Page 60 of The Vagabond

SAXON

The warehouse is on the edge of a shipping yard just outside the city. There are no cameras and no patrols; no-one dares venture out this way unless they have shady business to conduct. Which makes it the perfect place for this meeting.

Spoiler alert: they always go south with Kiernan.

I find him inside, waiting like he always does—smug, cocky, leaning back like he’s in control, although I know he’s anything but. The muscle he’s brought with him tells me he’s more than concerned about the meeting.

We go back years, me and him. Kiernan was my best confidential informant during the early Aviary takedowns. Smart. Quick. Slippery. But somewhere along the way, he got too comfortable, too greedy. Started playing both sides.

And now, standing there with two strangers flanking him— muscle I didn’t approve—he’s already telling me everything I need to know.

“Kiernan,” I say, voice flat, deliberate. “Who the fuck are they?”

He flashes that same snake-oil smile he’s used for years, the one that used to buy him a pass but doesn’t anymore.

“Insurance,” he says. “You get paranoid after enough bodies drop.”

“Paranoia’s a survival instinct,” I reply. “Yours just kicked in too late.”

His smile twitches. “Relax, North. I came here as a favor.”

He reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, slow and smug, like he’s pulling out a winning hand at a card table. When his fingers come back up, they’re holding a small flash drive — unassuming, silver, glinting faintly in the dim warehouse light.

He dangles it between two fingers, his smile slicing across his face like a blade.

“Everything you want is on this drive,” Kiernan purrs, waving it like a hypnotist’s coin. “It’s all yours. But, of course…” His eyes gleam with sharp vengeance. “There’s a price.”

There’s always a price .

The thought flickers through my mind like an old mantra. A warning I should’ve memorised by now - nothing comes without a price tag when you’re dealing with monsters.

Kiernan steps closer, his boots scraping over the cold concrete floor. He’s circling me — like a wolf about to pounce.

“Funny thing, though,” he drawls, tilting his head. “You’ve caused me a world of trouble, North.”

“How so?”

He chuckles, but there’s no humor in it.

“You broke the chain. You turned on your own. You burned my cover. You cost me a hell of a lot of money in future earnings.” His smile twists, dark and venomous. “Now? You’re going to bleed for it.”

I smirk, slow and deliberate, because I know something he doesn’t. He can blame me for every mess he’s standing in, but the truth is, he’s his own worst enemy. It was only a matter of time before he imploded. And now, here we are.

“What do you want?” I ask coolly, knowing full well this isn’t about money. This is about power .

Kiernan lifts the flash drive again, taunting me with it.

“If my calculations are correct,” he murmurs, “fifteen million in lost revenue sounds about right.”

He spins the little device between his fingers like it’s a toy. When really, he’s gambling his life away right now.

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” I snarl.

I’ve never paid him. Never. I’ve pulled him out of messes, sure. Covered his ass when his double-dealing landed him in hot water. But fifteen million? He must be high, delusional, or both.

His head tilts slowly — disappointment flickering across his face. Like I’ve just given him the wrong answer.

“I’ve named my price,” he says, voice tight. “You get the money, or I take the other offer that’s on the table.” His lips curl. “And put you out of your misery.”

And that’s when the cold, sharp truth slides into place in my gut. This isn’t a meeting. It’s a goddamn ambush. I know that only one of us will walk out of this warehouse alive. And I have no intention of dying tonight.

I feel it a split second before I hear it — the heavy slam of steel doors locking behind me.

I spin just as six more men fan out from the shadows, guns gleaming, eyes flat with malice. Their weapons are already raised. I was right. This isn’t a negotiation; it’s my funeral .

But here’s the thing about funerals — sometimes the corpse refuses to lie down.

“You assume I came unprepared,” I murmur, the edges of my mouth twitching upward.

And that’s when Kiernan’s smirk cracks . A beat of silence hangs — heavy, electric —

BOOM.

The wall behind him explodes inward in a blast of fire and smoke, concrete shards spraying like shrapnel. The whole goddamn warehouse shudders like a bomb just kissed its ribs — because, well, it did.

Out of the dust strides Brando Gatti — shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes glinting with pure carnage, assault rifle slung loose and hungry in his hands. He looks like a man who woke up today just to murder.

He fires without hesitation, a sharp burst of rounds — one, two, three — a guard drops, leg blown out, screaming.

“Now we’re talking,” Brando mutters, grinning like the devil himself.

Chaos erupts.

Lucky Gatti slips in behind him, calm as a priest at confession, silenced Glock already aimed dead center on another man’s skull. The shot is clean. Efficient. Brain matter hits the far wall.

The air is thick — smoke curling, gunfire cracking, bodies scrambling. I hit the ground hard, roll, pull my sidearm, and put two rounds straight through the nearest bastard’s chest. Another lurches for cover — Lucky drops him with a single forehead shot, without hesitation or mercy.

Kiernan bolts, his feet slamming the concrete in sheer panic. But Brando’s faster. He grabs Kiernan by the collar and slams him into a steel beam with enough force to rattle every dead ancestor the man’s ever had .

I stalk forward, rage boiling in my blood.

“You set me up,” I hiss. “I gave you a fucking way out. And you. Sold. Me. Out. ”

Kiernan’s coughing blood, gasping, trying to spit out some pathetic defense. I don’t let him.

My fist crashes into his mouth — bone crunching, teeth snapping. He hits the floor hard, a wet, broken sound.

I step on his chest, pinning him down, leaning in close enough to feel the frantic rattle of his breath. “You just signed your own death warrant,” I whisper.

And then I press the barrel of my gun to his jaw — and pull the trigger.

His body goes still beneath my boot. The air hangs heavy, thick with smoke and blood and the sharp, metallic sting of death.

My breathing saws in and out, ragged, feral.

Somewhere behind me, Brando lets out a slow exhale, shoulders loosening.

Lucky lowers his gun, scanning the room like a surgeon inspecting a fresh wound.

I stand there, chest heaving, staring down at the shattered mess who was once my most trusted confidential informant. I wipe the blood from my face with the back of my hand — smearing more than I remove — and let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

Brando lingers, studying me under furrowed brows, his rifle slung casually against his chest.

“You’ve changed, North,” he murmurs.

His voice isn’t judgmental — it’s almost curious, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m still the same man he once shook hands with.

“I had to,” I murmur, the words rough in my throat.

Because the stakes aren’t abstract anymore. They have a face now. Maxine’s face.

Sirens wail faintly in the distance, growing louder, clawing their way toward us like a pack of hungry wolves. I reach into my jacket, fingers closing around the small, silver flash drive I ripped from Kiernan’s corpse. I turn it over in my palm, feeling its weight.

A list of names. Every name I need to bring the Aviary to its knees.

Brando’s sharp gaze flicks to it, then to me.

“You sure you’re ready to do this?” he asks quietly.

I meet his eyes. We all know the contents of the drive will be nothing short of explosive.

“It has to be done,” I say, my voice dark, hard, sure.

Lucky steps forward, his hand landing heavy on my shoulder, the kind of weight that anchors you in place — steady, solid, a silent promise.

It stays there, heavy and grounding, as if he knows I need it and knows what this will cost. Because this isn’t just a list. It’s a reckoning.

It’s the line between the man I was and the man I’m about to become.

And the truth?

Once I open this door, there’s no going back. Not to the Bureau. Not to the life I once had. And I definitely won’t be the same man Maxine remembers. Because the man who survives this? He won’t be someone she recognizes.

I take a slow breath, the cold biting my lungs, and stare down at the flash drive one last time.

A list of names. Every name I need to bring the Aviary to its knees and dismantle it piece by fucking piece.

But the real question isn’t whether I’m ready to end them. It’s whether I’m ready for what’s left of me when I do.