Broken Saint by E.M. Gayle

12

Ronin

Fuck. That had not gone at all like I'd expected.

While I had planned to force the reveal of our nuptials sooner rather than later, seeing Nova's lover at that party had set me off in a way that still left me pissed. Of course, I'd told the bastard she was mine. Anyone in my situation would have done the same. I technically had no right to be pissed about who she fucked yesterday, but as of today, she officially belonged to me.

To do anything less than make a public claim would have been foolish. Due to the nature of Nova's celebrity, word would get out, and from there it wouldn’t take long for Vegas mafia to learn that Ronin Kavanaugh had made a deal with Anthony Cullotta. Let the fucking fireworks begin.

The incident with the girl at the party... That had been a mistake. One I couldn't get out of my head. Fucking seventeen. I did not need the kind of attention that could cause. She was lucky I didn't choke her out right then for lying to me. I hated games women played, but I hated liars even more.

"Here's the file you asked for, boss." I looked up to see Oscar had entered and took the file folder he carried. "Perfect timing," I told my head of security/right hand man/jack of all trades. "Did you already go through it?"

He nodded. "Aye, I did. I wanted to make sure the information you were being given was fully vetted and as accurate as possible. I know we can't take any chances while we are here."

"You are right about that. So, anything good?"

"I'm not sure good is the word you're looking for in this case. She's gotten herself into a mess with that one. He's a fed."

"You can't be serious." I needed to see that kind of bombshell for myself. I opened the folder and began reading.

Motorcycle clubs, gun running, illegal gambling, drugs, fuck, you name it, this Rockford Reed was as far from FBI conventional as he could get. And it didn't stop there. He'd run the task force that had ended up with Seattle's most deadly mafia boss, Frank Mazzeo dead and his entire sex trade operation halted. Not a lot of details had been revealed about that, but this folder had more than he'd heard through the grapevine.

"This guy dirty?"

"Well, he ain't clean. But I don't think he works for anyone, if that's what you're asking. We hunted wide and far for any evidence of something more. Either he's better than our guys are at hiding shit, or he's definitely not on the take."

"Who's this guy?" I pulled a photo from the stack inside the folder. "I saw him at the party last night."

"Brother. Well, half-brother. Get this. Apparently, the MC co-presidents were sharing more than their club at that time. They both shared the same old lady, and each gave her a kid. This one goes by Houston. You want me to run down the details on him?"

"He FBI, too?"

"Nah. Private security, but we can dig deeper if you want."

"No. That won't be necessary—yet." I continued to read the jacket on Rockford Reed, and the more I did, the less I believed that his and Nova's relationship was a mere coincidence. Did she know? And if she did, what did that mean? It wouldn't be the first time a woman started fucking her handler. And if we had a spy…

"You thinking what I'm thinking, boss?"

"Probably."

"Either she's a narc, or her father has some kind of con game going on."

Those were solid theories. I may not know Nova all that well, but I couldn't see her as a narc. I would never rule it out at this point, but I was definitely putting that on the back burner. Her father, on the other hand, was a sneaky fucker. Although I wasn't convinced he had the smarts or the patience for the kind of long con game this would entail. There were too many variables, and the time frame would be out of control.

Still, the information compiled here had all the markers that someone, somewhere, had something going on. There was, however, another possibility that Oscar hadn't mentioned. The real wild card in the game wasn't Nova or her father. He pulled out a recent photo of Agent Rockford Reed coming out of a nondescript building in downtown Las Vegas that had law enforcement written all over it. In his hands, he carried a duffel bag, and based on the bulk and slight lean of his body, it had to be full of heavy equipment.

No, the wild card in this house of cards was Nova's lover. I simply couldn't believe that they were fucking by accident. And since she was scared half to death that her friends and followers would find out her real identity, it meant she likely would not knowingly be toying with an FBI agent who would turn on her the instant she was no longer useful.

I tapped my fingers on the photo. "Do we have eyes and ears on him now?"

"Yeah. For the most part. His apartment was a bit of a challenge, but we managed to get through his security. We got his car, but he rides a bike, too, and for that we could only get a tracker. If all else fails, there is also a tail."

I leaned back in my chair and contemplated the situation. FBI involvement didn't make the job he'd been assigned impossible, but it did make it complicated. However, if the team he'd assembled continued the track they were on, it should work. If, for some reason, it didn’t, then Agent Reed could disappear.

Now, he needed to decide what to do about the girl from the party and the trouble that could create for him. He'd dodged a bullet, thanks to Nova, but that didn't mean he would forget the little liar who nearly trapped him.

Unfortunately, she'd gotten into his head, and so far, he couldn't get her out. Focusing on work would help, but he doubted that would satiate him. First, he'd go to the gym. If he exhausted his body, he might be able to sleep. If he slept, he might be able to think rationally. Otherwise, he was going to do something crazy...