Ranger - Jericho's Boys #4 - ch. 19 (Patreon)

Unbeta'd/Unedited/Uneverything'd. I'm braindead tonight so I'll reread tomorrow in case I fucked anything up but I'm too exhausted and cranky to deal with it tonight. So forgive any plot holes.

They didn’t have sex.

Instead, Enzo watched as Seven stuffed himself full of pasta, cheeks puffed like a hamster, before dramatically flopping onto the bed to groan about feeling ‘bloated and gross.’ Enzo had tried to bite back a smile, but he couldn’t. Even when he whined, Enzo found him adorable. He both loved and hated that his mother had taken one look at Seven and somehow just known he was it for Enzo.

Vince would never let him live it down.

He’d once prided himself on his self-control. His ability to keep things compartmentalized, work, family, sex, feelings. But somehow this prickly porcupine of a boy had kicked in the door and demanded more. Demanded everything, his time, his attention, his respect. His love. He’d refused to settle for Enzo’s bullshit half-measures. And Enzo, god help him, had risen to the occasion.

They’d crawled into bed to watch a movie, Seven’s head nestled in Enzo’s lap. Six minutes in, he was drooling on Enzo’s thigh like a St. Bernard. Enzo had tucked them both in, burying another smile in Seven’s hair as he mumbled into his neck that he was totally awake, then promptly tried to feel him up while telling him how good he smelled.

Seven was so… tactile. All people used their senses to navigate the world, but Seven wanted to touch everything. He wanted to feel it, smell it, taste it. He wanted to savor it. Sometimes, Enzo would find him sprawled in the center of the bed, headphones in, completely blissed out, lost in whatever music floated through them. It made Enzo more aware too, of sounds, textures, smells. Of how quiet his life had been before this loud, greedy, perfect boy wandered into it.

He hadn’t said anything in response to Seven’s muttering. Just threaded his fingers through his hair and let himself enjoy it. How right it felt. The weight of him. The soft huff of his breath against Enzo’s throat. The nonsense he mumbled as he drifted off. Enzo had shared his bed with plenty of bodies before. But never this much warmth. Never this much peace.

He slept better with Seven curled around him. Always. Half draped across his chest like a possessive little heater.

The buzz of his phone across the end table jarred him from sleep. He cracked one eye open, noting the light just starting to creep into the sky. It took longer than it should’ve to grab the phone and blindly swipe to answer.

“Someone better be dead,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep.

“Wow. First, we hook your child bride up with a kickass system–in a day, no less–now we come to you with information that could crack this case wide open and this is the welcome we get? Ungrateful.”

“Ansel…” Enzo growled. A warning.

“Fine. Fine,” his brother chirped, way too chipper for–Enzo squinted at the screen–five-thirty in the goddamn morning. “What do you want us to do with all of this information?”

“Bring it to me. Here.”

Silence stretched for a beat. “Now?” Elio whined somewhere in the background. “We’ve been up for twenty-four hours. And I have finals tomorrow.”

“Have you ever not gotten an A on an assignment since, like, kindergarten?”

Elio scoffed. “No. But that’s because our education system is a joke.”

“No, it’s because the both of you are too smart for your own good. Come to the apartment. I’ll make you breakfast. You can tell us what you found.”

He knew if he dangled food, they’d bite.

Still, Ansel asked, “What kind of food?”

Enzo rolled his eyes. “What kind do you want?”

“Pancakes.”

“Waffles.”

The two said in unison.

“I thought twins were supposed to be in sync with each other,” Enzo said with a laugh.

Ansel scoffed. “Please, we’re fraternal twins.”

“I’m pretty sure Ansel tried to choke me out with my own umbilical cord when we were in there. The womb is surprisingly dog-eat-dog,” Elio added, now closer to the mic.

Enzo snorted. “You’re both idiots. The only person whose life was in danger was Ma’s. She had a geriatric pregnancy.”

“She’d slit your throat with a butter knife if she heard you call her that,” Ansel warned.

“It’s just a medical term, not a condemnation,” Enzo muttered. “It’s not my fault she wanted to spend her entire life pregnant. The doctor told her one more kid and he was installing a zipper where her C-section scar was. That finally made her come to her senses.”

“She couldn’t have been that bad,” Elio defended. “She’s the calmest person I know. Zen even… unless you piss her off.”

“Yeah? Tell that to Lucky. He’s still got the scar her ring left the day she slapped him.”

“He probably deserved it. Mama doesn’t go after people without a reason. Besides, he was an adult. Well, as adult as Lucky ever is.”

Ansel wasn’t wrong. Lucky had deserved it.

“Just get here. I need to wake up Seven.”

“Ugh, fine. But you’re explaining to Mom why we skipped morning classes,” Elio grumbled. “Better yet, have Seven tell her. She likes him.”

“Are you implying she doesn’t like me?”

“Not as much as she likes Seven,” Ansel said. “She doesn’t like anyone as much as him. She hand-picked him for you. Your very own arranged marriage.”

“Laugh it up, baby brother. If it worked for me, she’s gonna think she can do it to all of you.”

Ansel gasped like the thought hadn’t occurred to him, and Enzo chuckled.

“Goodbye,” he said, disconnecting before they could continue.

He dropped his phone back on the table and collapsed onto the mattress. Seven rolled over and burrowed into his side. “You said we could have sex last night,” he grumped.

“Good morning to you, too,” Enzo said, grinning. “Did you drink so much wine you forgot the part where you ate too much, whined for an hour, then passed out drooling on my leg?”

“A gentleman wouldn’t bring that up,” Seven muttered, and then promptly sank his teeth into Enzo’s chest.

Enzo hissed and tapped his jaw like he was trying to get a playful puppy to release a chew toy.

He flipped them, pinning Seven beneath him, caging him in with his arms. “Did you just bite me, brat?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Seven countered, sticking out his tongue for good measure.

Enzo dropped onto his forearms, pressing his morning erection against Seven’s, grinding slow and filthy until a moan slipped out. In the dim light, he could see the way Seven looked up at him…with perfect trust.

Something Enzo had thought he’d ruined, once. Something he didn’t deserve.

His chest tightened.

Seven’s expression softened, like he could feel the shift in him. He leaned up and kissed Enzo’s nose.

Enzo smiled, then returned the favor, biting it gently, then drawing back.

They needed to get up but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning in, capturing Seven’s bottom lip between his own and sucking softly.

Seven’s hips bucked, a whine escaping as he chased more. Enzo swallowed it down but didn’t deepen the kiss. Just rocked gently against him, savoring every hitched breath and the way Seven’s fingers clung to his biceps.

When he finally pulled away, Seven tried to follow. Enzo pressed a hand to his chest, pinning him in place.

“Uh-uh. No distractions. I need to make breakfast for the IT department, who clearly spent the night mainlining sugar-free energy drinks and what’s likely a concerning number of Hot Pockets.”

“Mm.” Seven licked his lips. “Hot Pockets sound delicious.”

Enzo didn’t love dwelling on the fact that Seven was closer to his brothers’ age than his own. But it was never more obvious than in moments like this.

Most of the time, the gap blurred, Seven’s sharp tongue and street smarts aged him up. But then he said something like that, and Enzo was reminded just how young he really was. And how little he cared.

“Get up,” Enzo said. “We need to shower.”

Seven grumbled, then wrapped his arms and legs around him like a koala, refusing to let go.

“It’s cute that you think you can hold me down,” Enzo said, rising to his palms. Seven clung tighter, and Enzo took him with him.

Once on his feet, Seven still wrapped around him, he buried his face in Enzo’s neck.

“Not gonna lie,” he murmured, breath hot against his skin. “That was really hot. You’re really strong.”

Enzo shook his head. “You’re really horny.”

“I’m always horny when you’re around.”

“That sounds like a medical condition,” Enzo muttered, carrying him across the room. “We should probably get you seen by a professional.”

“I am seeing a professional,” Seven said into his neck. “You’re a lawyer. That’s a profession.”

“Pretty sure that’s not how that works,” Enzo replied as he hit the bathroom light.

Seven laughed. Loose. Easy.

And Enzo couldn’t think of a better way to start the day.

###

Enzo had barely had his first sip of coffee when his brothers let themselves in without knocking. Typical.

They crossed the kitchen like they owned the place, and Ansel–always the dramatic one–`tossed a stack of papers onto the island in front of him. Pages fanned out across the counter, rustling against his plate. Enzo frowned at the sheer volume, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

“What is this?” he asked, voice flat, irritated.

“The smoking gun,” Elio declared, hopping his ass onto the island and sitting cross-legged like it was his personal throne. At least he’d had the decency to take his shoes off.

Enzo watched in disbelief as Elio snagged one of his pancakes and started tearing it into little rabbit-sized bites. Beside him, Seven eyed one set of the Conti twins with a mix of anxiety and suspicion, clearly wondering if this circus was normal.

“Well?” Enzo snapped when the silence stretched too long. “Are you going to explain, or do we need to guess?”

Ansel, cheeks bulging with an entire waffle like some overgrown chipmunk, just jerked his chin toward Elio, eyes wide as if to say your turn, genius.

Elio rolled his eyes so hard Enzo thought they might stick. “Okay, so at first glance, the thumb drive was a bust. Like, they framed your mom and were totally content to let her rot for the shady shit they’re actually doing.”

“Like?” Enzo pressed.

Ansel swallowed, reaching for bacon like he was at brunch instead of staging a courtroom defense. “Looked like your standard embezzlement scheme. Fake vendors, shell corps, offshore accounts. Blah blah blah. Any cybercrimes department worth their badge would stop there and call it solved.”

“But you didn’t?” Seven asked, leaning in, voice tight.

“Hell no,” Elio said with a smirk. “Our mom would murder us if we left your mom to rot in a prison cell like your pops.”

Seven froze.

When Enzo shot him a warning look, Elio shrugged. “What? Did he not know? The whole city knows now thanks to the tabloids.”

“He’s right,” Ansel mumbled around another bite. “They dropped a story on Neith just last night. Compared her to that German spy. What’s her name? Hari something? They’re making her sound like some kind of femme fatale who’s only with Uncle Rocco to get dirt for your dad.”

“Mata Hari?” Enzo supplied, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Mata who?” Seven asked, blinking. Then his face crumpled. “Wait–they think my mom is spying for my dad? Do they think he convinced her to embezzle from a charity too?”

“They implied it but didn’t say it outright. Lots of allegedly sprinkled in for flavor,” Elio said.

“Can you explain,” Seven said tightly, “how any of this helps my mom?”

Elio spread his hands. “It totally doesn’t. But here’s the thing. Whoever decided to dump these files onto the thumb drive to frame Neith either didn’t know what they were doing or panicked at the last second. Because nobody–nobody–is dumb enough to dump their entire operation onto a single thumb drive.”

Enzo set his fork down, appetite gone. “What did you find? Speak plainly.”

“Like I said, at first glance, it was junk. Fake vendors, fake entries, all roads leading back to Neith. We ran the usual programs any cybercrimes unit would run. Same conclusion: guilty as sin. Until…”

He trailed off.

Enzo glared. “Are you pausing for dramatic effect? This isn’t the Oscars. Just say it.”

Ansel rolled his eyes. “God, you’re impatient. I was bored while Elio was chasing vendor transactions line by line, so I ran a deep scan. Didn’t expect much, but then I noticed something by accident.” He jabbed a finger at the papers.

Enzo flipped one over and froze. It wasn’t a budget sheet at all. It was a woman’s picture.

“What about it?”

“These image files were massive. Way bigger than they should’ve been. That usually means someone’s hiding data inside them. It’s called steganography.”

Seven blinked. “Oh, shit. Owen told me about this.”

Enzo’s eyes narrowed. “Did he?” The bitterness slipped out before he could stop it.

The table went silent. Then Seven smirked. “You know we can see you sulking, right?”

“And?” Enzo asked, folding his arms over his chest like a teenager.

Elio cackled. “And you look like you just smelled bad sushi.”

“I cannot believe how petty you are,” Ansel added.

Enzo scowled. “Can we just move on?”

“Can you?” Seven countered, smug. “You’re the one pouting because my boss–who specializes in cybercrimes–taught me something about cybercrimes.”

“Fine,” Enzo huffed. “What else did he teach you?”

Seven rolled his eyes, but his voice softened as he explained, “Basically, you can bury data inside a picture. Looks normal when you open it, but underneath there’s code. Invisible ink for the digital age.”

Elio snapped his fingers. “Exactly. And these gala shots? They weren’t just happy little snapshots of donors and smiling women WERC supposedly helped. Inside the code were dossiers. Names, routes, even destination ports. Each donor was paired with one or more women from the program.”

Seven’s face went white. “What do you mean, paired?”

Ansel’s grin dropped. He tapped the pages. “The files list who picked them up, where they were transported, and in some cases… who they were sold to.”

The room went quiet.

“Jesus Christ,” Enzo muttered.

Seven shoved his plate away, nausea written across his face. “I think I’m gonna puke.”

Elio winced but pushed forward. “That’s not all. The spreadsheets had hidden notes buried in random cells—tiny GPS coordinates. They line up with warehouses near the rail yards. And one of the donor voicemails? Not just a voicemail. We cleaned it up. You can hear machinery, a train horn. They’re running a trafficking hub right under WERC’s nose.”

“So my mom wasn’t stealing money,” Seven whispered, voice breaking. “She was digging too close to this.”

Elio nodded. “Exactly. They framed her to shut her up. And whoever’s behind it? Powerful enough to bury the trail. But not smart enough to cover it from me.” He smirked, then amended, “Well… us.”

Seven exhaled a shuddering breath. “We can’t take out an entire trafficking ring without permission from Thomas and Jericho.”

Enzo’s jaw clenched at Thomas’s name in Seven’s mouth, but he kept his temper leashed. “You said whoever did it was an idiot, right? How does someone that stupid run a trafficking ring?”

The twins exchanged a look. Finally, Elio shrugged. “My guess? Someone low on the ladder panicked. Dumped a bunch of files onto the thumb drive without realizing they included the real dirt. Maybe they thought padding it with harmless crap would make it look more legit.”

“Bethany,” Seven said at once. His voice was sharp enough to cut.

Enzo nodded grimly. “She’s been steering your mom in the wrong direction for months. Makes sense she’d frame her and then panic, dump everything she could find. Your mom suspected her.”

“Then this Bethany’s no criminal mastermind,” Ansel said. “She’s a lackey. Which means she’s protecting her boss.”

“What kind of sick fuck starts a charity with the sole purpose of trafficking vulnerable girls?”

“The worst kind,” Elio said darkly.

Enzo reached out, brushing a hand down Seven’s back. His brothers were brilliant–sometimes reckless, always too curious–but at their core, they were decent. Better men than he’d ever been. Pride and guilt twisted together in his chest.

“We’re gonna kill this guy, right?” Seven asked suddenly, eyes hard.

Elio choked on his coffee. “Wait–you really kill people? That wasn’t just a rumor?”

Seven shrugged. “Only the ones who need killing. The ones who’d walk if we left them to the courts. There’s a chain of command–Jericho, then Thomas makes the final call–but people like this? They deserve to die.”

Ansel’s bravado cracked. “Do you think the women are still alive?”

“I don’t know,” Seven admitted. His voice trembled, but his gaze was steady. “But I know someone who can find out.”

Enzo cocked his head. “Thomas’s hacker friend? Callista?”

“Calliope,” Ansel and Elio corrected in unison.

Seven blinked. “You know about Calliope?”

“Well… not really,” Ansel hedged. “Levi mentioned her a few times, but we thought he made her up.  She sounded like some superhero character. Like Felicity Smoak or that chick from Criminal Minds. But she’s real?”

“Terrifyingly real,” Seven said.

“Can we meet her?” the twins asked together, eyes bright with childlike glee, like they’d just been promised a trip to Disneyland.

Seven cracked a faint smile, the first since they’d arrived. “I can ask.”

“Fuck yeah,” Elio muttered.

Seven didn’t respond, just chewed his bottom lip.

“In the meantime,” Enzo said, shifting his focus back to the stack of damning papers. “Get the thumb drive back to Lucky before the precinct notices they have a dupe.”

Ansel raised a brow. “And what are you two going to do? Aside from meeting the terrifyingly real Calliope?”

Enzo’s smile was sharp, humorless. “We’re going to talk to the weakest link.”

Seven nodded, eyes glinting with steel. “Bethany.”