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We arranged to meet on neutral ground, in a storage unit outside the city limits. D. drives us toward the location, the usual neutral look on his stoic face. He’s been Ro’s captain since we were teenagers and is still as silent as ever. We all are during this trip. I’ve seen Ben, the latest victim, a few times. Young, kind fellow, with dark eyes and hair. Came from some Southern state, and was looking for something,anything, to happen in his life. Surely he must have wanted more than to become a low-profile drug dealer who ended up hanged.
“Tonight, we’re writing history, guys,” Vic murmurs. Her cheerful demeanor of earlier has completely deflated and I know she feels exactly like I do. Like wealldo. What are we getting ourselves into? If it wasn’t for Thomas, I’d never be meeting with these motherfuckers. When the killings started, they were in the process of changing leaders, making it the perfect timing for them to attack a competitor in the market. However, we dug our claws into them first in an attempt to blackmail them into submission. Can’t say it worked, but we definitely got ourselves an apathetic ceasefire. That said, we still haven’t been able to rule them out, and the killings have continued. And now we’re going to meet them. The Business, that’s what they call themselves. The closest we’ve ever come to them, was when they sent our informant back—a useless piece of shit who failed to perform. Though already heavily beaten up, Kai and D. added another layer of damage to his body, then left him in the abandoned warehouse with no food or water, and a gun with one bullet. Courtesy of the family. Too bad I was still in Switzerland when that happened.
Like us, they’ve been around a long time, even though we’ve never met. Until tonight. I don’t know what to make of Thomas’ intentions. “Yeah,” I breathe in reply, running my hands down my face. Perhaps we are indeed writing history tonight.
“If we make it out in one piece,” Kai repeats Ro’s earlier words. No one replies, instead we all seem to slide into our own thoughts.
Our organization works with freelancers—anonymous individuals who want to stay under the radar as much as we do. If you’re asking me, that’s the biggest problem we are facing. Without people, our operation is powerless. We need our dealers, our hookers, our bodyguards, our collectors, our clean-up crew, and our lawyers. And if rumors spread that we’re an organization with a body count, the freelancers will back out.
We arrive at the deserted wharf that offers a magnificent view across the river, toward the skyscrapers and bright neon lights of the city. It sure as hell is sketchy around here.
“The city hall should do the same thing here,” Ro mutters in a sluggish voice, his face still plastered against the window. “Upgrade the has-been factories, get rid of all the filth and junk, and have those old buildings flipped.”
“I can talk to a couple of people, see if I can pull some strings?” Vic looks my way and I hum in approval as I look outside. “Where are our guys?”
D. answers immediately. “Two suits outside the location without any visible firearms. We’ve got four more with Thomas inside the building.” I nod as I do a mental headcount. “Twelve of us. How many of them d’you expect?”
“Roughly the same, I think,” D. grunts. “I placed one guy in a car at the entrance of the factory road. We just passed him. He’s given word that the others haven’t arrived yet.”
Interesting. I check my phone, it’s a little past eleven. “Not very punctual, are they?”
D. eyes me through the rear mirror and gives me one of those rare, faint smiles. He doesn’t reply though, so I shrug and continue to stare outside. Only when we make it to the container, does he speak again, filling the small space with his soft twang. When my brother doesn’t reply, his face still against the window, I believe he’s fallen asleep. D. must think the same thing, because he gently squeezes my brother’s leg and mumbles, “Ro?”
I’m not sure what surprises me most. His touch, or the use of his nickname. However, it does the trick—my brother looks up and smiles at him—so I let it drop.
“Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks.”
With everything and everyone back to normal, I take the lead. “Alright lady and gentlemen, let’s make history. D., keep the engine running.”
The four of us make our way toward the abandoned shack where I recognize Owen as one of the large bulky bouncers we frequently work with. I nod in greeting, and he salutes me with a tilt of the finger against his head, as he mumbles, “Sir.”
Inside, the place doesn’t look any better. The bare concrete walls and floors are smeared with God-knows-what, and there is a musty smell. Apart from a large table and two rows of chairs, the place is nearly empty, except for Thomas Carrington—my father and one of the founders of The Void. His dark hair peppered with gray streaks and dressed in his black suit, he looks as distinguished as always. He gives us a genuine smile then stands up for a hug. First me, then Ro, then Vic, and lastly Kai. The order never changes, and like a bunch of school kids, we line up in just that order. He points at each chair and provides us with our seats, me ending up sitting in the middle, between him and my brother. “Good that you’re here on time,” he mumbles after we’ve all taken a seat. “The meeting won’t start until eleven thirty,” he discloses as if he can read my mind. “But I wanted us all to be ready by the time they get here. Have the advantage.”
Between the two lines of seats sits a large table, as if to mark the end of each territory. “Were you afraid that we’d end up fighting?”
“Has a table ever stopped you from starting a fight?” When I don’t reply immediately, his lips twitch with amusement.
“Fair enough,” I mutter. True, I’ve earned my bad-boy reputation at college for a reason. Off-campus and on-campus, I’ve had my share of fights. As the captain of our hockey team, I enjoyed motivating my teammates, but with that same passion, I loved to attack the visiting teams from nearby towns. We had the reputation of being the rich, international kids in the area. Hell yeah, that’s exactly what we were and we were proud of it.
“So let’s keep the peace tonight,” Thomas replies, his voice low. Then, before I can retort, he stands up to his full height, walks up to the table, and turns around, his back leaning against it. He eyes us all carefully, seriously.
“We are—”
“About to write history,” Ro mutters, and Vic sniggers from her seat in the far corner. Thomas’s eyes pierce hers as he lifts an eyebrow. Then, surprisingly, he lets out a chuckle as he shakes his head. “That too, hopefully. Now, a few things,beforethey arrive.” Right as he lets out the words, we all hear Owen’s voice from the door. “They’re here in two.”
“All right,” Thomas claps his hands and adjusts his jacket. “Austin, you take the lead. As for the others, keep your mouths shut until you’re asked to speak. Let them do the talking.”
“Thomas,” I growl. “I don’t even know why we’re here. You’re leaving me in the dark.”
“I…” He wants to say something else, but the piercing beam of headlights and the sound of engines interrupt him, followed shortly by car doors that are being opened. The shortest two minutes of my life. Thomas barely makes it back to his seat, before two broad-shouldered men in black suits walk in, ready to clear the place.
The other camp has arrived.
“No names for now,” my dad whispers, and I give him a tilt of the head, before looking straight ahead, a mask of indifference plastered across my face. We are an anonymous organization, always have been. The mere thought that these fuckers, or anyone for that matter, are able to link our names to what we do, makes my skin crawl.
“All clear,” is the verdict at the other side of the container. Shortly after, a tall, lean man, accompanied by two bodyguards, enters the room. The two suits bring him to his chair, and only once he’s settled himself down, does he casually observe the room. Without giving us a single look, that is. Nothing. He gives the damn filth of the wall behind us more attention than he does to my family, and I instantly dislike this guy. I fist my hands as my shoulders tense, a flush of anger rumbling through me. Then Ro gives my arm a little squeeze. “It’s just an act,” he whispers so softly that I can barely hear him. I need to calm the fuck down, but there’s something about the guy that rubs me the wrong way.
We wait for a full minute, but no one else comes through the door, leaving the two chairs on either side of him empty. When my eyes dart from the door back to our guest, I notice that he’s looking right at me. A pair of cold, blue eyes. We continue glaring at each other as if we’re stuck in some fucking staring contest. So, this is their leader. Well, we’re a match made in hell.
