Sky's Lark Read Online Free

confidently back to the small group of men hanging back at the street corner, a good hundred yard dash from the apartment building. Pasting a haughty expression on his face, he addressed the young man that had staked the bet. "Pay up, Valez."
    Valez dug into his pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills. "She pretty puta , huh?"
    Bryce shrugged. The sooner he could steer the gang's focus off of the woman, the better for her. Taking the money offered up, he stuffed it into his jeans pocket without bothering to count the bills. First, it would be an affront to the small bunch, and second, he never took his attention off the men longer than a few seconds.
    A new figure crossed the street, his gaze locking on Bryce. "You're just standing around? Not working?"
    Bryce shifted his focus from one of the youngest and least powerful members to the unofficial leader, known for his outgoing audacity, in-your-face arrogance, and merciless leadership. No one in their right mind trusted the Latino, yet no one dared disrespect him, either. Not if they wanted to keep all their body parts in place and live to see another dawn.
    Rodriguez grinned, showing a large gap between his front teeth, while others appeared broken, chipped, or plain missing. A scorpion tattoo covered one side of his neck, while other random ink spread across his forearms, presumably a reminder of his younger gang days before he rose to a mediocre position within the Santora organization.
    "Give me something to do. Standing around doing nothing makes me antsy," Bryce complained.
    A month ago, his supervisor had pulled him into the district office to offer a new assignment. The DEA needed a favor, and due to his heritage, experience, and background, they singled him out. The hush-hush assignment, known to only three men including Bryce, would flush out the minor dealers, middle management, and those with power and money pulling the puppet strings within the authorities to allow easy work for Santora's goons.
    A day later, he was officially on loan to the Phoenix DEA. An old informant with connections positioned him in a local group with direct ties to the drug lord known as Santora. The group took a while to thaw to his presence, testing him time and again, but after a few sessions of going head-to-head with Rodriguez, he gained their respect if not their trust. Thus, he was fairly secure in his position to watch and learn how Santora got drugs to the local dealers and why the local police looked the other way.
    He knew names and rendezvous sites of everyone from the corner street dealer to the delivery men. What he didn't have was the big wig greasing the wheels of Santora's operation while raking in millions in pay off.
    "Relax, amigo. Soon, perhaps tonight, we will hear."
    "You go after that woman, Marks? If no, I may." A teenager, fairly new to the group taunted, using the name the informant tagged on him at the beginning of the operation.
    "Probably not bright. She mentioned pepper spray and a cop boyfriend." Bryce shifted his weight, longing once more for the comfort of his old scuffed up cowboy boots rather than the plain black tennis shoes that matched his attire.
    "No problemo. Local cops, they ignore us." The teen waved his hand dismissively.
    "Mess with a cop's old lady and they may start paying attention. Way too much attention. You wanna explain to the boss why the cops are tailing your ass?" Rodriguez took up the argument, effectively shutting down the kid and conversation at hand.
    Bryce flicked his gaze over the three remaining young men, noting they didn't speak, hands in pockets, submissive in stance as well as attitude. He almost felt pity for the younger members emerging from the projects with no money, little home life, and absolutely no idea of how to survive in the harsh reality of their world except through gangs, drugs, and stealing. Too many of them fell through the cracks at a young age, leaving them little choice and a predicted lifespan of less