Chapter Twenty-Six
The illuminated city passes by as we drive to the docks, roads full of people travelling through their average existences and smiling at what their nights will bring. I’m not smiling, nor is Quinn. The picture of Gabby that eventually came was, still is, fair warning of what’s coming should we not do as we’re told. I’ve done nothing but stare at it for four hours. A dark room, concrete beneath her body as she lay on it, sprawled out asleep, or more likely, unconscious. Her face was bruised and one eye badly swollen. Her hair was down and scraggy, slick with dried blood that smothered the side of her face.
Rage, indecision, hatred for anything that might get in my way—all emotions that screamed at me to stand, walk, and get to the fucking docks quicker than planned. But every time I stood, Quinn watched me like a hawk and said something to bring me back to my plan. Calmed me down. Much as that fucking annoyed me at the time, he was right because we both know what could be coming, no matter how deferential he’s been to the woman who called offering terms. People could die tonight. For me, lives could be taken to rescue her. For Quinn, lives will be obliterated to protect what’s his.
What’sours.
“You ready?” he asks, his fingers turning the wheel as he nods at Rusty and Den in a car that passes us. They peel off, changing course quickly to get to the other side of the building we’re heading for. I flick a glance at the black SUV that creeps up the inside of us, Frankie and Jon looking back at me, and nod at them, too. The car accelerates by and jumps a light, crossing to the next street so they can follow their own way in. “They’ll have at least double what we have.”
I frown at that and search the area for anyone following us. No one is that I can see, haven’t been since we’ve been here, which means it’s working and the Yakuza haven’t worked out that we’ve been here all along, scheming. We might be six compared to their many more, but we’re six who’ve played this type of game all our lives. For once in my life I smile to myself at the thought, listening to Quinn as he breathes in and out slowly, and think of all those years of training he gave me. Without him I’d have been dead a thousand times over. He made this frame I’m in, designed it. He moulded me into something to be feared the moment he knew my morals would get in the way of business.
Watch your back, keep yourself covered. Look them straight in the eyes and aim true if you have to.You stay alive, brother.
Only once did I ever pull the damn trigger to kill.
And that was to protect him.
If put to the test, I’ll do it again in a heartbeat. Morals are damned when it comes to family. But this time it’s not for him, it’s for her.
* * *
The road past the marina turns into more of a dirt drive and reveals the industrial warehouses, bringing us to the back of the dock area. Dust kicks up at us from the vehicle we’re following and smears the view, the salt from the sea thick in my nostrils.
“Position set,” Frankie says into the phone I’m holding. I look to the right of us, scanning the neighbouring buildings to find him. Nothing’s visible, but that doesn’t mean he’s not there. Just like Rusty and Den. They checked in before this call, confirming their locations, too. “Jon’s on the south-side, already in place.” I nod at that and check to the left of us, looking for anything that might give them away as Quinn slows the car slightly. Jon should have found a way in by now, covered it at least. Again, nothing is visible, but communication means they’re alive and haven’t been sighted.
We’re set.
As set as we can be against the Yakuza in unknown territory.
“Get inside as soon as we’re in,” I mutter into the phone, ending the call.
That’s all we’ve got here—trust that our men are backing us up if needed, and my game plan, which should get us all out of here alive.
The car slows to crawling, dust finally settling around us as we creep in behind the other SUV. Four men get out as they pull to a stop, three of them looking back at us as one of them walks towards a set of corrugated doors on the old building. They’re all Yakuza apart from the one who’s wandered off. I can tell by the way they walk together. Orderly, unconcerned by our presence.
“Arrogant little fucks,” Quinn mumbles next to me. I’d snort if they were holding anyone else but Gabby, but they are, so I glance at him and check my gun under my jacket for the tenth time, then the blade in my boot. “If your goddamn woman wasn’t in that building, I’d—”
“I know.”
That stops his muttering, and the long sigh that comes from him instead has us both staring at the guys out front, one of whom is beckoning us.
“You sure you can do this?” he asks. I glare, annoyed he’s asked. He’s goddamn right I can. This has been my life. There’s no one better at it than me, certainly when they don’t know it’s coming for them. He might not know what I’ve been working on. Might not know the hours of prep that have given me the ability to do this but screw him and his questions. He should know me by now, know if I say I’ve got shit covered, I have. It’s only ever been decency that’s kept me legitimate, made me respect a code of sorts in this damned world we live in. We could have been far wealthier had I been more like him.
Underhanded.
I’m not.
He eventually nods in return and reaches for the door. “You stay safe, brother.”
“You, too.”
He smiles at that, some part of him not giving a fuck if he stays safe or not as he gets out and buttons his jacket up. I do the same and come into line beside him, laptop case in hand, as we begin the steps into hell. That’s what this feels like to me. It might not to him, but to me it’s a journey I’ve always detested, and this time, even more so, because it’s fucking necessary for entirely different reasons. Before now, the outcome has only ever been applicable to the balance sheet, barely any thought given to how Quinn goes about dealing with our business or who dies. Whether I despised it or not wasn’t relevant. Whether my morals accepted it or not was equally insignificant, but now—Gabby. Her life is at risk.
That’s personal. In house.
Even Cane doesn’t play with that shit.
The lead guy comes back out as the others guide us past them, his hand waving us towards the door as he scuffs his foot in the dirt. Quinn nods and takes a step in front of me, an indifferent glance blasted at the guy. Whoever the fuck he is, we only have one destination in mind—the woman, or whoever is above her. Yakuza work on the towering system. Everything comes from the top down.
