Chapter 10
The Colombians were late. Five minutes or less, I hated but accepted. They were never on time. Ten minutes crossed the line into disrespect. But a full-on thirty minutes late, now that was the equivalent of spitting in my face. I knew it, and they knew it.
When three of them finally swaggered into the tenement apartment chosen for this quarter’s drop off, I didn’t push off the painted-over, patterned wall I rested my weight against. I didn’t greet them.
I didn’t say a word. I just stared the fuckers down, one foot kicked up on the leftovers of a TV stand from the nineties.
Then the bastards tossed a body at our feet. That was strike two, three, and four in one go.
It landed with a thunk, face down, the back of his skull cratered to a bloody pulp.
The tattoo below his ear—a three-leaf clover with a crowned skull—proved he was one of us.
Maybe in his late teens, from his gangly frame.
Brody went to crouch, hand extended for the dead man’s shoulder, but I lugged him back up before his surge of concern caught the Colombians’ attention.
One of the trio pimp-rolled forward, jeans hanging off his skinny hips, jacket swallowing his frame. My eyes rolled to the water-stained ceiling. I missed the days when the cartel sent experienced collectors our way instead of showboating youngsters. This bullshit drained me dry.
“Qué le pasa, carechimba?” The wannabe-gangster flaunted his gun at the body. “You don’t like it when it’s your boy on the floor? That’s for my brother, pichurria. You fucked his leg, man. I should fuck you up. You don’t mess with Sosa. We eat men like you for merienda.”
Arthur and Paulie fanned out around me and crossed their arms, a clear sign they didn’t consider them a threat. I twirled my karambit knife on my finger and took in every twitch and shift of every man in the room.
I didn’t know the dead kid, but from the way Brody tapped his gun against his thigh with one hand and rubbed his other hand up and down his leg, my brother did.
Death only bothered Brody when he knew and liked a person, and his actions itched of a craving for retribution.
He probably hired the lad as one of his informers.
When the handle of my knife slowed its rotation and sloped into the crook of my palm, I tugged the blade open.
A ray of light gleamed off the metal in invitation, and I stood. The boy band’s leader flinched, sending a lick of tingles through my veins.
“Another of Sosa’s nephews, I presume.”
“What’s it to you?” he snarled.
The warped floorboards creaked under my steps, each one measured and slow. He retreated a little, but I kept on coming.
I wanted him to feel the threat and realize how badly he cocked up. And if he shot me…well, the risk was where the thrill came into play.
“Boss’s just wondering how many other ugly fuckers like yourself he’ll have to set straight before you get the message,” Paulie said.
“What message?”
The toes of my boots crunched over his. His breath—a mix of tobacco, liquor, and old mint—was as off-putting as the cowboy mustache tickling his dry upper lip. His gun pressed to my stomach with a direct shot to my liver. I smirked and leaned in closer, the barrel digging into my abdomen.
“The kings of Boston take the shite out for free.”
One little swipe of my clawed blade underneath the wrist holding the gun, and I severed his ulnar artery.
Loss of strength in his fingers was immediate.
Much faster than the scream bubbling up his throat.
I caught that with a plunge of my blade through his neck.
In three seconds, tops, he was dead, and his body collapsed with the clatter of his gun.
Like a well-oiled machine, Arthur knocked the second man unconscious, Brody rushed the third Colombian, and Paulie wrestled the man’s gun away. It was all over and done in under a minute, without the smallest flutter of excitement in my bloodstream.
I held out my hand to the conscious Colombian. “Your phone.”
Despite his bared teeth, he wasn’t thick as a ditch. Joaquin Sosa’s number rang through less than a minute later.
“Ya está hecho?” I put his hoarse smoker’s voice on speaker.
“Now, you saying something like that, it makes me wonder how to take it.”
“O’Leary, my friend, that you?” The head of the Urabá cartel cleared his throat with a rattly cough. “You have my money?”
“Always.”
“Then to what do I owe the honor?”
“Courtesy call. Your man killed one of mine. So I killed one of yours. A nephew, I think. Thought it best to let you know. Disrespect can’t go unanswered. I’m sure you understand.”
“You should have called me before, my friend.”
I crouched in front of the man caged between Brody and Paulie the Skipper and tapped my bloody blade to his cheek. He recoiled. My own phone buzzed in my pocket.
“I don’t ask permission. It’s interesting you think I would.”
“We’re business partners, Cillian. Nothing personal.”
“My men. My town. My business.” I wiped the rest of the blood from the blade on the Colombian’s other cheek, then closed the knife shut.
“Remember, I own you.”
“Now, that’s bleeding cheeky of you.” I slapped the Colombian’s shoulder for effect, enjoying his wince. These boys weren’t half as hardened as Sosa liked to pretend. Cruel, sure. Greedy, absolutely. Hardened? Not these ones.
“I should tax you another five percent.”
“You should be thankful your access to Boston remains open.”
“You don’t have the balls, my friend.”
“You want to test that theory?” He didn’t answer. “My city, my rules. Stay in your lane, Joaquin, or we’ll have the craic doing it for you. Let that be a promise.”
I hung up the phone and tossed it at the Colombian, whose arms were locked behind his back. The phone bounced off his chest and fell to the old, patchy vinyl flooring with a crack. Again, my own phone vibrated.
“Clean this up, would you?” Paulie smacked the Colombian upside the head as Brody dropped the bag of cash at his feet.
Then we filed out of the room. There was a strong likelihood that the Urabá cartel was about to become the problem I had foretold when they bought out my father’s debt seven years ago. It only surprised me that Joaquin Sosa took this long to challenge us.
“We need to put a complete stop to their contacts,” I said as we stomped down the stairwell.
Our agreement following the debt settlement stated that they had access to Boston so long as we facilitated all sales.
At the time, they needed our distribution network, and we needed the cut.
Truth was, with a monopoly on their distribution, it gave us an advantage as we expanded.
When Sosa realized his fuckup a couple of years ago, the cartel started buying the silence or compliance of officials and law enforcement in an effort to gain a foothold in Boston outside our influence.
We’d been dismantling their efforts piece by piece through blackmail and coercion, but not always fast enough.
When we made it back to the car, Brody immediately connected his phone to the keyboard he kept in the door pocket and lost himself in his research and anything new our hackers sent over.
When he compartmentalized his focus like this, nothing and no one existed anymore but getting the job done. I envied him that ability.
“We should be able to shake down the Health and Human Services secretary,” Brody said, nose buried in his screen.
“She’s been meeting a man, not her husband, at a hotel in the Financial District every other week for the last four months.
It’s too routine, foolish. Married, with three kids, and religious, she won’t want anyone to know.
And the governor’s chief of staff has been skimming funds from budgetary allocations.
Easy case of embezzlement. There also seems to be a discrepancy in registered employee numbers in some of the housing programs under the Office of Housing and Livable Communities.
I’ll pick over the details tonight. I’m sending everything else over to you. ”
On cue, my phone buzzed. I fished it out, nodding to my brother at all the right times, responding in all the right places, but somehow feeling like a ghost of my present self. I was bored, and that was a terrible thing for me to be.
“Good. Arthur,” I called up front.
“Aye, boss.”
“Get the details you need from Brody, and take Big Charlie with you to—”
My voice cut off as I caught onto a series of messages from an unknown number. The last message had been sent less than a minute ago.
Unknown
Did you miss me?
No, you don’t seem like the type.
But I’m going to change that. I’m going to make sure you never forget me.
How droll. I blocked the number, swiped the messages aside, and pulled up the data points Brody had reviewed and sent over.
The same tedious blackmail rubbish. Necessary but as dull as dishwater.
Nothing like going hunting for dealers with a bat down the streets of Chinatown. Now, that would get my blood pumping.
“Boss, you were saying?”
I opened my mouth to reply as my phone vibrated again. A new message thread popped up from a new number.
Unknown
Cillian O’Leary, you blocked me, didn’t you?
Bad boy. Don’t make me bring out my whip.
My brows rose. What the fuck? A low buzz filled my ears. Someone was trying to see how far they could push before I shoved my brass knuckles up their arse.
Lucky you, I guessed you might, so I got myself several numbers.
You’re not getting rid of me that easily.
Who is this?
Not even intrigued enough to guess?
If you know who I am, you should know better than to mess with me.
I sense a threat…I think I might like it.
I scoffed and almost tossed the phone into the spare seat between Brody and me, but there was a tenseness to my limbs that had been absent since we’d left the Colombians behind.
A hum of anticipation spread through me, and my body perked up with intrigue.
For once, I wasn’t floating aimlessly in deep waters.
Instead, I reached for a surface so far away I wasn’t sure I’d get there, but I wanted to.
What do you want?
You, silly.
Distantly, I heard my name being called, but it was nothing but a garble of sound underwater compared to the pulse of blood in my ears, the thrill of the unknown, and the electrifying need to hunt and destroy.
Give me a name. Who are you?
How about I give you a few hints?
#1 We saw each other recently.
#2 I sat in your reserved seats and enjoyed your glares very much.
#3 You sounded interested in my proposal.
The Chemist?
Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.
She was ballsier than I remembered, and that was saying something, because in the last few days, I’d thought about the shape of her hips, the curve of her arse, and the length of her legs, dressed only in thigh-highs and stilettos, more times than I could count.
The sound of her voice, with its breathy edge and the rhythmic flow of her accent, haunted me hours after our meeting until time finally chased the memory of her away.
A woman had no place in my life, not when she’d end up poisoned, tied to a chair, stabbed in the heart, with vomit dripping down her chin, and a brand burned into her face. Since I didn’t enjoy faceless one-time fucks anymore, not since Sarah died, that meant no women at all.
This game won’t end well for you.
You want to bet on that?
What do I get if you fall madly in love with me?
Besides you, of course?
You’re betting on the wrong horse.
We’ll see.
See you soon.
Wish me luck.
The urge to continue this little farce had my thumb hovering over the screen.
Someone shook me. My fist balled, and my head snapped up. It was just Brody.
“Your stop.”
The car idled at the curb of my condominium complex.
On the other side of the street, the setting sun glinted off the Boston Harbor and glared back at me in a stare-off.
I had lost fifteen minutes to a random conversation about nothing, yet it had been more invigorating than the life I’d taken earlier.
I cleared my throat and cracked my neck, thumbing my knife for balance. I felt completely off-kilter.
“Arthur,” I started, regaining my bearings, “with Big Charlie—”
“Already told them,” Brody said brusquely, eyes locked on his screen. I knew he didn’t mean anything by it. It was just his way. “You were busy.”
“We’ll get what’s needed from the secretary, boss,” Arthur said. “No worries.”
“Right. Good, and get me everything on that chemist. I needed it yesterday.”
“Nope. Already checked,” Brody said without looking up as I shoved open my door. “Nothing to get. All cameras in the area were wiped. Nothing to trace her or her location.”
“Try again. I’ve got a feeling she’s about to pull us down a rabbit hole.”