Page 19 of Sacrifice
The admission that she dreams about me.
Every night.
"You done playing with your food?" Tor asks, pulling me back to the present. "Because Doran's starting to look annoyed."
Right. Business.
I turn back to our table where Rio and Magnus wait, their expressions saying they caught at least part of my conversation with Saga.
Doran sits across from them, fingers drumming on the table in a pattern that screams how frustrated he is.
"Sorry about that," I say, taking my seat. "Personal matter."
"Personal matter," Rio repeats, smirking. "That’s what we're calling it?"
"We call it anything else, and I'll remind you about a certain coffee shop girl who had you twisted for months."
"Fair point." He turns to Doran. "You said you had information?"
Doran glances around the restaurant, then leans in. His usual easy demeanor is gone, replaced by something darker. "Los Coyotes are in Florida."
The name hits like cold water.
Los Coyotes run the Texas-Mexico border, moving everything from drugs to guns to people.
Not the kind of crew you want sniffing around your territory.
They're known for three things: brutality, efficiency, and never forgetting a slight.
"How many?" Magnus asks, straight to the point.
"Scouts, from what my people hear. Two, maybe three, asking questions in Jacksonville and Tallahassee. But here's the concerning part—they're asking about the Raiders specifically."
"Shit," Tor mutters. "The Culebra product?"
"Has to be." Doran's accent thickens with stress. "Word is that shipment was already promised to Los Coyotes. Payment for some bigger deal. When it didn't show up..."
"They came looking," I finish. "What else?"
"They're not just asking about the club. They're asking about families. Girlfriends. Wives. You know their reputation."
Yeah, I do.
Los Coyotes don't just kill their enemies.
They make them watch everything they love burn first.
There's a story about them skinning a rival dealer's wife alive while he watched, keeping her conscious for hours.
Another about them burning down a school because one teacher's husband owed them money.
"How long before they pinpoint us?" Rio asks.
"Week, maybe two if we're lucky. My contacts say they're being methodical. Working their way through every MC in North Florida."
"Can the Irish help?" Magnus cuts straight to it. "Moving the product?"
"Aye, we can distribute through my network. Remember, my uncle spoke to me about taking lead on this. I’ll move through clubs, colleges, the usual spots. But it'll take time to move the rest of what’s left without flooding the market and drawing too much attention."
