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All I have is fury.
I’m halfway down the hall to the gym, loosening my tie, when my phone rings. It’s Liam.
“Tell me you have the motherfucker who—”
“Not the bomb.”
I frown.
“But I found out who gave Ella a million quid.”
In the shadowsof the East London warehouse, I shut the engine off on my Range Rover, letting the darkness pool over me. I’m furious. I’m war, famine, pestilence, and death. But I breathe, centering myself.
Slowly, I turn to glance at the mechanics garage across the street. Inside the two open bay doors, I can spot six men sitting slouched and smoking around a poker table. Five goons, and the man I’m here to see.
Leo Argyros is not a small man. And he’s not a man to be trifled with. I don’t know him, but I do knowofhim, and his reputation as one of the sleaziest, grimiest, most savage small-time thugs in London.
But I’m not here for the underground dog fights he puts on. Or the petty larceny. Or for shaking down little old lady shopkeepers for protection money.
No. Tonight, Leo and I are going to have a very frank discussion about his loan business.
I’m opening the car door when headlights flood me. Another, familiar but uninvited, Range Rover pulls up behind me, the engine cranking off as Liam steps out.
“You weren’t seriously about to walk in there without—”
“I don’t need you for this.”
His brow knits.
“You’re joking.”
“I need you to stay in the car, Liam.”
“Not happening, boss.”
“It wasn’t a request,” I say thinly.
He frowns. “Look, Noel, I get you’re angry. But this geezer is a tough bastard—”
“He’d better hope so.”
I turn, breathing slowly as I start to cross the street.
“Stay in the fucking car, Liam,” I growl over my shoulder. “That’s a direct order.”
Loyal and protective as he is, the lack of footsteps following me tells me he’s done what I ask.
Light from a flickering neon advert sign for tires glints across my hardened face as I cross and step into the bright, florescent-lit garage. It takes them a second, but suddenly, one of the fuckers at the table glances up and finally sees me standing there.
“Oi! You fuckin’ lost, mate?”
The rest of them, Leo included, turns to frown at me.
“No, I’m exactly where I intend to be.”
Leo—a chubby, greasy fuck with overly slicked-back hair and a shitty little soul patch under his lip—glances past me to the Range Rover across the street.
“You need some help with that ride, then, mate?”
