Chapter 13
Ajori
The warehouse door groaned ominously as it slid shut behind me, the heavy sound echoing in the stillness of the night. The cool night air hit my face like a stark reminder that my life had just taken a turn, whether I welcomed it or not.
Marcos told me my car for the job would be parked right out front. My own vehicle was tucked safely away in the garage until I returned.
As I stepped off the creaking dock, I exhaled a wave of relief when I spotted a dark gray Toyota Camry, waiting patiently.
I didn’t want anything that screamed for attention.
Too nice drew curious eyes, and eyes were the last thing I needed that night.
That one looked to be anywhere from five or six years old.
It was nice enough, but not flashy… perfect for blending into the background.
Approaching the car, I reached for the key fob, unlocked it, and slid into the driver’s seat. Inside, the air carried a faint scent of lemon air freshener and something else. I took a moment to look around. The seats were soft and firm, like they’d been taken care of by somebody meticulous.
As the dashboard lights flickered to life, it confirmed my hopes: no check engine light, no warnings, and a full tank of gas. Lastly, a small sticker in the corner noted a recent oil change.
I checked the console, and it was empty. The backseat was clean, and I was sure the trunk had nothing in it but a spare tire and probably a flashlight.
I reached into my bag and pulled out the small black camera he gave me.
I flipped the visor down, found the exact spot he meant, peeled off the adhesive, and pressed it firmly into place. A small light blinked once, signaling that it was recording, and an anxious twist in my stomach reminded me of what was next.
I blew out a slow breath, unzipped the case, and stared at the gun for half a heartbeat before closing it again. I put the entire case into the glove compartment and shut it with more force than I meant to.
I adjusted the rearview mirror, fastened my seatbelt, and rested my hands on the wheel.
Then, taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I turned the key in the ignition. “Okay,” I whispered to myself. “You can do this.”
I shifted the car into drive, feeling a rush of adrenaline as I rolled out of the lot, the warehouse shrinking in my rearview mirror as I pulled onto the dark road.
The address on the paper led to a half-empty strip mall on the far side of the city.
At night, it looked even more deserted. One nail salon still had a flickering OPEN sign in the window, the laundromat lights buzzed overhead, and somewhere nearby somebody was blasting slow R his eyes locked on mine longer than what felt comfortable. It was as if he were assessing whether I would crumble under his scrutiny.
I didn’t.
“Yeah, I’m Drico,” he finally confirmed, the gravel in his voice matching the hard lines of his face.
“Then I’m Ajori,” I responded, steady, refusing to flinch or look away.
He gave a short nod. “You’re on time. Last girl used to have me out here waiting damn near ten to twenty minutes every run.”
“Good thing you got an upgrade, then,” I quipped. “I’m respectful of people’s time… mine and everybody else’s.”
For a split second, a flicker of a smirk graced his lips, an expression of approval that caught me off guard.
Drico nodded, satisfied, and turned back toward the Tahoe.
The second his back was turned I exhaled a quiet breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Moments later, he returned with a heavy black duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Even from the confines of my car, I could see the bulk and weight of it—an unmistakable indication of the seriousness of the operation.
Without a word, he popped my trunk and placed the bag inside with the ease of someone who had done that many times before. He then closed it and moved back to my window.
“Alright. You’re good to go.”
Drico studied me anew, his eyes narrowing just slightly, like a hunter gauging the resolve of his prey.
“You nervous?”
I shrugged, adopting a nonchalant demeanor. “Should I be?”
That response elicited a small huff of laughter from him, a sound both surprising and somewhat reassuring.
“Nah. But the ones who aren’t nervous at all usually don’t last.
I tilted my head slightly. “Good thing I’m somewhere in the middle.”
His smirk came back. “Yeah… you gon’ fit right in.”
Drico stepped back, his demeanor shifting back to serious as he nodded toward the exit.
“Straight to the drop point… no stops.”
His eyes lingered on me a moment longer, as if assessing my worth.
“Based on this meeting, you could very well be our next…” his words trailed off for a second, “ reliable asset… one of the ones we don’t have to watch twice. This is based on first impression, though. Don’t prove me wrong.”
Reliable asset?
I managed a confident simper. “I don’t make a habit of being anyone’s problem. So you probably won’t need to watch at all.”
He chuckled lightly then gave the hood of my car a light tap, sealing our unspoken pact.
“It was nice meeting you. Until next time.”
“We’ll see.”
Drico cracked that smirk once more, tipped his head slightly in farewell, then climbed back into the Tahoe. With barely a sound, he pulled out of the lot, the taillights vanishing into the night like a phantom.
I sat there a moment longer after his departure, before I revved the engine and drove into the unknown.
The drive to the drop point felt interminable, stretching on for twenty minutes. I kept my speed steady and my focus sharp on the road. I also scanned mirrors, side streets, and cars that hovered too long in a blind spot. If somebody was following me, they had to be damn near invisible.
Finally, I pulled up to the old brick building, with a faded Miller Hardware sign hanging askew above the entrance.
The structure seemed to have weathered decades of neglect yet also bore witness to countless secrets exchanged under the cover of darkness.
An older man emerged from the shadows by the entrance, stepping into the weak glow of the flickering overhead light as if he had been waiting there all along.
He approached my window, the faint click of his boots on the concrete echoing in the stillness.
“Ajori?” It was the same way Drico had said it—infused with a seriousness that left no room for pleasantries.
I nodded once, keeping my face impassive.
With a brusque motion, he jerked his thumb toward another man standing at the entrance. This second figure tapped twice on the metal door beside him, causing it to lift open slowly, revealing the dim interior beyond.
“Pull in there,” the older one instructed.
I swallowed hard and drove forward.
The minute my tires rolled over the threshold, I panicked internally.
I spotted at least six armed men scattered throughout the spacious area with guns hanging casually from their shoulders or resting comfortably in their hands, as if they were merely holding cell phones rather than signs of impending violence.
Regardless, I kept my expression calm, exactly like Marcos told me.
Then my focus fell on the one guy who wasn’t armed.
He appeared to be around my age. Dressed in a gray hooded sweatshirt, the light caught the chain around his neck, glinting like a warning.
Something about his demeanor said he was the one everybody took orders from.
With a languid grace, he pushed off the wall and sauntered toward me with the casual swagger of someone who was used to flirting as much as he was used to intimidation.
“So… you’re the new mule,” he drawled, a predatory grin spreading across his face as he approached my driver’s side.
Mule?
The word hit me so hard I swear my ancestors paused mid-blessing like, now wait a damn minute.
Oh my God!
And suddenly, every little “don’t ask questions” moments started lining up like evidence.
The routes.
The silence.
The money.
Everything slowed down for a second then sped right back up.
I’m really out here transporting drugs!