Page 2 of The Warrior's Salvation

My eyes pore over the screen as I read the subject lines and senders of at least thirty emails I have to catch up on since lunch time. One, in particular, catches my attention, as it has no name for the sender, only a series of numbers and letters in a generic domain host. It says "Open Immediately" in the subject line, so I select that one and read.

Ms. Evelyn O'Leary,

This email regrettably is to inform you that your illegal activities can't continue to go unnoticed. You must make an account of all the evil you've done through this union, and I am going to see to it that you do. I will be in touch with you, but be warned, if you do not respond or if you try to involve outside authorities, the evidence I have will come to light, and the entire union will be dismantled. Please understand there is no other way, though I do deeply regret that this has to happen.

I'll be in touch.

…

I stare at the screen blankly, wondering what this is about. I check the sender again, then the signature—no name. The IP address isn't even tracked. It's been routed through the dark web or something, and it makes me wonder what the hell is actually going on. First, Da's screaming fit, then Lochlan O'Rourke in the office, and now this?

I glance up at the office door thinking maybe I should tell Lochlan, but he's not really my boss. Da is. And if I'm in charge of showing him what I know, then it means he knows less than I do. Still, after seeing Da so upset, I'm not sure I want to worry him if it's nothing. Some people like to prank others, and maybe that's all this is. For now, I'll just sit on it and hope nothing comes of it. If it does, I will have it saved in my files.

"Evie!" I hear Lochlan boom, and I tense.

Now, if I can keep my libido under control while this hunk is in the office working side-by-side with me, I'll be doing well. I'm just not promising I won’t go home and rub off when this day is over.

2

LOCHLAN

Sitting behind Draco's huge desk with his responsibilities weighing on my shoulders isn't exactly my idea of a mission, but after losing my cool one too many times in previous assignments, my brother, the chief, thinks I need to take a step back. I scowl at the mess of files on the desk and massage the bridge of my nose. Who'd have thought I'd be the one benched? I'm the only one professionally trained to do the jobs Ronan needs done.

"Evie!" I boom and sit back in the chair with a sigh. The first thing I am going to ask is who the fuck is responsible for cleaning up this mess, because a man in Draco's position shouldn’t be pushing paperwork like this. He should have people for that. And I should be out there on the street where the O'Leary boys are headed to do the real fighting, not stuck behind his desk covering his ass.

The door pushes open, but instead of it being Evie as I expect, it's Draco himself, Ronan's new right-hand man, a replacement after his last one was gunned down in cold blood a few months ago. I swipe my hand over my face to mask the frustration I've let creep back into my expression and stand.

"Ready?" he asks, and I nod as I stand.

"Can't be that hard, right? I'm not actually making decisions, just being a talking head in this office to make sure they all do their jobs." I glance around the small office feeling very out of place. The wood paneling with bulletin boards chalk full of notes and flyers make this place feel straight out of the nineties. It's like Draco runs an old-school setup even with all the latest technology at his fingertips.

"Well, come on, then." He gestures at me to follow him, and I round the desk. Pretending to be okay riding a desk is harder than I thought it would be. My days of hunting down criminals in Afghanistan are long over, and even as an enforcer here in Dublin since I've returned home, I've been on the prowl, pushing back my family's enemies and keeping our territory safe. Until now.

"We'll go through the offices first and then the warehouse, so you can get a feel for everything." Draco speaks as he walks, passing through the main office space where heads are down or staring at their computers. I'm in charge of fewer than a dozen people here, but also more than seven hundred other staff and union members across the city. While I don’t know the ins and outs of how unions work, that's not really why I'm here.

Evelyn, Draco's only daughter, will handle the bulk of the legitimate work being done. She knows what's going on and can handle that. What I'm here for is to keep the rest of the operation running smoothly, which is why I'm taking this little tour.

"Of course, you met the gang here," Draco says, pausing near the doorway that leads out to the outer office and the elevators down to the warehouse. "We have fourteen more staff, recruitment offices downstairs, and three other offices around the city to handle member affairs." He nods at Evelyn, who is timidly standing by her desk, probably on her feet to heed my call.

"I'll be right back, and then you can help me go over the files on my desk." My eyes lock with hers as I speak, and I still sense the hints of attraction in her gaze. It's there every time we bump into each other, but I'm not surprised. There isn't a woman alive who doesn’t check me out, except the ones who are off limits anyway. But Evie is the daughter of my good friend, and I've watched her grow up over the past five or so years since getting home. It's tempting, but probably a bad idea.

Turning, I follow Draco through the outer office where he mentions a slew of names I forget before he even presses the elevator call button. He rambles off the different functions of the union and what each of his staff does to keep the organization running smoothly—fundraisers, education for workers to advance their careers, publicity and marketing, and legal defense, which is the department that sees all the real action.

Then he leads me down to the warehouse where the less well-known work is done. The massive open room is dark, so he flips the light switch and steps inside. Following, I rest my hands on my hips and let my eyes scan the crates, some of them with lids nailed in place, others still open, waiting to be filled and transported.

"We'll get a shipment later this afternoon, but of course the team thinks they're all laptops for government security…" Draco heads toward one of the crates that has its lid cockeyed, not yet full of the merchandise. He pushes the heavy wood to the side and leans in, taking out one of the heavy steel-grey cases by its handle, and sets it on the lid. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you that you have to be present when these are being loaded. They're not locked, so anyone could open one."

His thumbs press the buttons on the front at the same time and the case clicks open, the top popping up a few centimeters. Then he glances over his shoulder at the open door, and when he's assured the coast is clear, he lifts the lid to show me what's really going on.

"Four hundred of these will come in from Alberta later this morning. They'll be delivered to dock nine and brought here in their own crates. They have to be taken out, the labels replaced, and then transferred into these crates for shipment to Glasgow this evening." Draco narrows his eyes on me as I examine the weapon in the container, encased in black foam for protection during transport.

The stolen Glocks probably originated from somewhere in the States and were stolen enroute to their expected destination. It's how O'Leary works, why Ronan partners with him. No matter what our customers need, he finds it and produces it for us. We get the cut, and he does the shipping, and everyone makes a penny on it. Meanwhile, we have happy customers and all the while, no one is the wiser. Union workers think they're doing a service to the union for laptops being sent toward government and military causes.

"Got it," I tell him, slapping the case shut. It clicks into place, and I look up at him. "So, the men working in this warehouse aren't in the know?" I ask carefully.

"Neither does Evie, so you have to keep her busy or send her home before the shipment arrives." Draco takes the case by the handle and sets it down gently into the crate, then readjusts the lid. I help him position it. It's heavy but not overly so for a two-man lift.

"And I'm assuming these records are somehow hidden?" I raise my eyebrows at him while I brush the sawdust off my palms, and he purses his lips.

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