Page 23 of My Unhinged Alphas
There’s the smallest pause.
“For how long?” he asks.
“Long enough to talk.”
We need names. Routes. Suppliers. Whoever thought they could operate through our territory without permission. The Brotherhood does not forgive encroachment.
Vale leans forward slightly from the back seat. “Extraction point?”
“Secondary site,” I say. “We move him once secured.”
Havoc pulls the mask over his face, and the shift is immediate. The humor disappears. What’s left is focus.
He looks at me again. “You trust me?” he asks quietly.
I hold his gaze. “There’s no one else I’d want in that doorway.”
He doesn’t answer that, but he doesn’t need to.
I slip my own mask on and reach for the door handle. “Stay on objective,” I add. “No improvising.”
He exhales once through his nose. “You worry too much.”
“I plan,” I correct.
I open the door, and cold air rushes in, carrying the scent of oil and harbor water. Knox and Havoc leave after me.
The building sits half a block ahead, squat and unimpressive. Faded brick. Boarded windows on the upper level. A side entrance with a metal door that’s seen better years.
The sedan is parked crooked near the curb.
The truck is closer to the building, backed in for a fast exit.
That bothers me.
I crouch slightly and study the ground. Fresh tire tracks. Mud that hasn’t dried yet. At least three different patterns. More than two vehicles have been here tonight.
Havoc notices the same thing. He doesn’t say it, but I can see it in the way his shoulders shift.
We move separately but within sight of each other. Vale slips toward the right side of the lot, staying in shadow near a stack of shipping pallets. I angle left, keeping low near a rusted dumpster.
Havoc should wait.
He doesn’t.
The warehouse doors are cracked open just enough for light to leak through. Voices drift out. Male. Laughing. Relaxed.
I count silhouettes through the narrow gap.
One.
Five.
Eight.
Ten—
Twelve.
