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They took a different route to Columbus every trip by utilizing different back roads whenever they could, despite it extending their travel time. But since the weather this time of year was pleasant—not too freaking hot and sticky yet—spending an hour or so extra on the road wasn’t a big thing.

Their conversation was easy and when there wasn’t conversation, both were content to simply be in each other’s company. Even better, sometimes Reaper would sing under his breath or hum along with the music playing.

His voice was rich and deep and gave Vi all the shivers, especially when he hit some of those baritone notes.

As soon as they’d get close to Columbus, they’d rent a different vehicle, and stay in different motels on the outskirts of the city.

They never stayed in one place too long. It would be more difficult for the Chens to track them by staying on the move. They also altered their looks as much as possible whenever they could. Because, ultimately, getting caught could mean the death penalty for Reaper. Whether it was by law enforcement or the Chens themselves.

Clearly, the best bet would be not to get caught at all.

Vi would drive the rentals to the targeted location, drop him off to do his thing, then park somewhere else until she got a text from him to go pick him up.

The trips had gone smoothly so far. They worked well together as a team. And the sex?

Fucking spectacular.

She couldn’t get enough of him.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t get bored of her any time soon, either.

She needed to remember that they weren’t in Columbus for a sex fest, despite every night turning into one. They were there on a very serious matter.

In the three weeks so far, he’d taken out thirteen members of the Triad. He’d take photos or video for proof and send the encrypted files to Sal. At the end of the trip, the mobster would send another encrypted message with the cash drop location.

Of course, they’d be crazy to trust the Russos. So, to be cautious, she had two Shadows go to the pickup point. One to retrieve the scratch, the other as a lookout and backup. Of course, whoever was snagging the bag of cash wore a disguise and a bulletproof vest.

At seven thousand a head, Reaper was raking in the dough. It also established, which wasn’t a surprise, that La Cosa Nostra was flush with cash.

Which crime family had more money? She didn’t know. It wasn’t like they could hack their bank accounts to see the balances because they didn’t use the average U.S. bank. Any crime organization worth their salt kept offshore accounts. But what they did learn about the Chens was they were a much smaller organization in size than the Russos. By no means did that indicate they were weak or vulnerable.

The Chinese Triad was also more difficult to find. The Russos tended to use public restaurants to meet. The Chens didn’t. They ran their operations in secret locations. Locations you’d never know what the hell was happening inside if driving or walking by. A few weren’t accessible at all.

Some nights Reaper would just go out and observe. Other nights he’d go after a target or two. But so far, not one thing they’d done had started an all-out war between the two crime families.

Vi’s frustration was at an all-time high with how long it was taking. A war better be brewing behind the scenes because she had no idea how much more fucking with both sides it would take.

It was almost like crime families were okay with losing members and that loss was simply the price of doing business.

At this point, they needed to start hitting some of the higher ranking officials within the organization. The problem was, they were highly protected. While that was expected, what was unexpected was that they used lower level goons as actual human shields.

Obviously when it came to criminal organizations, not every member was considered equal. Some were treated like royalty, others considered meat puppets.

Vi glanced at her phone. Damn. It was later than she’d thought. He never took this long to text her to come retrieve his ass.

His usual M.O. after a hit was to hide his rifle case in one spot, then, while walking a few blocks in a different direction, he’d text her the location where he’d left it. She always stopped there first, threw that into the vehicle before heading to where he waited for her to pick him up. They’d leave the area as fast as possible and take the most non-direct route back to their motel.

The good thing was, the Chens were dealing with their dead the same as the Russos: quietly. They did not call law enforcement. They brought in their own clean-up crew.

Like bikers, organized criminal organizations didn’t want any badges involved in their business. They wanted to handle it themselves. That meant, unless a bystander witnessed a crime and dialed 911, law enforcement was never called.

On this trip she and Reaper were following the same routine since it worked well. Why change something that wasn’t broken?

After getting his text and picking up his rifle, she drove to a twenty-four hour drugstore six blocks away from where the rifle had been hidden. Just as she was pulling into the parking spot, Reaper strode calmly out of the store with his baseball cap pulled low and a shopping bag in hand, acting like he hadn’t recently plugged a bullet into someone’s brain.

Once he slid into the passenger seat, she asked, “Whatcha get?”

As she reversed and pulled out of the parking lot, he dug into the bag and answered, “Snacks.” He lifted a bag of beef jerky. He tossed the package onto the dashboard and dug into the bag again. “And this.” He held up a small box.