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When Emma stole my money right after the robbery, I knew something was off.
Someone has been tipping Emma off about my plans, my struggles, everything about the Kings. I just don’t know who.
I turn the water off, stepping out of the shower and grabbing my towel.
I can’t get it out of my head.
Who the fuck is close enough to me to be able to give an advantage to Emma?
Who the fuck would dare betray me?
The bathroom door bursts open.
“Calling your mom without your phone, then?” Ivan shoves my phone against my chest. “It won’t stop ringing.”
Elliot is written on the screen, and I pick up right away.
“Good morning, sunshine.” His cheery voice already pisses me off, but he is my best man, and I wouldn’t be where I am today without him.
“Why the hell are you calling me at seven a.m.?” I grunt.
“Trust me, I wish I had gotten more sleep too. Bennett turned up at my door this morning. Shot.”
“Shot?”
“There was a late night…”—he looks for the right word to control the damage—“commotion. Bennett and a few friends ran into some NSC guys on their way back from a house party.”
I take a deep breath as I walk back to my bedroom. I need to get dressed. “Which territories?”
“Ours. NSC is feeling invincible since Emma stole our money, and our guys aren’t exactly the tamest people I know.”
I put the phone on speaker as I slip on a pair of jeans and a sweater. “So it was a bloodbath.”
“We killed two of them. They killed two of ours.”
I take a step back from the phone. My hand automatically coming to my face, I rub my lower lip with my thumb.
“Fuck.” I say it levelly, but Elliot knows me well enough to guess it doesn’t mean I’m not pissed the hell off.
Death is not a daily occurrence on the North Shore. Despite the war going on, we have rules in place. Rules that keep us all alive. Respect the crew in power. Don’t wander in territories that don’t belong to you. Don’t start useless drama.
But the tables are turning, the power balance tipping, and our crews are becoming restless. Four deaths in one night prove that.
My phone beeps. Another call. Ashley is written on the screen. She owns a garage in our territories. She’s one of ours, but she never calls me.
“Hold on, Elliot. Ashley is calling me.”
People don’t call unless it’s an emergency. Over time, my phone has become a bad news line. Cries for help, threats, death announcements. That’s all it’s about.
All day. Every fucking day.
I don't say hello when I pick up the phone anymore. I say, “What’s wrong?”
“Kay.” Her panicked voice kicks my fight-or-flight response into gear. I’m already pacing the bedroom. “They destroyed everything! Fuck,” she pants down the line. “The repair shop…it’s all fucked.”
Instead of letting fear take over, I feel my heart harden. Another layer of concrete surrounds my already tense organ. Ashley was keeping stuff for me in there. Emergency kind of stuff.
“The powder,” I say, trying to sound calm.
