Page 84 of Their Princess

“Get down here, guys, and help me go through these crates.” ordered Sas as full night descended.

We had lost daylight so moving around the warehouse had grown much more perilous. The prospects stepped gingerly down the stairs with their cell-phone flashlights as guides while I scanned the rubble. I made a mental note to pick up some real flashlights for the team, and possibly some other gear that would help in these situations.

For once, I missed the prepared-for-anything mentality of my father and brother.

Sas clearly still saw me as a pest, and again I wondered why he’d asked me to come. I would never be a real part of the MC, though I had a cut and a patch. I was the enemy.

A spy.

Just like Massimo wanted me to be.

In the Marines, being a traitor like that would earn a court martial and a less than luxurious stay at Ft. Leavenworth. But what did it mean to an MC?

Street wars?

Drive-by shootings? Or ride-by, I guessed.

La Famiglia had become far more sophisticated since Capone’s time. Snipers. Disappearances. Enemies dying of “natural” causes. But in an age where a camera watched every street corner, guns were now saved for behind closed doors.

“Sas!” called Ghost, and the shuffling below indicated that the others were gathering around whatever he’d found.

“Not it,” ordered Sas. “Keep digging.”

For what?I wanted to plead. If the shipment had just arrived before the Gambinos bombed the place, why would he be digging through a secret stash of crates in a makeshift basement?

Although, as I circled the hole, I had to admit it was a solid safe room. The metal floor the size of one of the concrete sections wouldn’t have appeared out of place, and it sat flush with the joints in the floor. It had been fucking heavy to lift, so there was no way anyone would pry that up with only their hands. Or even with a claw hammer.

I kicked more debris away. Something knocked in the distance, and I whirled, visions of a kid with an oozie flickered like a bad movie through my mind. I had to shake my head hard to make them stop.

After shining my light in the direction of the sound, I shut the beacon off. It would be so much better to have infrared goggles in this mess. Before long, a mostly burned-through beam toppled over.

A rat squealed. Claws scurried across the garbage—tick-tick-tick-tick-tick.

I shivered. Rats had to be the most disgusting of creatures. Scorpions, snakes, almost any bug, I could handle. But rats carried the plague.

“Got it!” Sas yelled. “Rafe, get your ass down here.”

Happy to leave the rats to finish off the garbage, I jogged down the stairs.

Below, Sas had a cellophane-wrapped package in hand and sliced it open with a pocketknife. He dipped the end of the knife into the powder and licked the tip.

“Perfect,” Sas beamed. “Let’s load these stacks up, bitches! Teller, call your runners. Tell ’em to meet us at the clubhouse. They got some hot shit to sell.”

He stepped out of the way as his prospects dug out the rest of the bricks of coke.

Massimo hadn’t had this in the intel, so I asked, “Is this part the Medellín’s product?”

“Yup.” Sas grinned.

“Will it be enough to pay off the Rojas brothers?” I asked.

Gave me an acerbic look, the same irritation he wore with Adelina, as if I had become the mouse. “It may look small, but it’s pure. We have our guys cut it and we sell it, and I’m not in debt to your brother.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Grab a load for your bags,brother.”

Fine if he didn’t want to be in debt to my brother—I knew Massimo’s loans and deals better than anyone—but I didn’t want Adelina in more danger. If it kept the cartel away, I didn’t care what it was. I would do anything and everything for her.

“Dude.” I grabbed Sas’s cut before he could slip away. “Why can’t the runners meet us here?”

He barked a laugh. “The prospects bought us some time, but not much. We don’t want the cops to catch us lurking around here.”

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