Page 94 of Heroes & Hitmen
This place has the exact kind of energy that makes my wolf pace, hackles up.
Elias parks his pristine Mercedes like it’s not completely out of place in this shithole, checking his hair in the rearview as if that helmet of gel might’ve shifted on the ride over. Then he grabs a slim black briefcase from the back seat, cutting me a glare.
“Stay close. Don’t talk. If anything looks off, handle it, and if I give you the signal, shoot.”
I nod, knowing I’ll do exactly the opposite if it comes down to it.
He slams his door with unnecessary force and strides ahead, sharp-heeled and full of self-importance. I follow with my hands casually tucked in my pockets, eyes scanning the perimeter. Mywolf’s on alert, muscles wound tight, senses flaring for anything that doesn’t belong.
We walk about two hundred yards down a cracked stretch of concrete until we reach a recessed alcove near an old loading crane. That’s where they’re waiting– three men in tailored suits. Two are clearly muscle, thick-necked and glassy-eyed, while the third is a tall, thin guy in a silk tie, posture stiff and beady eyes narrowed.
They’re all human, but not the soft kind. These guys have the look of men who are accustomed to getting their hands dirty.
“Burke,” the guy in the tie says coolly, making no move to shake hands. His eyes flick over me, lips twitching with irritation. “I thought this was supposed to be discreet.”
Elias’ lips curve into a fake-as-fuck smile. “It’s a dangerous city, Mr. Crane.”
The guy jerks his gaze back to me, measured and calculating. “And this is?”
“Security,” I offer, flashing a grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
Crane nods once, already disinterested. “Let’s get this over with. My client doesn’t like delays.”
Elias flips open his briefcase and turns it around like a magician revealing a trick. Inside, neatly bundled envelopes of cash are arranged in perfect stacks. “All there,” he says. “The shipment arrives tonight?”
Crane dips his chin in a barely perceptible nod. “Right on schedule.”
The air around us suddenly feels like it’s getting heavier by the second, tension thickening the atmosphere. I shift slightly, taking stock of our surroundings again on instinct. No backup in sight. No hidden players. But the guy behind Crane is keeping one hand near his jacket, and Crane himself is a little too twitchy.
I don’t trust it.
Still, I hang back and watch. Burke is supposed to be the one running this show; I’m just backup.
Sure enough, as soon as he closes the briefcase, I feel the shift.
“There’s been a change,” Crane says mildly. “My client decided he wants this as an advance, and double upon receipt.”
Elias freezes, spine stiffening, fingers curling around the briefcase handle like he’s trying not to snap it in half. “That’s not what we agreed to.”
Crane lifts a brow. “Agreements change. Hand it over.”
There’s a soft rustle of movement behind him, and suddenly, we’re staring down the barrel of a Glock one of his goons has drawn.
Not my first time at this rodeo. Won’t be my last.
Still a fucking pain in the ass.
My wolf snarls inside me, lunging for control. I push him down and step forward slowly, ignoring the sly signal Elias is giving me and instead planting myself between him and the gun. “You might want to rethink that move,” I warn.
Crane’s gaze snaps to me, sharp as broken glass. “Careful, tough guy. This doesn’t concern you.”
“You point a weapon at me, and it concerns me,” I reply flatly. “Now, lower the gun, or I draw my own. And I never miss.”
There’s a brief pause, taut and electrified. Somewhere behind us, water slaps against the dock pilings. I can hear the distant clang of chains, the hum of a tugboat far upriver.
Crane frowns as he lifts a hand, waving his man off. The gun disappears back under his coat, and just like that, the moment passes. But the tension doesn’t leave– it just sinks deeper, like oil into concrete.
“Fine,” Crane grits out, straightening his cuffs. “We’re done here.”
