7. Raiden
Chapter 7
Raiden
A s I pull up to the warehouse on my motorcycle, the sharp scent of oil and metal hit the back of my throat, mingling with the exhaust fumes drifting up from the industrial district. I kill the ignition and cough as I pull off my helmet, spitting the taste out of my mouth like bad sushi.
I swing my leg over the bike and make my way toward the open loading bay doors. The warehouse is a massive, weathered building with corrugated metal walls that have seen better days. Faint sounds of laughter and the clank of metal echo from within, mingling with the steady hum of generators powering the place.
As I step inside, the dim lighting casts long shadows across the concrete floor. Stacks of wooden crates line the walls, each marked with coded labels only the Destroyers men understand. The faint glow of overhead lamps reflects off the polished surfaces of dismantled firearms laid out on tables, their intricate parts gleaming like sinister puzzles.
“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence,” a familiar voice calls out.
I glance over to see Bash perched atop a crate, his lanky frame relaxed as he flips through a clipboard. He’s dressed in his usual worn jeans and a faded T-shirt, a grease-stained bandana tied around his head to keep his unruly blond hair out of his eyes. A smirk tugs at his lips as he regards me.
“What brings the king of narcotics to my humble armory?” he teases, hopping down from his perch with practiced ease, boots scuffing against the concrete floor. His long legs carry him across the room in a few casual strides to meet me.
I roll my eyes, but a hint of a smile plays on my lips despite my best efforts to maintain my stern facade. “Needed to check on that shipment for the southern routes. Figured I’d make sure you haven’t screwed it up.” My gaze sweeps across the arsenal of weapons spread throughout the room, mentally cataloging everything.
He clutches his chest in mock offense, stumbling backward a step as if physically struck. “You wound me, Drake. My operation runs smoother than your hair gel.” His eyes flick pointedly to my meticulously styled hair, and that insufferable smirk of his only grows wider.
“Funny,” I retort, running a hand through my hair just to spite him, deliberately messing up the careful styling. “But last time I checked, a batch went missing under your watch. And I’m not talking about a small one either.”
Bash laughs, the sound echoing off the metal walls like thunder in an empty warehouse. “One time! And I told you, that was Vic’s fault. The guy couldn’t count to ten if his life depended on it. Hell, he probably thought two plus two equaled fish.”
I smirk, crossing my arms as I lean against one of the weapon crates. “Maybe you should stop hiring idiots. There’s this revolutionary concept called a job interview—you might want to try it sometime.”
“Ah, but then I’d miss out on gems like our dear Vic,” he replies with a grin that stretches from ear to ear, his gold tooth catching the dim light. “Speaking of which, he’s around here somewhere, probably miscounting bullets or trying to convince himself that magazines grow on trees. Last I saw him, he was in the back room making what he called an ‘inventory spreadsheet’ - which, knowing Vic, is probably just a bunch of stick figures with dollar signs.”
We walk further into the warehouse, passing workers who nod respectfully as we pass. The air is thick with the scent of gun oil and the faint tang of sweat. The rhythmic sound of cartridges being loaded and the metallic clicks of guns being assembled create a symphony that’s oddly comforting.
“So, what’s the real reason you’re here?” Bash asks, shooting me a sideways glance as we navigate between long metal shelving units stacked with crates. “Not that I don’t enjoy your charming company.”
I shrug. “Can’t a guy check in on his best friend without an ulterior motive?”
He raises an eyebrow, his scarred face skeptical in the harsh fluorescent lighting. “In our line of work? Doubtful. We both know favors and friendly visits usually come with a price tag attached.”
We reach a cleared area where a table is set up with blueprints and maps. I lean against the edge, folding my arms over my chest. “Fine. I needed to go over the logistics for next week’s run. There’s been some chatter about increased patrols on our usual routes.”
Bash nods, his expression turning serious as he runs a calloused hand over his jaw. “Yeah, I heard about that from a couple of reliable sources. We might have to reroute through the east corridor. Less traffic, fewer eyes. Not ideal with the extra distance, but better than running into trouble.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I agree, tracing a potential route on one of the maps with my index finger. “We’ll need to coordinate with the drivers and make sure they’re prepared for the longer haul. Might need extra fuel reserves, too.”
He makes a note on his clipboard, then looks back up at me with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “By the way, I heard you had an interesting visitor last night. Someone causing quite a stir in certain circles.”
I stiffen ever so slightly, keeping my face carefully neutral despite the sudden tension in my shoulders. “Word travels fast in this business. Maybe too fast.”
He chuckles, a knowing sound that grates against my nerves. “Vic and Trigger were talking about it this morning over coffee. Said some hot little thing busted into the clubhouse last night demanding your attention like she owned the place. Sounded... entertaining .”
I grit my teeth, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral despite the urge to snap at him. “Yeah, Lucrezia Castiglione. She needs help with something.” The less said about that particular situation, the better.
Bash leans against a wooden crate, crossing his arms over his chest with the casual air of someone who knows they’re pushing buttons. “Lucrezia, huh? Exotic name for an exotic lady, I bet.” His eyebrows waggle suggestively, and I can practically see the rumors forming in his mind.
“Something like that,” I mutter, already tired of this conversation and the implications.
He gives me a knowing look, his lips curling into an insufferable grin. “They said she was quite the looker. And with an attitude to match. Word around the warehouse is she’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”
“She’s got more fire than sense,” I reply, my tone sharper than intended. “And that’s putting it mildly.”
Bash raises his hands defensively, though the amusement dancing in his eyes betrays his mock surrender. “Easy there, tiger. I didn’t realize it was a sore subject. Though your reaction’s telling me plenty.”
“It’s not,” I snap, then immediately regret the harshness in my voice. I can feel a headache building behind my eyes.
He smirks, clearly enjoying this little interrogation far too much for my liking. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you seem a little tense.”
I exhale slowly, trying to rein in my irritation before it gets the better of me. “She’s just a client. She wants us to help her take down her brother, Saverio Castiglione. Nothing more, nothing less, so you can stop with the implications.”
Bash whistles low, the sound cutting through the tension. “Going after the big boss, huh? That’s a death wish if I ever heard one.” His usual playful demeanor dims slightly.
“Maybe,” I admit, unable to deny the risk involved. “But it could be beneficial for us.” My fingers drum restlessly against the metal table as I consider the possibilities and consequences.
He nods thoughtfully, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “True. Getting Saverio off our backs would open up a lot of opportunities. This Midwest mafia bullshit killed one of my deals a few months back. We were getting ready to offload a shit ton of merchandise when the buyer called and said the Castiglione family highly recommended they source their guns from somewhere else.” The calculating look in Bash’s eyes tells me he’s already running through scenarios in his head.
We lapse into silence for a moment, the distant sounds of the warehouse filling the space between us—metal clanking against metal, the hum of fluorescent lights, footsteps echoing off the concrete. I pick up a stray bullet from the table, rolling it between my fingers, feeling its cold weight as I contemplate just how many of these we might need before this is over.
“But let’s circle back to the part where she’s a ‘hot little thing,’” Bash says, a sly grin spreading across his face. “You didn’t mention that particular detail earlier.”
I shoot him a warning look, my fingers tightening around the bullet. “Does it matter? We’ve got bigger problems to deal with.”
He chuckles. “I’m just curious. It’s not every day a woman like that storms into our territory. Especially one who can handle herself the way you described.”
“She’s trouble,” I state firmly, setting the bullet down with a sharp click. “Best to keep your distance. Both of us should.” I say that as if I didn’t offer her a place to stay this morning. Maybe I should take my own advice.
“Trouble, huh?” He tilts his head, studying me with that keen perception that makes him such a valuable member of the Destroyers. “Since when have we ever avoided a little trouble? That’s practically our business model.”
I narrow my eyes, meeting his gaze with steel in mine. “Since it’s more trouble than it’s worth. Trust me on this one, Bash. Some fires aren’t worth playing with.”
He laughs again, the sound rich with knowing amusement. “You’re full of shit, you know that? I think she’s already got you twisted up in knots. Never seen you this worked up over a woman before.”
“You’re imagining things,” I retort, but even I can hear the defensive edge creeping into my voice. My jaw clenches involuntarily.
“Am I?” Bash pushes. “Come on, Raiden. You’re usually the ‘hit it and quit it’ type. Never stick around long enough for things to get messy. What’s different about this one? Something in those pretty eyes of hers got you spooked?”
“Nothing’s different,” I insist, my grip tightening on the bullet in my hand until the metal bites into my palm. “She’s a means to an end. That’s it. Just another job, another mark. I’m not going to hit it or quit it, not with her.” The words taste like lies on my tongue. The first thing I thought when I saw her was that she’d look perfect bent over the seat of my motorcycle while I fucked her from behind. Then she had to go and tell me her story and now I feel a range of conflicting emotions—emotions I have no business feeling.
Bash raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms over his chest. “Right. And that’s why you’re getting all bent out of shape when I mention her; she means nothing because you’re totally not affected by her. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
I glare at him, but he just smiles innocently, his expression far too knowing for my comfort. “Drop it, Bash.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Consider it dropped, Drake. Though, for the record, denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”
We turn our attention back to the maps spread across the table, and I force myself to focus on the routes, the logistics, and anything but Lucrezia. But her image keeps slipping into my mind like an uninvited guest—the defiant spark in her eyes, the way she challenges me without fear, how her lips curve when she speaks. She is a thorn working her way under my skin.
“Raiden,” Bash says, pulling me from my thoughts with a sharp snap of his fingers. “You still with me? Or should I leave you to your daydreaming?”
“Yeah,” I reply tersely, shooting him a warning look. “What were you saying?”
He gives me a glare, tapping his pen against the map. “I was asking if we should double up on security for the next run. Given recent complications, it might be smart to have more muscle on deck.”
“Probably a good idea,” I concede, running a hand through my hair. “Can’t be too careful these days. The competition’s getting bolder.”
He nods, making another note in his cramped handwriting. “I’ll arrange for extra guys to be on standby. We can position them along the secondary routes.”
“Good.” I lean back in my chair, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that my world is about to get a lot more complicated.
We discuss a few more details, the conversation flowing more smoothly now that we’re back on familiar ground. Bash updates me on the latest intel, and we strategize ways to stay ahead of any potential threats.
As we wrap up, he leans back against the table, his weathered hands splayed across the polished surface. “You know, if you ever need to talk about anything, about what’s really keeping you up at night...”
I cut him off with a sharp wave of my hand. “Don’t start. Not now.”
He shrugs, the gesture casual, but his eyes remain fixed on me. “Just extending the offer from one brother to another.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, my jaw clenching despite my efforts to appear relaxed.
He smirks, that knowing look that always manages to get under my skin. “Sure you are. But remember, I know you better than most. Been watching your back long enough to spot when something’s eating at you.”
“Doesn’t mean you know everything,” I mutter, turning away from his too-perceptive gaze and focusing on the wall behind him.
“Fair enough.” He pushes off the table, stretching his arms overhead. “So, you gonna stick around for a bit? We could grab a drink later.”
“Yeah, sure,” I shrug, aiming for casual but feeling anything but. “Maybe we could hit up one of the bars afterward.” I need a woman to keep my mind straight—any woman who isn’t her. If I don’t fuck someone soon, I’ll never be able to get Lucrezia out of my head, and that thought terrifies me more than I care to admit.
Bash nods in agreement, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Sounds good to me. You think you could invite Lucrezia?” He pauses, watching me with calculated interest. “If she’s too much trouble for you, maybe I’ll take a run at her. Been a while since I’ve had a challenge.”
A surge of irritation flares within me, swift and unexpected, burning through my chest like wildfire. My hands clench involuntarily at my sides. “Stay away from her,” I snap, the words coming out as practically a growl. The possessiveness in my voice surprises even me.
Bash’s eyes widen slightly before a slow, knowing grin spreads across his face, transforming his features into a mask of pure satisfaction. “There it is.”
“There what is?” I demand. My anger is building.
He chuckles, the sound rich with smug understanding. “I knew there was more to it. You’re protective of her. It’s more than just a simple business arrangement, isn’t it?”
I scowl, forcing myself to take a steadying breath. I don’t even know this girl. “Don’t make something out of nothing. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
He holds up his hands again, amusement dancing in his dark eyes like flames. “Hey, no judgment here, brother. We’ve all been known to mix business with pleasure from time to time.”
“Mind your own damn business,” I growl, my voice dropping to a dangerous octave that would make most men step back. But Bash isn’t most men. He’s my best friend, and he knows I won’t start swinging without a good reason.
“Consider it minded,” he says with a wink, an infuriating know-it-all expression on his face. “But be careful.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I cut in. The last thing I need is a lecture about my choices, especially from him.
Bash nods slowly, concern replacing his earlier amusement. “I hope so.” His tone carries the unspoken understanding that he’ll have my back regardless of what happens.
Damn Bash for getting under my skin. He always has a way of digging deeper than I’d like, peeling back layers I’d rather keep hidden. The worst part is he’s not entirely wrong. That’s what makes his concern so irritating—the fact that he can read me like an open book.