Page 31 of Killaney Blood

Learn how to play his game, and beat him at it.

11

DECLAN

I'm in a pretty good mood. Tonight's fights went perfectly. The money was good, my fighters performed, and watching Lyra work under pressure was, well, entertaining. The way her hands move, never hesitating even with the clock ticking down. The subtle flush that crept up her neck when I stood too close.

Vegas, my ass. She's running from something bigger than she's letting on.

Either way, I'll figure it out in time.

Now I get to enjoy my newest obsession, I think, running a hand across the polished steering wheel like it's a lover.

I've been waiting months for my personalized Rolls Royce Wraith to be delivered, and it finally came.

I love cars too much to have a driver, though most people in my position do. There's no fun in being a passenger. Not when you can drive things like this.

Not much can make me upset when I'm driving a new car.

I speak too soon as the speaker announces an incoming call from Shane, one of my most reliable guys, not one for late-night check-ins unless necessary.

I hit the answer button on the touchscreen. "What?"

"Boss. You need to come see this. Now." His voice is laced with panic.

I sit up straighter, adrenaline instantly flooding my system. "What is it?"

"It's one of the docks. You'll want to see for yourself."

"Shane, I swear to Christ?—"

"Just hurry. I need to get what I can."

The line goes dead. I jerk the wheel hard, cutting across two lanes to make the exit ramp. Tires screech as I take the turn too fast, the back end of the car fishtailing before I straighten it out.

My mind races through possibilities as I push this new half-a-million-dollar car harder. Shane wouldn't call unless it was serious. The docks meant it was something to do with our pharmaceutical shipping operations. Could be a raid, could be a theft, could be?—

I see it before I even reach the harbor.

An orange glow pulses against the night sky, reflecting off the low-hanging clouds and turning them the color of rust. A thick pillar of smoke curls upward like a goddamn signal flare.

As I get closer, I see a ship engulfed in fire.

My ship.

I slam on the brakes in the parking area, leaving the car half on the curb as I jump out.

Fire trucks are already here, their red lights spinning across the faces of dockworkers and my crew standing back from the inferno.

Hoses snake along the ground, spraying down the ship that's ablaze.

The air is thick with the smell of burning metal, fuel, and whatever the fuck was exactly in the crates on deck.

It shouldn't be traceable to me. The registry was buried under five different shell companies. The paper trail cold. Only a handful of people even knew what that ship was carrying, let alone who it belonged to.

But I know.

That ship was bound for Chicago. Four million dollars' worth of high-end pharmaceuticals, lined up to move next week. A three-way split between my family, the Bonventis, and the Kastaris.