CHAPTER THREE
Connor
“ G riffin is annoyed,” Rhys says, leading us to his Audi.
“I’ll kiss the ring and his arse later,” I mutter, giving a subtle nod to Blade and Jett, our trackers parked in an old Denali across the street.
Hitmen hanging around my Da’s memorial service would have pissed off Griffin even more than us leaving early to deal with a rival crime lord.
But where I go, the trackers go.
I don’t keep my apartment surrounded 24/7. I live in one of those rare tucked-away enclaves here in Manhattan. It needs to remain a secret. Guards and hitmen hanging around non-stop will finger my location.
The place is secure, but it also means very little to me. It’s a place to crash. Since I fucked that lovely complication there, it’s felt extra empty and stale.
Sitting next to Rhys in his Audi, I feel the urge to talk about the woman I can’t get out of my mind.
Thoughts of her are cresting like a wave after the day I spent listening about love and legacy.
Asking for advice sits on the tip of my tongue.
I’m worried my cousin will look at me like I have ten heads. I’m not a relationship guy.
But that one fantastic night has me climbing the walls to find her.
I open my mouth to confess my sinful thoughts, but I’m cut off when Rhys parks across the street from a seedy club with chipped bricks for a facade. We get out and approach the entrance with Blade and Jett on our six.
Inside, the joint reeks of sweat and more of that crap whiskey. The dense crowd keeps the four of us shielded and off the radar. I only wish Rhys and I could have changed out of our suits.
“That’s him,” Rhys says in my ear. “Tahiri. Ten o’clock.”
I take in the dark-haired man in black pants, a black shirt, and worn-out shoes, sitting on a velvet wing-back chair. Tahiri has a woman draped across his lap while others wait in line for their turn with him. He’s probably selling them hits of X with his tongue.
Drugs, especially one mixture called white thunder, and human trafficking have been the Albanians’ signature and primary form of income, and the reason they need so many weapons. Only, they prefer to steal them from other crime families. The sin that quickly made them everyone’s top enemy.
“Let’s get ahead of this raid.” I can’t stand to be in this disgusting club one second longer. Not when all I can think about is her. “Find the damn stockroom.”
Rhys hikes over to a hallway manned by a mountain with a goatee. “I’d like to use a private bathroom.” He palms some cash and hands it to the bouncer.
“No can do,” he says with a head shake that releases the stench of days-old aftershave.
“Let me rephrase my request.” Rhys teases the guy to come closer and then punches him in the throat.
The guy collapses back, gasping for air. The force of the hit shakes a few strands of Rhys’s long hair from his man bun.
Looking wild with those dark locks around his sharp-angled face, he shoves wads of cash into the bouncer’s jacket over a heaving chest. “For your medical bills.”
Blade and Jett drag the loser further down the hall before the attack gets Tahiri’s attention.
The narrow hallway is covered with the worst wallpaper I’ve ever seen. A door in the middle gives me pause.
Rhys opens it, his tall, lanky body curving around the bend. “Stairs. Looks like they lead to the apartment.”
“Wonderful.” I don’t even want to think about what nightmares are unfolding up there.
A door to the stockroom at the end of the hallway yawns open by just a crack. Guns drawn, we creep that way.
“Are we taking out the DEA agent?” Rhys whispers.
“I think that’s the right move here.” I try to see inside the stockroom. “That puts Noel in our debt.”
The elongated shape of the room provides clear access to where two men are having a heated conversation or a last-minute negotiation.
By the guy’s white-blond hair and shocking green eyes, it must be Havok, the legendary and ruthless dealer.
I thought he dealt for the Colombians, but he’s working for the Albanians, apparently.
I search for the DEA agent and get a tiny thrill when I see movement behind a pallet stacked with crates of booze.
I raise my gun to take the fucker out.
On a warm breeze from an open window, I expect a sharp bite of male sweat. Instead, a whiff of cinnamon apple shampoo hits me. I fucking freeze, recognizing that tangy smell.
My olfactory system goes on red alert, and I shift my position to get a better look at who I’m about to kill. My heart stops, seeing a long golden braid and the outline of a jaw I’d recognize anywhere. When emerald-green eyes turn my way, I step back into the shadow.
It’s her.
Her.
The woman who’s been haunting my thoughts, my dreams, and stripping me of my goddamn sanity is pointing a loaded Glock at Havok. She turns her body again just enough for me to see white bold letters stretched across the back of her external bulletproof vest.
DEA.
Air freezes in my lungs. What the fuck?
“No shot,” I whisper, smashing my head into the wall behind me.
“I got the shot,” Rhys whispers, but lifts his head from the scope. “It’s a fucking woman?”
My blood turns to ice, and I push Rhys’s arm down with the force of a man on drugs. “Don’t.”
“She’s back there.” The sound of a sinister voice coming down the stairs from the apartment jolts me.
I pull Rhys into a dark corner and listen carefully. With Slavic accents and no visible faces, I can’t place them.
“Are we taking her?” a different voice asks, referring to my woman.
That makes them my enemy, too. Shite, this list is getting long.
“That’s what the boss wants,” the first guy whines like he’s bored.
Fucking traffickers. I will cut my wrists before I let the Albanians take her.
“What’s the plan here, Connor?” Rhys mutters. “Am I shooting everyone?”
Seems like the logical thing to do, but committing mass murder with no exit strategy will have Griffin cutting my wrists first.
“Wait a goddamn minute, Rhys,” I grumble.
The two dudes stop at the stockroom door, and the first one grinds out anxiously, “V said he’d get her when he was ready.”
“Tahiri doesn’t trust him,” the other guy argues, and then looks down the hallway. “Where the fuck is Goran?”
My eyes slip closed, guessing he’s asking about the bouncer we fucked up. They march that way, and I have a convenient diversion.
“Get Blade and Jett out of here,” I whisper to Rhys. “I’ll deal with the agent.”
A woman I can’t admit I fucked.
I give one last glance and prepare to walk away. I know where to find her. I know where she works now. I just hope she survives this day.
“What the fuck?” the guy buying Havok’s white thunder hollers. “Who the fuck is that?”
I turn back around to see the buyer pointing a gun right at her head.
Oh, fuck.
I don’t think. I point my gun and start shooting.