Page 83 of Their Princess

I cleared my throat, blinking furiously and trying to focus on the place I was. Not a raid. Not terrorists.

Mainly to gain control of my reeling mind, I asked, “What are we looking for?”

“Sellable product.” Sas dug through crates lined up next to the wall.

“And you think you’re going to find it here?” I asked, confused.

He threw down one of the lids to another empty crate. “We’re running out of options.”

“And you haven’t looked before?” I asked. Why hadn’t they come immediately after the warehouse was burned and the police scattered? So many of their enemies could’ve discovered this little hiding place while they were out. When I had driven down to the docks, I hadn’t seen any prospects on duty, though Sas mentioned they were orchestrating the diversion.

Sas narrowed his gaze on me, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I was punching holes in his plans. If not his, then Angel’s, as the former VP. But Mass’s intel said this deal with the Medellín was mostly Sas’s gig.

Regardless, this club was running a shitshow rather than making sound business decisions. It was no wonder the cartels and the Mafia were on their asses. They had been driving their club into the ground with their arrogance.

“Prospects?” snapped Sas at Teller.

The road captain checked his phone. “They’re on their way.”

“Tell them to get their asses here now!” Sas turned on his heel and kicked through the ash.

Teller pecked out a text on his phone. “They’re probably riding and can’t answer a call or text back,” he said idly as he worked.

I stayed a few feet back from Sas—out of his arm length—but kept a steady eye on him. I didn’t trust him. Out of all the guys to run LA, why had Wilde chosen him for VP?

Or for Adelina?

It must’ve meant that Sas was more important than I thought. I just hadn’t seen it yet.

The prospects finally arrived, at least that’s who I hoped it was. Their bikes rumbled loudly enough to be heard in this hole. If we could hear them, someone could hear us. Heel strikesfrom their boots echoed, interspersed with a rustling like they’d kicked something out of their way.

With one hand, I palmed my gun, releasing the safety and pointing it at the ground. With the other, I fished out my flashlight. “Shouldn’t we go up?”

“Nah, that’s just Ghost, Pip, and Merry.” Sas kept digging, tossing aside empty crates.

I ignored him and climbed the steps.

“Where you goin’?” Sas called.

“Someone’s gotta stand guard,” I answered without looking back.

When I reached the ground level warehouse, I spotted the three prospects moving through the ruins like bowling balls, but something else moved in the distance. It was a quick shadow lingering in the corner of the warehouse. I whipped around, aiming my gun and the flashlight.

Ghost, Merry, and Pip palmed their pieces too, aiming where I did. Four guns pointed at a single person raising from the shadows, covered in dirt and soot. Their waxy skin hung off their bones like a melted candle, and they had a dead but startled look in their eyes, like an animal caught in headlights.

It was just an elderly woman, teeth yellowed and some missing. Gums white. A tumor grew on her cheek and chin, and she tried to shield herself from the beam of light.

“Please,” she begged, squinting. “I was only looking for a place to sleep. Just somewhere out of the heat and the rain. Please don’t shoot me. I’ll go.”

She didn’t need to go. She needed help.

“Get out,” ordered Sas, peeking up from the steps.

Ghost flicked his gun to the side to wave her away.

The homeless woman scurried through the rubble like a rat, disappearing into the bowels of the warehouses and into the shadows. But Ghost didn’t lower his gun. I watched her until Icouldn’t see her through the gaping opening in this building. I had watched too many people run away from me like that: fear making their legs like jelly, so they scampered away in a winding path.

She was harmless in the scheme of things, so I stepped over and pushed Ghost’s down.

---