bases with the FBI physically.

  But we had anticipated that prior to my going under.

  So we had set up my laptop with a secure line and a private VPN that would allow me to video chat with the head agents. But secure or not, we only used these opportunities sparingly. I was sitting in the heart of the Desmond Family and there was no such thing as being overly cautious.

  If I were to be caught with two FBI agents chatting with me on my laptop, I would most definitely be killed on the spot.

  Agent Hadfield’s face suddenly reappeared, taking the place of the paper. He nodded. “Good, good,” he said. “And you said the Juarez deal has been mentioned now.”

  “Not by name,” I corrected. “But he told me to prepare myself for a ‘very large deal’ and to keep an eye on the accounts as money changed hands. I can only assume he’s talking about the Juarez deal.”

  Agent Truman nodded, running a hand over his chin as he thought over the information.

  “What about Marco Desmond?” he asked. “Have you been able to get any information out of him?”

  I hesitated, unsure what to say about Marco. No, I hadn’t received any information from him in regards to the case. But I’ve certainly gained a lot of information about the real Marco Desmond and who he might be under the enigma of the Desmond hitman.

  “No, not really,” I finally said, feebly.

  Agent Hadfield sighed in frustration. “What are you doing then? That’s your target! Get close to him and see how much he’ll talk! He’ll have the best insight on what’s going on.”

  But would he? I had yet to divulge the interesting discovery of Marco’s lack of presence in all of the Desmond holdings. Perhaps there was a reason for it. Perhaps Marco was intentionally kept in the dark. It made absolutely no sense but I had yet to find a better explanation.

  Then again, Roy had just ordered me to transfer a significant portion of the Desmond estate under Marco’s name.

  I sighed, feeling just as confused and baffled.

  “He’ll probably hold key information that could help finalize our raid,” Agent Truman added.

  “What if he doesn’t?” I asked. “What will happen to the raid then?”

  Agent Hadfield frowned. “It’d still happen,” he said. “We’ll only get one shot at something like this. Two of the biggest crime families meeting together in one place? We have to take the shot. But we’d be better aimed if we had insider intel.”

  “Agent Margot,” Agent Truman added, “there was a reason why you were offered his field op.” He looked at me with knowing raised brows and a slight smirk. I tried not to pull my hair in frustration. I knew if I had been standing in front of him, he would’ve given me one of those disgustingly crude once over looks, lingering on my breasts and hips. I had gotten one too many of them over the years from the other male agents. It was horrible to be reminded that it was my cup size that had given me the upper hand in landing this job. But I gritted my teeth, still determined to prove my true potential through this mission.

  “Prove to us that we haven’t made a mistake,” Agent Truman said, echoing my own thoughts but with a completely different context.

  “I don’t think Marco Desmond will be able to help us,” I said, swallowing my anger and focusing back on the real matter at hand. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to turn the spotlight away from Marco but I did. “He might not even know that much more than I do at the moment.”

  Agent Truman pursed his lips before saying under his breath, “By this time, he should know enough.”

  I caught Agent Hadfield giving his partner a look, shushing him. What did that mean—by this time?

  “Shouldn’t I be more focused on Roy Desmond?” I asked, watching the two agents shift in their seats, jostling the camera in front of them. “After all, I’m working under him, not Marco. I’ve even gotten more information from him than Marco. I think if I keep—”

  “No,” Agent Hadfield interrupted abruptly. He cleared his throat and then said in a calmer tone of voice, “No. Marco is your target. Roy will only give you enough specifics to do your job. Marco Desmond should have more information that’ll help us plan an effective raid. Keep focused on your target, Agent Margot. We hope that you’ll have more to report to us at our next call.”r />
  “Yes, sir,” I said automatically, hearing the clear note of dismissal in his tone.

  But before I could shut the laptop, Agent Truman spoke up, asking casually, “By the way, in the accounts you’ve been looking at, how’s the division rate? Pretty equal between the Desmond boys? Or is Daddy Desmond still the majority holder?”

  Agent Truman and Hadfield looked completely natural as they waited for my response, as if they were asking for something inconsequential. But I could feel something tingling at the back of my neck. Something was off.

  “Roy Desmond is still almost completely the majority holder of nearly all of the Desmond estate,” I said, watching their reactions carefully.

  Both agents looked mildly surprised and very definitely disappointed. I kept my mouth shut on Roy’s recent request to transfer some holdings to his son.

  “Oh,” Agent Truman said. “Fine then. We’ll touch base in a few days, Agent Margot. Good night.”

  “Good night,” I said and then snapped the computer shut.

  Leaning back against the headboard of my bed, I pushed the computer away. What the heck was that?

  The way that the agents had offhandedly asked about the Desmond property was achingly familiar. That similar casual tone that hid something much bigger.

  And then it hit me. Roy Desmond had just dismissed me from his office in the similar fashion. After telling me to draw up the legal documents of transfer, he had casually dropped the hint about a big deal coming up.

  This kind of offhand but clearly not casual dropping of questions and hints was extremely suspicious. Especially since they were both coming from sources of immense power. Roy Desmond was incredibly powerful and nothing he said or did was small or casual in scale, ever.

  And the FBI was no slouch either. They were a Bureau made up of some of the most meticulous and analytical people in the country. There were no casual questions when it came from an FBI agent. And certainly not when the agents asking those questions are leading a highly sensitive undercover mission.

  I understood them being interested in what kind of holdings the Desmond Family had. After all, it’ll only corroborate the information we have on what other crime families they had taken out over the years. Baccali and Gregor were older mafia families that had been swallowed up by the Desmonds.

  But Agent Truman had asked something very specific. He had asked who was the majority holder within the Desmond Mafia.

  In regards to the raid, the Juarez Family, or to the rest of the case, the identity of the majority holder really held very little importance. After all, it was safe to assume the majority holder would be Roy Desmond. And if not Roy, then Marco. Either way, it was staying within the Desmonds.

  But Agent Truman had wanted to know who it specifically was. He had tried to hide his interest by throwing the question out there like an offhand remark but I could see it for what it was.

  Something was feeling off here.

  Something that made me glad that I didn’t mention Roy’s request or just how lacking Marco’s name was within all the Family documents.

  I knew the raid was being planned at the moment. A special team had been organized to plan the whole mission. In one fell swoop, the FBI wanted to grab up the Desmond Family and the Juarez Family. It would be a huge blow to the largest criminal syndicate of North America.

  But I could feel something niggling in the back of my mind. Something just wasn’t feeling right.

  I lowered myself under my covers, exhausted from the sheer stress of the mission. I needed to rest if I was going to think straight. And straight I had to think if I was going to make sure that nothing was really wrong.

  Because nothing could be wrong. Because wrong meant mistakes. And mistakes in a place like this could mean my life.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marco

  There was a loud smack as his head hit the ground.

  I had expected there to be some obstacles but I hadn’t expected five of them. Five guards all armed and patrolling the roof. I had had to act quickly and quietly.

  Hunching low to the ground, I had made my way to one of the first guards who was the furthest away from the rest. Coming up from behind, I wrapped my arm tightly around his body, preventing him from using his weapon, an old AK that was clearly more for show than for use.

  Before the guard could call out in surprise, I gave a quick punch to the throat with my knuckles, effectively collapsing his windpipe. The man made a sick clucking noise as he attempted to suck in air through his wrecked throat. Then all he needed was one good hard blow to the head.

  And that’s what I did. Silently stalking the rooftop as I took out each guard. The last two ended up being the hardest since they were patrolling together. There was no way to finish them quietly.

  As soon as I came upon them, they immediately cried out in surprise. “What the fuck!” one of the men grunted as I threw him a good hard blow into his gut, making him double over. The key to any kind of physical fight was to follow through in your attacks. Never hold back, never go half assed. You throw your entire weight into each punch and push through. Most men had a hard time standing back up after I punched them.

  The other guard tried to aim his weapon at me but I knocked it out of his hands and then grappled him from behind, twisting his arms around his own body. I used him as a shield as his partner stumbled to his feet.

  I had a blade under my jacket but I wanted to keep things as neat as possible. The cops in this area of L.A. were paid off and there’d be no intrusive questions but it didn’t mean I had to make a show of it.

  Throwing the man I held against his partner to throw them both of their feet, I tackled the man closest to me and threw my elbow hard against the side of his neck. I could almost see exactly when his carotid artery burst, giving him an immediate hemorrhage.

  After that, the remaining guard was no trouble.

  All in all, five men dispatched in under half an hour.

  Now it was time to take aim on the real target.

  I went back to the roof door and grabbed my weapons bag that I had left there.

  Finding the proper spot, I settled myself as I pieced together my sniper rifle, setting it carefully against the lip of the roof.

  Taking in a deep breath, I aimed through the crosshairs of the sight. Two windows to the left, four floor up. The good thing about L.A. was that there were never too many tall buildings. Earthquakes. Tall buildings were a liability.

  It made jobs for people like me easier.

  I could see the dark head hovering just above a leather wingback chair. I just needed to wait till he turned.

  I breathed slowly and evenly. To make a clean shot in one go meant you had to put yourself in an absolutely meditative state where you could literally remain in your position all day. You were there only to wait. You were there only to kill.

  Finally, after a few minutes, the chair slowly swiveled and a clear profile came into view.

  Perfect.

  Releasing a deep breath, I kept my body still as I squeezed the trigger. A muffled pop echoed through the night followed by a shrill shattering of glass. The man in the chair slumped forward, his body heavy and still.

  Done.

  I quickly broke down my weapon, ready to head on back.

  Mick Travers had been a floater. A floater usually meant a man who was not recognizably claimed by any mob or Family but often did contract work for them. He had been a good reliable floater for the odds and ends the Desmond Family threw him.

  But he had somehow gotten wind of a big deal coming up with the Desmond Mafia. He had no idea it who it was with or when but he just knew something big was happening. And he wanted to use that information to threaten Roy Desmond for money. Lots of money.

  Mick Travers was a good floater but he was obviously dumb as shit.

  You don’t threaten Roy Desmond.

  Immediately I had been dispatched to take care of old Mickey.

  During my initial reconnai
ssance, I had been impressed. For an odds and ends man, he certainly knew his security. He not only had a personal guard living with him in his huge East L.A. studio loft but also had hired a team of guards to patrol the building next door since he knew ingress-wise, that would be the most optimal place to stage a hit.

  The fucker had known he was playing with fire and had taken precaution.

  But five poorly trained and underpaid guards is no match for a well trained killer. Especially one who literally been born for the role.

  As I picked up my bag to go, I saw the inside of my jacket light up. By habit, I always kept my phone on silent. I reached in and pulled it out. I swiped it open and saw a text message.