Page 118 of Crave
I didn’t wait for her answer, already striding to the door…and was gone.
The cold night bit into my skin as I stepped out of the house, leaving behind the scent of sex, sweat, and my sister. The weight of what I’d just done—what we’d done—settled in my bones like a vice grip.
She was under my skin now.
There was no turning back.
But business never fucking waited.
My car waited in the driveway, the engine still warm from where I’d left it idling earlier, after Carter called me to get her. I slid inside, hands gripping the wheel, but my mind wasn’t in the driver’s seat—it was still inside that room, inside her.
With a low curse, I slammed my foot on the gas and reversed out of the driveway.
The city blurred past in streaks of dimly lit streets and neon reflections on wet pavement. The rain from earlier had dried, but the air still smelled damp—metallic, like iron. Like blood.
The warehouse wasn’t far. It stood on the edge of the industrial district, tucked between abandoned factories and rusting cargo containers. A relic of the past—just like everything else in their world.
The weight of the Ares name had built a lot of this city. And now, it was it bleeding dry.
I pulled into the lot, the headlights slicing through the dark. Kieran’s car was already there, parked at an angle, one door slightly ajar.
That wasn’t right.
I killed the engine, my gut twisting with something close to dread. Kieran didn’t leave his door open. Ever.
My boots hit the pavement with a dull thud as I stepped out. The air was thick with silence—wrong silence.
The kind that came before death.
I stalked forward, scanning the lot, my fingers twitching for my gun. Then I saw him. A shadow striding forward. My pulse thundered before he stepped out into the light and I exhaled a hard sigh of relief. Kieran headed toward me as my cell vibrated against my hip.
I pulled it free and stared at the screen. No caller ID. I lifted my gaze to Kieran. It wasn’t him. I answered without a word, bringing the phone to my ear.
There was breathing on the other end. Slow. Deliberate. Measured.
Then a voice thick with Spanish and hoarse like rusted metal came. “Are you still feeling like a king, Silas Ares?”
I didn’t blink. “Who the fuck is this?”
A chuckle, low and rasping. “You’ll know soon enough. We left you something inside. A little gift.”
A pause.
My pulse ticked like a bomb as the man exhaled. “And one for your girl. We’ll see her soon.”
Click.
The call went dead.
I was already moving before the sound cut off, striding past Kieran toward the shadows spilling across the single side door.
“What is it?” Kieran asked.
“Trouble.” I answered and punched in the code on the locked pad outside the door and yanked it open.
The moment we stepped inside I knew something was wrong. The air was thick with the scent of oil and metal, but beneath it, something sharper lingered—coppery, pungent. Blood.
The warehouse loomed around us, its high metal rafters stretching into darkness. Expensive crates lined the floor, some marked with symbols of international luxury houses—Chanel, Patek Philippe, Rolls-Royce—art, antiques, high-end smuggled goods we used as a front to clean cartel money. On paper, this place was nothing more than an exclusive auction house, a place where the ultra-wealthy acquired the world’s rarest treasures. In reality, it was a high-stakes pipeline for illegal goods and cash flow, a honey trap for those who needed to move money off the books.
