Page 132 of His Fury

The walls were concrete, and the air inside was cold and musty. Deals like this didn’t require good aesthetics; they required dependability, loyalty, and even fear.

And I delivered all three.

I walked into the center of the warehouse with the same attitude I had when I walked the floor of Elixir. Rye was at my side. Two others hung back at the perimeter—eyes watchful, hands near weapons, just in case.

But there wouldn’t be violence here this afternoon. There didn’t need to be.

The three men waiting at the table straightened when I approached. I watched the way one of them flicked his cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his foot. I got the feeling he thought it made him look good. Or maybe he thought it was a mark of status or maybe respect?

What it was, wasstupid. He just left his DNA at the scene.Unacceptable. But it could possibly be beneficial at a later date. I made a note to pick it up when they left.

“Gentlemen,” I greeted coolly.

“McCabe.” The older one—Sandro—gave me a nod. “Rye.” He looked back at me. “You always come in person for transfers now?”

“Only when it suits me,” I said glibly. “Or I want to remind people they’re not as untouchable as they think.”

His eyebrows rose, his gaze flicking to his two companions. “Noted.”

The table was bare except for a black duffel and a thick folder. Old school. It meant the numbers were backed up by names, locations, and a trail no one should have seen. But I would. I always did.

I unzipped the duffel, checked the weight, and moved on. Paperwork next. Clean enough.

There were five more bags on the ground. I glanced at Rye, and he nodded, stepping forward to perform the same checks I had conducted on the other bags. Only he would be more thorough.

Everything was as expected.

And that was exactly what I wanted. Because nothing rattled more cages than showing up calm. Controlled. Unbothered.

“You’ve been pretty quiet,” Sandro said carefully as Rye went through the bags.

“Have I?” I met his stare.

“Not seen you for a while, like I said.”

“I’ve been watching.”

He blinked once. “And?”

“Why must there be an and?” I met his gaze, unflinching. “It’s all become so…amicable. Nothing ever changes.”

“Yeah.” He grimaced. “Fewer people die these days.” He scratched the back of his head. “Quiet’s a good thing.”

I sniffed. “Is it? Meh.”

I looked over at Rye, who was getting to his feet. He gave me a nod. I sighed in disappointment. “It seems we’re done here.” I gestured to Rye, who handed over his envelope of receipts. Invoices. Documents that he doctored told of items bought that were never sold.

“The rest are digital,” he told them. “They’re already sent.”

They packed up fast, leaving the duffels behind. I handed the paperwork to Rye. “Can you check this?”

“On it.” He took it as he watched me go over and pick up the cigarette butt with a latex glove and drop it in a clear baggie. “Almost laughed when I saw that,” he said, looking around. “Why do they all try so hard?”

“Because they’re idiots.” We left the warehouse, our mood not any lighter because he felt it too.

Tonight hadn’t been about money. It had been about the message. And only half of it was delivered.

Sandro and his men had pulled away in a black SUV, the dust from their wheels still settling as we walked outside. I stood until the lights disappeared from view.

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