“Beckham,” I acknowledge, as I step toward the man closest to me. He’s known as a bit of a lone wolf as well, only keeping his cousin close enough that he has a plan if someone takes him out. His messy dark hair is the same as when I saw him a few months ago, and as always, his violet eyes catch my attention. The color seems so unnatural, but I’m sure it gets him laid plenty.
“Hunter.” He holds a hand out to me, and I quickly shake it. “You remember Oliver? My second in charge?”
“I do.” I turn to the other man, who has a good two inches on me and Beckham. His dark hair is similar to his cousin’s, but rather than violet, his eyes are piercing blue. The black Henley he’s wearing is stretched tight around his brawn, and I can’t say I blame Beckham for bringing him along for extra security. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” he grunts.
“You said you wanted to talk?” I ask.
Beckham nods and gestures toward the truck. “We need some more product in the next run. The demand in the city is becoming difficult for us to meet with our current supply.”
I watch him for long seconds, appraising him. I’ve been working with the Huntley family for as long as I’ve been in this role, and they’ve never tried to fuck me over. Their payments are always made on time, and any time I’ve required them for anything other than selling my product, they’ve assisted without question.
But it’s always a red flag when someone wants more product due to demand.
I’ve always been of the opinion that you only sell as much as someone can handle, because what good is a dead junkie? So either the city of San Francisco is going through a drug epidemic—certainly not out of the question—or Beckham and his men are overselling the product.
“Everything?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “The cocaine is flying out the door, as well as the oxy and the ecstasy. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s people trying to work too many hours to make ends meet and need a pick me up, as well as not wanting to see a doctor for pain.”
I flick my eyes to Killian, and he’s considering Beckham the same way I am. He’s not the first to come to us with this information, which means it’s a trend we need to account for in our future orders. “Consider it done. Let Killian know how much of each you want to add to your usual supply, and we’ll make it happen.”
He gives me a curt nod and heads toward the truck with Oliver hot on his heels.
“What do you think?” I ask as soon as they’re out of earshot.
“I think this country is going to get itself into some real fucking trouble if they keep taking our products at this rate.”
I smirk beneath the mask. “A drug importer that cares about his buyers,” I muse.
“A dead customer is a useless customer, and you know it,” he snaps and starts toward the warehouse doors, leaving Callum to load the last few things onto the truck.
I follow him and fall into step beside him. “What’s your solution?” I ask.
“I don’t have one. None of our distributors are going to say no to selling to willing customers. That would be stupid on their part. But it’s a concern.”
“What about lowering the doses in the products?”
He flicks an annoyed glare to me before turning his attention to the shelves of product that line the wall. “That would be stupidon our part. We’d lose the confidence of everyone, and someone else would swoop in with superior product.”
I nod. “I’ve taught you well.”
“Shut up, asshole. I started in this business a year after you. You didn’t teach me shit.”
I chuckle. “I’m going to head out for the day. Let me know if there are any issues.”
“Going to see Ember?” he asks.
“Sadly, no. I have a meeting across town with a potential investor for the West Street project.”
“Ah, poor sucker.”
The project has been on hold for the last few months because, although I could fund it all myself, I’m choosing not to in order to take any suspicion off myself should the Feds figure out we’re funneling drug money through it. Randy Alcott is just an old man with too much money and too many opinions that the government will never suspect of laundering money, and that’s exactly why he’s the perfect investor.
“Indeed.” I don’t bother taking my mask off, given that there are still people around the building who I don’t want to know my true identity, instead strolling toward the other side of the building. “You should take the night off.”
Killian rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Some of us have to keep this ship sailing, Orion.”