I take a step back toward my truck, but I don’t climb in right away.Instead, I stand there, watching her walk up to the porch.A light comes on automatically as she approaches her front door, the soft glow from her house spills into the night, casting a warmth that makes the cold air feel a little less biting as she disappears inside.With a shake of my head, I climb back into my truck, pull away from her house, and try to shake off the feeling that’s settled in my chest.
She’s not my problem.
Not yet.
Chapter Two
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Blade
It’s the early hoursof the morning, the time when the world is still asleep, and the streets are silent and empty.But we’re not normal people, and we don’t sleep like they do.We stand here in the cold, my sergeant at arms, Fury, and my enforcer, Ranger, waiting by the inlet.The boat is still not here, and the air bites at my skin, sharp and bitter.It doesn’t bother us—we’re used to it.But Ranger and I step closer to Fury.He’s always running hot, his body a furnace, even in these freezing temperatures.
“I don’t like this,” Ranger mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes flicker back and forth, darting between the shadows, searching for movement.His head tilts slightly to the side as if trying to catch every sound, every breath of wind.
There’s a slight change in the air, a shift in the scent.Ranger freezes for a split second, his nose scrunching, his eyes narrowing, honing in on something in the distance.Instinctively, his body lowers, crouching, a predator waiting to strike.But then it’s gone, the moment passing.He straightens up, exhaling slowly, but the tension never quite leaves him.His body is still coiled, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.
“Will you calm the fuck down?”Fury mutters, nudging Ranger with his elbow.“You’re making me nervous.”
“We should’ve kept making the booze ourselves,” Ranger grumbles, his voice low and thick with frustration.
Exhaling, I scan the inlet ahead, my eyes shifting from the dark horizon to the silent shoreline.The boat is still not here, but I can feel its presence, the weight of it as if it’s hovering just beyond the edges of the night.The darkness presses in, making it harder to see, but I know it’s close.I can almost hear the engine humming.
“We didn’t have enough, and this will fill the orders,” I say, my voice steady, though there’s a flicker of unease gnawing at me.I’m trying to sound confident, but there’s a heaviness in my chest that won’t go away.Something doesn’t feel right.
Alcohol, like everything else here, costs more than it does in the lower forty-eight.The price we charge may seem steep to outsiders, but for us, it’s survival.Out here, everything is tougher, harsher, more isolated.It’s why we’ve turned to bootlegging.The regulars are always buying, but the summer crowds are thinning, and we’re running low on supply.This shipment should’ve been here sooner, but now, with the cold creeping in, it’s the last chance we’ve got to fill orders for the locals who depend on us.
I glance over at Ranger.He’s still stiff, his eyes locked on the water, every ripple a potential threat.
“You think they’re coming?”His voice is edged with doubt, uncertainty curling through his words.
His fingers tap against his thigh in that restless rhythm.He’s waiting for the boat as if it’s his lifeline, but he can’t seem to settle into the wait.His nerves are getting the best of him, and I don’t blame him.We’re all on edge.
I turn my gaze back to the water.The darkness is swallowing the inlet, the line between the shore and the open sea growing blurrier by the second.The air feels colder, the night itself is closing in, but I know they’re close.I can feel it in my gut.
