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“This is your last chance.”
He spat blood. “Fuck you.”
I slammed his head against the container. Once. Twice. On the third hit, he went limp.
“Damn.” Cruz dragged his man over. “You getting sloppy in your old age? It usually only takes you one hit.”
“Old age?” I raised a brow at him.
“Is that all you heard?”
“I needed him conscious, but he’s weak.” I zip-tied the unconscious man’s hands. “You good?”
“I lost three of mine, but...” He gestured to his bleeding target. “I’ve got a live one.”
I knelt by the wounded man. He was young, wearing an expensive suit. His fresh face gave me the impression that this was his first field assignment.
“Please...” He clutched his leg. “I don’t know anything...”
“That’s not the right answer.” I pressed my thumb into the bullet wound. His scream was music to my ears. “Let’s try again.”
“I just... follow orders...”
“From who?”
“I can’t... they’ll...”
“They are not here.” I dug deeper. “I am.” I motioned toward Cruz. “He is. And we’re you and your boss’s biggest problem.”
Cruz’s phone buzzed. He checked it and cursed. Storm’s voice came through my earpiece.
“I’m back online,” he said. “Someone tried to breach our security system. I traced it to warehouse forty-nine.”
“Cruz, did you check warehouse forty-nine?” I asked.
“No. I was enroute when these niggas got my attention.”
I took my attention to the man whose collar I had clutched in my fist.
“It seems your friends wanted our attention.” I stood, wiping blood on my jacket. “Cruz, get them somewhere quiet and make them comfortable.”
“My pleasure.” He grabbed the runner’s collar. “I’ve got just the place in mind. But where are you going?”
Images of Santari filled my mind – in the pool, in my bed, moaning when my mouth was between her thighs.
“Titan,I know you hear me talking to you, nigga,” Cruz barked.
I strolled quickly to my motorcycle and kicked the bike to life.
“Titan!”
This was too easy. The shell company, the location, and the attack were all designed to draw us here. I revved my bike and drove off with Cruz’s profanity flying against the wind at my back.
“Storm.”The comms crackled. “Do you copy?”
“I’m here.” His voice was tight. “Whoever breached us used military-grade software.”
“Can you trace it?”