“No, seriously. I need a social life that doesn’t include this shit.”
“Hm,” I said, with mock concern. “When is the last time you had sex?”
“Shut it,” he said, then turned back to the ledgers, pointing an accusatory finger toward them. “You see this? We need a better front. We’re spending more than we were a month ago, and even though you’ve been lurking behind closed doors not answering your phone, I’m assuming this gets worse.”
“Way to call me out,” I said.
“You deserve it. You’ve been, forgive me the cliché, ghosting everyone.”
“Not everyone. Just you and Tristan.”
Liam pointed at a printout. “Last week.”
I peered over his shoulder. “That’s what I think it is?”
“Yeah, standard glove. Fentanyl,” Liam said. “You need to get back on distro, Kieran. Feds or no, it’s time. I know you’re worried about the lady friend, but it can’t wait.”
“Give me more than just a week,” I said. "That's tight. Real tight. And it’s not your usual decline of shipments."
“No joke,” Liam said. “It’s off the charts. And I mean bad off the charts.”
I exhaled through my nose. “Okay. Fine. I’ll figure it out.”
“Will you?” he asked, leaning forward. “Because it doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“You’ve been off-grid. Radio silence. That’s not how you handle pressure.”
“You think I’m distracted?”
“I think you’re compromised,” Liam said flatly. “And I’m not the only one.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You talked to Tristan.”
He didn’t answer. Just took a long sip of his drink, then looked me dead in the eye.
“He told you to keep an eye on me.”
“No, Kieran,” Liam said. “He told me to clean up the mess if you don’t.”
That hit like a punch to the gut, but I didn’t show it. Couldn’t.
“Tristan wouldn’t hurt me.”
“No,” Liam said after a minute. “Tristan doesn’t want to hurt you. That’s not the same thing.”
I stared at him for a long second, then knocked back the rest of my drink. It burned going down, sharper than it should have been, but I didn’t flinch.
“Okay,” I said. “Say it. What aren’t you telling me?”
Liam hesitated, which meant it was bad. He only paused when he knew the truth would hurt.
“The DOJ’s been asking questions, mate. Not just about you. About the club. About the properties tied to Callahan Holdings. About shell companies. About names on bills of lading from three years ago. They’re not playing around.”
My stomach dropped. “And Tristan knows.”
“Of course he does. He’s two moves ahead, like always. He’s trying to plug leaks and shuffle assets, but if they start tying this to you—”
