Page 62 of The Woman in the Warehouse

“Is that what happened to your brother?” I asked.

“Yes,” she admitted, surprising me. Maybe she was closer to agreeing with being in a relationship than I was giving her credit for. Because Saylor was way too fucking private to give that information to someone she saw as a fuck-buddy.

“Did you two work together?” I asked, sensing she needed prompting to keep talking about such a sensitive subject.

“No. I worked for my mom. I kind of always figured I would take over the gym someday. Or maybe open another one. But my brother decided to get into the arms trade.”

“Why?”

“He had a friend who was really into guns. Got my brother into them when he was young. Then he slowly started to build a stockpile. Then he started to get himself into debt, and he had to start selling off his supply. He realized it was profitable, so he started to make a career out of it. But… one day, he went to do a drop. And he never called to tell me he was back.

“My mom and I were up all night worrying. And then the cops were at the door. They found his body in an alley, riddled with bullets.”

“Christ. I’m sorry, babe,” I said, hands moving off of the railing to wrap around her. “Why did you take over after that?”

“It started as just wanting to get rid of the supply he had left. None of them were legal,” she admitted. “And he had been storing them in a warehouse with my name on it without me realizing. But then I realized he was in just… in astronomical debt. And he’d somehow managed to get a second mortgage on the gym.”

“How? Isn’t it in your mom’s name?”

“It was fifty percent in her name. And then my brother and I each had twenty-five percent. My mom wanted to make sure if anything happened to her, we could honor our father’s legacy without things getting all complicated in court or whatever. So she sold us each a quarter when we were adults.

“The thing was, we didn’t know about the second mortgage. And he was months and months behind on it. The bank was days away from foreclosing on it. I needed money. Fast.”

“And there is fast money in the arms trade.”

“Exactly,” she agreed. “It just kind of… grew from there. I saw how much money I could make quickly, how easily I could set myself up for a very early retirement. I got addicted to that idea, I guess.”

“How long have you been doing it now?” I asked.

“Six years. About five or so more to go.”

“Is this the first time you’ve been ripped off?”

“Yes. Well, no. One of my early deals, the guys pulled guns on me. Then they took the guns I was delivering without paying. But that was, I don’t know, maybe only three guns. Nothing like this.”

“Did you ever get those fucks for stealing from you?”

“Well, more or less.”

“What did you do?”

“Remember, I was still a lot younger back then. New to all of this shit. I didn’t feel comfortable trying to do anything myself. So, I may or may not have called in an anonymous tip to the police that I saw those assholes loading a bunch of guns into their car. Last I heard, they were all still in prison for criminal firearms possession.”

I wanted her to keep talking, to tell me more about her life, to understand her better.

But the ferry was pulling into the port.

Whether I liked it or not, it was time to get back to work.

As expected, Elio was waiting in the lot, leaning back against his sleek black sedan with blackout windows that had to get him tickets fucking constantly.

“Saylor, nice to see you again,” he said as we got close. “Ant, thanks for coming.”

“Is everything alright with your brothers?” I asked, reaching to open the back door for Saylor.

“Yeah, just… usual business. They can barely spare me, let alone anyone else.”

“So, where are we heading?” I asked as I climbed in the front with Elio.

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