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Calmly, I flick the joint into the streets and reach for the gun tucked in the back of my jeans and press it to his temple. “So then I would encourage you to get the fuck out of my sight before I shoot you in the fucking head.”
He splutters, his eyes growing wide while his hand reaches blindly beside him, shifting the car into drive. I take a step back, flashing him a toothy smile like I’m just being neighborly. His car jerks forward, and then finally drives away while I give him a small wave, gun still in hand.
Fucker.
Finally, I walk back to my SUV and drive away from Lenix’s building myself.
Pulling open the door of The Chelsea, I walk in. The bar is one of many the Sin Eaters own in the city, located in an up and coming neighborhood near the city center. It’s an unassuming kind of place, with barely a sign outside the door, but inside the atmosphere is warm and unpretentious.
My gaze sweeps the room trying to locate the president of the Black Plague MC, eventually finding him in a back corner booth. Hands in my pockets and a grin on my face, I unhurriedly stroll over. It's mid-afternoon, the place isn’t busy, still the few patrons in here can’t help but to swivel their heads as I walk by.
“Took you long enough,” McGregor says gruffly and slightly irked, bringing his hands to the pilsner sweating in front of him. His club runs out of Pueblo Quieto, a landlocked town two hours outside of Noxport.
“I had more important business to attend to,” I reply with a cocky smirk while I slide into the worn black leather booth directly in front of him. He grunts his displeasure but says nothing as I flag the waitress for a drink.
The Sin Eaters and the Black Plague have been doing business for more than two decades, there’s never been any bad blood between us and have always stayed allies. Still, Noxport is a port city and I hold monopoly with what comes in and out, illicit or otherwise.
The waitress brings me a mezcal on ice with a slice of orange without me having to ask and I give her a wink as well as a hundred dollar tip for a job well done.
Taking a sip, I study him from across the table, the liquor smokey and smooth down my throat. “Tell me why I’m here.”
McGregor takes a swig of his pint, sweeping his long rusty brown hair out of his face before speaking. “We want to expand our drug trade, widen our territory and start importing from Russia,” he answers, his Scottish accent peeking through even after decades of living overseas. He settles back into the booth, straightening his cut before crossing his tattooed arms over his broad chest. “We need access to your ports to do so.”
“Is that so?” I cock one eyebrow, my interest peaked. I keep my expression impassive with a hint of arrogance but inside, I’m rifling through all the possibilities and advantages this could hold for the Sin Eaters. Most importantly, free shipping for any drugs coming out of Russia. I’ve had a contact for years now but was unable to do anything with it since I didn’t have the trade routes. Until now. All I need for them to do is put our drugs alongside their shipment, and once in Noxport, my men simply remove it from the crates and the Black Plague is none the wiser.
Ignoring my sarcasm McGregor continues, “Ten percent for every shipment coming through Noxport.”
My glare grows serious, my typical amusement effectively erased while it’s my turn to lean into the booth, left hand splayed over the top. “I don’t even get out of bed for ten percent. Think again.”
His nostrils flare, but says nothing, eyes turning hard while he seems to mull over what I just said. “Fifteen,” he finally says.
Settling back, I stare him down from over my drink, thinking over his offer. I place the glass back down and swipe my hand over my mustache before answering. “Twenty, and we get first pick on any product you bring in.”
McGregor curses under his breath, looking anywhere but me until his gaze finally circles back to mine, his palm reaching between us both. “Deal,blaigeard.”
I chuckle mirthlessly and shake his hand, then jerk him towards me and over the table, nearly spilling his beer. “And next time you call me a bastard in Gaelic, I’ll slice your balls clean off, you understand me?”
By his expression, I can tell he doesn’t know if I’m kidding or not, and that’s exactly how I like to keep it. His gaze studies me for a beat until he pulls away. “Got it,” he says.
“Good,” I reply, signaling to the waitress for another round. “Now let’s drink.”
Chapter 12
Layingonmybackin bed, I stare at the ceiling. The insomnia is like an unwanted visitor sitting heavy on my chest. I haven’t moved in what seems like hours. Not since I woke, startled from a dream—or more like a memory from another life.
A time when I wasn’t so bold. Or rarely had an original thought of my own.
I didn’t know any better, I know that.
I should have compassion for that younger version of myself. The one who was brainwashed from the time she took her first breath.
Instead, I hate her. I can’t stand her. I would kill her if I could.
But Frederick’s phone call rattled the ghosts dozing in my head. They’re now haunting the long halls of my mind, poking at things that shouldn’t be touched.
Now I’m wide awake, replaying the dream in my head. I was with my sister Lucy, playing in the wild flowers up the slanted hill from our house. Lucy wasn’t,isn’tmy only sister but we were the closest. She’s five years younger, and we also share the same mother.
I lost everything that day—thirteen years ago. I never even had time to grieve the people I left behind. It was just too much to bear, a pain that was so acute it felt cold. And so that’s what I did, I froze. I haven’t let my emotions thaw since. And if I have any control over it, they will remain frozen as long as I have breath in me.
