Chapter 23 Definitely Not Up To Something #2
He rattles off an address and it takes me a second to place it. An old, half-abandoned strip of warehouses near the river. Last I remember, they were between condemned and still standing.
“Got it. I can be there in—”
“Come alone,” he interrupts. “No friends. No girl.”
“I wasn’t planning to bring her. I don't want her in this part.”
He doesn’t respond to that, but I feel the slightest shift in the air between us, like something there struck a chord with him.
“Half an hour. If you’re not there, I’ll assume you found another solution.”
He hangs up before I can respond, and I'm scrambling to get a shirt on and grab my keys.
The address Emil gave me sits at the edge of the river, one long brick warehouse with windows blacked out, and a rusted sign with letters so faded it could say literally anything. There's a streetlamp flickering half-heartedly on the mostly empty street.
I kill my headlights a block away and coast in slow, parking a decent distance from the building for no particular reason aside from it feels right.
There’s a dark SUV already there. No plates I can see, and tinted windows so dark I can't even make out the silhouette of the seats. For a second, my heart decides now is the time to start freaking out, as if it all suddenly became too real.
You can still go home.
You can tell her we’ll figure something else out.
You can tell Jax to stop threatening murder in our group chat and Theo to stop googling ‘how much bleach erases DNA.’
I picture Bash’s hand on Raine’s face and the way Jax said Bash told him 'she'd crawl to him eventually.'
There's no going back.
The warehouse door is open just a crack, enough for someone to slide in if they knew they were meant to.
I step inside, immediately greeted by the odd scent of dust and rusted metal.
Most of the overhead lights are off, aside from one row near the center that glows a weak yellow, spotlighting an old folding table and three chairs.
Two of them are occupied. One by a man built like wall insulation, arms crossed and jacket open just enough to show the black line of a holster. He watches me cautiously, ready to stop me if I'm up to anything stupid.
The other chair is taken by Emil. There are more tattoos on his arm than the last time I saw him, two full sleeves of various blues and red.
He’s not what people think when they hear “gang boss.” No suit, no gold chain, no scary scars on his face.
In fact, he's pretty young for what he's accomplished, just a little over a decade older than me at thirty-eight.
He's wearing a dark coat over an open-collared shirt, slacks, and polished shoes. He looks like he could walk into a board meeting or a funeral and not seem out of place at either. His black hair is slicked back, showing sharp features and serious eyes.
He lifts his gaze. Dark, almost black, eyes meet mine when my boots hit the concrete.
“Elias,” he greets, gesturing with his hand to the third chair. “Good. Sit.”
My legs carry me to the chair before I think too hard about it, watching the other man who doesn't move but keeps his eyes on me.
“Thanks for meeting me.” I nod politely, because my mother raised me right, even if I’m asking for murder.
Emil doesn’t smile, exactly. His mouth shifts, a faint tilt. “You saved my life. It would be rude not to repay the favor.”
“I didn’t do it for the favor,” I correct automatically as part of me wishes I had never gotten his card.
“I know.” He tips his head, eyes scanning my face. “That’s why I gave you my number.”
He steeples his fingers on the table, and I can't help but notice how clean they are, how they lack scars.
“Tell me everything.”
So I do.
Not literally everything. Not Raine’s full name, not the color of her bike, not the name of her shop.
But I tell him about Bash. About the debt.
About the rent. About the 'three times the rent now that I know about your boys' threat.
About the bar visit. About how he assaulted her and made it sound like she liked it. About the bruise.
The whole time, Emil listens without interrupting, his face hardly moving. The only tells are tiny—one slow tap of his finger when I mention leverage and a brief glance at his guy when I describe the way the cops look the other way around Bash’s street.
When I finish, he leans back, chair creaking quietly.
“And she doesn’t know you’re here?” he asks, as if to confirm he's only dealing with me and not the whole group.
“No,” I admit. “She’d try to talk me out of it. Or she’d decide she has to deal with it herself before we get hurt.”
“You’re doing this behind her back,” he clarifies with zero judgment in his tone.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve watched a lot of men make bad decisions in the name of women who wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire. Who’s she to you?”
I swallow, unsure how to answer that, or if I really should.
“I don’t have a word that’s big enough,” I answer honestly, staring at my fingers on my lap. “She’s not mine. Not really. Not just mine, anyway. She’s the center of everything. If she goes down because I was too scared to ask you for a favor... I don't want to think about it.”
“And your friends,” Emil says, gaze steady on me, assessing rather than accusing. “They on board with this? Or are you pulling them in blind?”
“They know I’m reaching out,” I tell him, shoulders squaring as I meet his stare. “They don’t know your name yet. But when they do, they'll know to keep quiet.”
He gives me a single nod as he sits back, getting closer to a decision but not quite there.
“So.” His fingers tap once against the table. “You want him removed.”
“Yes.”
“For her.”
“For all of us,” I correct, lifting my chin a fraction. “But yeah. Mostly for her.”
He hums low in his throat and angles his head, sliding his attention briefly to the man behind him with a silent question.
The guy rolls one shoulder beneath his jacket, expression unmoved. “Sounds like a roach.” His voice is gravel and disinterest. “Just needs to be stepped on.”
“Low downside,” Emil murmurs, returning his eyes to me. “You sure no one’s going to come looking for him when he suddenly vanishes?”
“He’s got people.” I lean forward before I realize I’m doing it, elbows braced on my knees. “But he talks like there’s no one above him. Like he is the ceiling.”
That earns a twitch at the corner of Emil’s mouth, something sharper than a smile. “Men who believe that don’t stay upright long.”
“So you’ll do it?”
He doesn’t answer right away, letting the silence stretch, making sure I feel it.
“I didn’t say that,” he finally replies, folding his hands together. “You’re asking me to rid your life of a pest. When I do that, it’s not charity.”
“I know. I don’t have money, if that's what you want,” I admit, clenching my jaw in quiet frustration. “We’re already scraping to keep her afloat.”
“This isn’t about money.” He studies me like he’s decided I'm worth accepting “I need two things.”
Here it is. The moment my spine locks.
“One,” he continues, lifting a finger. “My name never leaves your group. Absolutely never to law enforcement if they suddenly find the courage to try to come for me. I don’t exist. You understand?”
“Yeah.” I nod once. “Of course.”
“Two.” Another finger joins the first as he continues in a tone so serious it's hard not to picture the worst. “You get him alone, away from his men, and unconscious.
I like to watch the panic spread across their faces when they come to and find they're not as untouchable as they thought. Make it somewhere public enough no one will question what you're doing but quiet enough we don’t attract the attention of people who matter.”
My mouth opens, then closes. “I've yet to see him go anywhere alone.”
“It's not hard to think of places,” Emil says, offering suggestions. “Somewhere maybe you go to often?”
“We're usually at the bar with Jax,” I answer. “He works there.”
“Good,” he decides immediately. “Familiar for you. Not for him.”
“He’s been once,” I correct, thinking about Jax's text, wondering if he's doing stupid shit right now. I haven't texted a check-in in too long.
“Great.” Emil’s voice is calm, almost bored. “You poke at whatever pride he’s got left until he comes.”
“That should be easy,” I mutter, knowing Jax is the best at pressing buttons he shouldn’t.
A corner of his mouth curves as if he likes that answer. “Men like Bash—the ones who think they’re on top when they’re really just small fish—all they have is pride. ”
“He’s never without at least one guy,” I add, thinking of the big guy who stayed at his side when he came to collect Raine’s ‘rent’. “He’s big and quiet.”
“You’ll figure it out,” Emil informs me, standing as he comes to a final decision. “You just get Bash through the door. After that, one of you sends an address and a text that says ‘now.’ Then you leave."
“You don’t stay,” he continues, already shrugging into his coat. “You don’t watch. You don’t help. You go home to your girl and keep your head down. I handle the rest.”
Just like that. Like we’re talking about trash bags and curbside pickup.
“You’re sure?” I ask, needing to hear it. “You won’t decide halfway through that we’re liabilities?”
“If I thought you were liabilities,” he tosses out, passing me, “you’d already be in the river.”
Fair.
He pauses, glancing back with something almost amused in his eyes. “Consider my debt paid the moment you called. Bash is your ‘anything.’ We’re even after this.”
I nod as relief hits me harder than it should, feeling my shoulders sag despite myself.
“She’s lucky,” he adds, already moving toward the door.
I blink. “Who?”
The look he gives me answers without words. Raine.
“Don’t waste what you’re buying her,” he throws at me over his shoulder just before the door shuts behind him.
His man lingers a second longer, scanning me with his eyes like he’s memorizing my face.
“You sure about this?” he asks, not necessarily mocking, more curious.
“No,” I answer. “Not even a little.”
He snorts. “At least you’re honest.” Then he’s gone too.
The ride back is exactly what I need: speed, air, cold. Traffic to keep me occupied and out of my head, refusing to let it sink in that I essentially just ordered a hit on someone. I get home, kick my shoes off, and throw myself down on the couch.
The new number comes through before I have time to let it all sink in.
Unknown:
This is for the Bash job. Save it.
Text when he’s somewhere we can take him.
Don’t go overboard.
Elias:
Understood.
Unknown:
Good.
I don’t respond after that. Instead, I open the group chat.
Elias:
I talked to my “someone.”
Jax:
And???
Theo:
I swear to god, just say it.
Elias:
He’ll handle Bash.
But we need him alone at the bar.
After that, we walk away.
Theo:
When you say “handle,” you mean—
Elias:
Exactly.
Jax:
Fuck. Okay
I can prob get him back in
He already likes swinging his dick there
Theo:
We’re actually doing this.
Elias:
We don’t have many paths that end with Raine alive and not owned.
Silence stretches as I wait for their responses, watching the three dots wave at me mockingly.
Theo:
You going to tell us who this guy is?
Elias:
It’s better if you don’t know.
Jax:
Daddy's got secrets
I dont know that I like it
Elias:
I swear to god, Jax, if you keep calling me that, I’m going to show you what it means.
Jax:
Don't tempt me with a good time ;)
Theo:
Focus, Jax.
Jax:
Right, focusing.
Elias:
Tomorrow. We all meet in person. No details over text.
And don’t let her know what we’re doing.
Theo:
Lying to her feels wrong, just so we’re clear.
Jax:
Yeah but we don’t need her involved.
Elias:
Get some sleep.
I drop the phone onto the cushion beside me and stare at the ceiling in the dark long enough to see shapes.
We just hired a man to erase another man. For her.
There’s no pretending this is still simple. No pretending we’re just three idiots circling the same girl.
She’s worth it.
We’re one step closer to cutting Bash out of her life.