Page 140 of The Vagabond

“Kiernan,” I say, voice flat, deliberate. “Who the fuck are they?”

He flashes that same snake-oil smile he’s used for years, the one that used to buy him a pass but doesn’t anymore.

“Insurance,” he says. “You get paranoid after enough bodies drop.”

“Paranoia’s a survival instinct,” I reply. “Yours just kicked in too late.”

His smile twitches. “Relax, North. I came here as a favor.”

He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, slow and smug, like he’s pulling out a winning hand at a card table. When his fingers come back up, they’re holding a small flash drive — unassuming, silver, glinting faintly in the dim warehouse light.

He dangles it between two fingers, his smile slicing across his face like a blade.

“Everything you want is on this drive,” Kiernan purrs, waving it like a hypnotist’s coin. “It’s all yours. But, of course…” His eyes gleam with sharp vengeance. “There’s a price.”

There’s always a price.

The thought flickers through my mind like an old mantra. A warning I should’ve memorised by now - nothing comes without a price tag when you’re dealing with monsters.

Kiernan steps closer, his boots scraping over the cold concrete floor. He’s circling me — like a wolf about to pounce.

“Funny thing, though,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’ve caused me a world of trouble, North.”

“How so?”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

“You broke the chain. You turned on your own. You burned my cover. You cost me a hell of a lot of money in futureearnings.” His smile twists, dark and venomous. “Now? You’re going to bleed for it.”

I smirk, slow and deliberate, because I know something he doesn’t. He can blame me for every mess he’s standing in, but the truth is, he’s his own worst enemy. It was only a matter of time before he imploded. And now, here we are.

“What do you want?” I ask coolly, knowing full well this isn’t about money. This is aboutpower.

Kiernan lifts the flash drive again, taunting me with it.

“If my calculations are correct,” he murmurs, “fifteen million in lost revenue sounds about right.”

He spins the little device between his fingers like it’s a toy. When really, he’s gambling his life away right now.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” I snarl.

I’ve never paid him. Never. I’ve pulled him out of messes, sure. Covered his ass when his double-dealing landed him in hot water. But fifteen million? He must be high, delusional, or both.

His head tilts slowly — disappointment flickering across his face. Like I’ve just given him the wrong answer.

“I’ve named my price,” he says, voice tight. “You get the money, or I take the other offer that’s on the table.” His lips curl. “And put you out of your misery.”

And that’s when the cold, sharp truth slides into place in my gut. This isn’t a meeting. It’s a goddamn ambush. I know that only one of us will walk out of this warehouse alive. And I have no intention of dying tonight.

I feel it a split second before I hear it — the heavy slam of steel doors locking behind me.

I spin just as six more men fan out from the shadows, guns gleaming, eyes flat with malice. Their weapons are already raised. I was right. This isn’t a negotiation; it’s my funeral.

But here’s the thing about funerals — sometimes the corpse refuses to lie down.

“You assume I came unprepared,” I murmur, the edges of my mouth twitching upward.

And that’s when Kiernan’s smirkcracks. A beat of silence hangs — heavy, electric —

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