the weight in his chest lifted, as if his subconscious truly believed getting rid of the package brought him any closer to redemption.
Top boy took the brick to the table and slit it open with a flick knife he drew from his pocket while the big man stepped forward to check the rest of Luis’s pockets. They came up empty, and beef cake moved on, but before he could lay his hands on Dante, the door behind burst open.
Masked men swarmed in, brandishing bats and knuckle dusters. Luis flattened himself against the nearest wall, but the men ignored him and surrounded the resident crew.
“Empty the safe,” one of them growled.
Luis’s damaged ear strained to catch the words, let alone identify the voice, but he’d always been good at remembering a profile. He studied the man’s long neck and wiry shoulders. Jesus fuck. It’s Martell.
He turned to Dante and was met with a smirk. He set this up. Of course. It made perfect sense. Why would Dante have wanted to come on a grunt mission? He never had before and was notorious for showing up after the fact, claiming glory for hustles he’d risked nothing to achieve.
Luis glared at him, fists bunched, ready to fly, but before he could move, the top boy with the flick knife drew a gun, and Luis didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Silence reigned.
Time was contradictory. It passed in a flash, but events played out in slow motion, gunmetal glinting in the dimly lit room. It wasn’t the first time Luis had seen a gun. He’d held them before. Carried them, fool that he’d been, with no real clue of how they worked. But, like everything, it had been years, and that period of his life belonged to someone else.
The man with the gun laughed. He pointed it at Martell and pulled back the safety. For the longest moment, Luis cringed, waiting for him to shoot, but at the last second, he swung left and fired directly into Dante’s foot.
Dante screamed. And even with the fitted silencer, the shot rang out, reverberating around the underground room. Luis’s weak ear popped. Splitting pain cracked through his skull. He clutched his head and ducked down, braced for all hell to break loose, but nothing happened. Martell’s crew lowered their weapons without fear. Martell took his mask off, stance relaxed, and . . . he laughed.
From the floor, Dante moaned and flailed around his shattered foot. “Kill them,” he gasped out. “And get me the fuck out of here.”
Martell didn’t look at him. He stepped forwards and reclaimed the brick of coke from the card table, then held out his hand to the grinning man with the gun. “I’ll set up the real supply tonight. You good with the price?”
“We are.”
“And you made it right with the St. Michael’s boys?”
“Of course. Money talks, young one, and we have plenty of it.”
Martell nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
His crew filed out. Martell watched them go, then dropped down to Dante’s level. “That was a message, bro. Did you get it?”
“You fucking snake,” Dante spat. “I’m gonna kill you for this.”
“You and whose army? I set this deal up months before you even thought of it. No one round here even knows who you are, and you think they’d do business with you?”
“It’s my supply. All the links, the contacts. All mine.”
Martell tilted his head. “Are they? When was the last time you made a call? Handled a mule? You got lazy, D. And no one cares anymore. You’re through.”
He started to stand. Dante made a crazy grab for his arm and missed.
Martell straightened, and for the first time, seemed to notice Luis. He tossed him the package and pointed at Dante. “Plant this on him and dump him somewhere. Do that for me and I’ll consider us done.”
“Done?”
“Yeah. I know you don’t want to roll anymore, and I’m cool with that if you make things right with the trash.”
Luis snorted. “I don’t have the means to dump him anywhere. He ditched the car miles away.”
“Even better. It was stolen. Leave him in it.”
“That doesn’t help me.”
“I’m not trying to help you,” Martell retorted. “I don’t give two shits about the fucking Pope brothers or whatever. Just do what I’ve asked, before these guys finish what they started—”
He broke off as the big man who’d searched them suddenly cursed at the CCTV he was monitoring on an iPad.
“What is it?” Martell demanded.
“Police,” the man said. “They come. Two minutes.”
How the hell