Page 144 of Riordan's Revenge

I’d lost track of time.

Red and his gang had lost track of me. Or didn’t care that I festered in a corner with discarded sacks and broken furniture.

In the centre of the dank, semi-underground room, the drug lord sat tall behind a desk, holding court over his meeting and oozing cruel power. Overhead, a single lamp hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly so the edge of the light cut over the group around him, then fell away.

Only minutes ago, the space had filled with people, mostly men, some I recognised, some I didn’t, then the Four Milers’ boss himself had strode in, locking the door behind him. In a muscle shirt, and with his dark beard trimmed close to his chin, he owned the room. Awed looks followed him.

He was a piece of shit who’d earned that reputation to be feared. Dangerous, cold, and calculating. Not stupid, though. He’d ordered out anyone without a vested interest, meaning no witnesses, but that also meant that whoever remained would be bound to him after.

Or dead.

I was in the latter category.

Trouble was, I didn’t have too many fucks to give at this point. Unlike remembering the danger ahead of me and the people around, I couldn’t recall my name, let alone any reasons I had for living. At least I didn’t feel any pain. My body was giving up. Death would be a relief.

“Next,” Red snarled.

A scrappy, rodent-faced guy who’d just pled his case scuttled back, the circle of people swallowing him.

An older man untangled his arm from the waist of a glamorous woman,Sydney, my mind supplied. She used to be a dancer someplace. Maybe where I worked?

My consciousness ebbed, only returning when the man settled into his story.

“My reputation precedes me, I’m sure, but it’s Adam Walker for those of you who aren’t in the loop.” He stuck his thumbs in his beltloops and grinned.

Red sighed. “Get on with it, Walker.”

Adam tipped him a nod of acknowledgement, as if they were equals. He was drunk, I guessed, his eyes reddened.

“This is going to disappoint the rest of you, but I’m a shoo-in for Bronson’s job. It’s already mine, and the reason for that, Red, my boy, is that I’m an asset to you. You can’t do better than this.”

Those thumbs came up to point at him.

Jesus fuck, the confidence of alcohol-soaked fools. Red was going to shred him.

The boss tilted his head, no hint of amusement in his stare. “Call me boy again and I’ll slice your withered balls off and give them to your girl as earrings. State your case or step down.”

Adam’s smile dropped. “That job is rightly mine. I’m the same age as Bronson, but not fucked up on smack. I’m what you need.”

Red levelled his gaze. “Next.”

A meathead security guy stepped in front of Adam who turned purple.

“No, you haven’t heard me out.”

Another contender moved forward. “I want to?—”

Adam took a swipe at him and shoved him back, then rounded the guard to slam his hands down on Red’s desk. “You’ll respect me. I’ve earned this.”

Red didn’t flinch. “How?”

“I… I killed the women in Deadwater. I did it to show you what I’m capable of.”

Silence fell across the room.

Red held up a finger to stall the guard who’d moved directly behind Adam. “Explain.”

“Those girls who had their throats slit, it was me.”

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