White-hot pain explodes in my side as the blade sinks deep into me, slicing through flesh and muscle.
"Fuck!" I scream, warm blood soaking my shirt, my vision blurring momentarily.
The attacker pulls the knife free, preparing for another strike. The bastard straddles me, pinning my arms with his knees. I thrash beneath him, but the pain in my side is paralyzing. My strength is fading.
Then he leans in.
"The Phantom King sends his regards."
He raises the blade high, blood, my blood, dripping from its tip. His eyes behind the mask are cold.
As the blade descends toward my chest, a shot rings out. The attacker's head snaps sideways, a spray of red mist coming from where his eye used to be. He collapses on top of me, dead weight.
I push him off, looking up to see Mikey standing there, gun still raised, hands shaking.
"Holy shit," he whispers.
"About fucking time," I groan, pressing my hand against the wound in my side. Blood seeps between my fingers.
The gunfire around us has lessened. I hear Shane shouting orders, our men pushing the attackers back. People running.
Despite the agony in my side, I drag myself toward my attacker's body. I need to know who these fuckers are.
With one hand pressed against my wound, I go through the man's coat with the other.
I find a wallet and open it.
No driver's license, no ID of any kind. Just cash and… something slips out.
A card.
I pick it up. It's a sleek ivory business card. I run my thumb over the raised lettering that says: SHADOWHARBOR FOUNDATION.
Nothing else. No phone number, no address. I flip it over to find an embossed black feather.
"Motherfucker," I yell.
I search his other pockets and find several loose black feathers tucked into an inner pocket. I clench them in my fist, blood seeping between my fingers.
The Fucking Morrigans.
First Knox. Then our routes, drivers, my ship, and now these meant for me.
My vision wavers as I push myself up on my knees, but everything spins.
The sirens in the distance grow louder as the gunfire finally stops. I look around at the carnage. Four of my men down, not moving. Shane clutches his bleeding shoulder, barking orders into his phone. The alley reeks of gunpowder, smoke, and death.
I try to stand but my legs buckle. The knife went deep, and I've lost too much blood.
"Boss!" Shane runs over. "Shit. That doesn't look good. You're fuckin' bleeding bad."
The alley turns sideways as I collapse into the ground.
"We need to get him to a hospital!" One of my men say.
"No." I manage. "No hospital."
Shane stares. "You're gonna bleed out!"
