Page 110 of Haunted

“—told you he’d show up eventually,” Knox’s voice drifts out, laced with amusement. “Though I’ve never seen Xavier Blackwood late for anything in my life.”

Fuck. I check my watch and realize I’m fifteen minutes behind schedule. In our world, punctuality isn’t a matter of professional courtesy—it’s a matter of survival. Being late means you’re distracted. Distracted means vulnerable.

And I’ve never been either.

I stride through the bay door, my boots echoing against the concrete. Knox leans against a stack of crates, grinning like he’s Cheshirefuckingcat.

“Well, well,” Knox drawls, pushing off the crates. “Look who decided to grace us with his presence.”

I ignore him and scan the warehouse. Tyson stands near a row of boxes, his signature confident stance unchanged despite the late hour. Cade leans against a support beam, arms crossed, while Lars checks his phone.

“Blackwood.” Tyson’s greeting carries enough edge to let me know my tardiness hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Starting to think you’d found better company than us.”

“Traffic,” I lie smoothly. The excuse is weak, but admitting the truth—that I lost track of time because I couldn’t stop touching Mira—isn’t an option.

Cade snorts. “Traffic at midnight? What kind of traffic are you running into at this hour?”

“The kind that sucks dick better than you do,” Knox cuts in before I can respond, his grin widening. “Speaking of which, how’s business been, Tyson? Still playing ringmaster to a bunch of freaks?”

“Careful,” Lars says without looking up from his phone. “Some of those freaks could snap you in half.”

Knox laughs. “I’d like to see them try.”

The familiar banter should put me at ease—this is how these deals always go. Tyson’s crew and my brothers have been dancing around each other for a few years now, testing boundaries and establishing pecking orders. It’s part of the process.

But tonight, every word feels like sandpaper against my nerves.

“Can we focus?” I snap, cutting through the testosterone-fueled posturing. “Some of us have places to be.”

Tyson raises an eyebrow. “Places to be? Xavier Blackwood turning into a homebody?”

Cade straightens up, interest sparking in his eyes. “Must be some serious pussy to make the ice king antsy.”

Heat flashes through me, violent and immediate. My handmoves toward the knife at my belt before I catch myself. The reaction is too strong, too telling.

I force my shoulders to relax, let my mouth curve into the cold smile that’s made grown men piss themselves. “You’re confusing me with someone who gives a shit about your opinion, Cade.”

He holds up his hands. “Easy there, X. Just making conversation.”

“Let’s get this deal done,” Tyson says, shooting a pointed look between Cade and me. “We’re all busy men.”

I nod, grateful for the redirect. Business. This is familiar territory that I can navigate without thinking about dark hair spread across my pillow or the way Mira whispers my name.

Knox and Lars move to opposite sides of the warehouse while Tyson opens the first crate. Inside, neat packages wrapped in plastic gleam under the fluorescent lights. I pull out my phone and send a quick text. Within seconds, Cade appears from the shadows, wheeling a dolly that carries two metal cases.

“Six hundred thousand,” I say, popping the first case open. Stacks of hundreds fill the compartment, well-organized. “As agreed.”

Tyson runs his finger along one of the stacks, then nods to Cade. “Count it.”

The exchange is routine now—we’ve done this dance a dozen times. Cade counts while Knox and Lars transfer packages from crates to duffel bags. Thewarehouse fills with the soft rustle of plastic and paper, punctuated by Cade’s muttered numbers.

Everything’s going smoothly. Until I hear it.

The rumble of engines outside makes everyone freeze. Not the familiar growl of motorcycles.

“Expecting company?” Tyson asks, his hand moving to the gun tucked under his jacket.

“No.” My own weapon is already in my palm, safety off. Knox, Cade, and Lars mirror my stance, forming a defensive triangle around our money and drugs.