Page 77 of Lucky Strike

“Sure.” With a click, Johnny brings the image closer.

Tristan leans in, squinting incredulously at the black and white screen. “Son of a bitch.”

Seems like before the new security company even rolled in, another security guard was already taking pictures of our containers with his phone. In broad daylight. He was subtle, holding the phone down by his hip while he made his rounds, but his movements became clear the harder we looked.

“Well, shit,” Johnny says, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t know how we missed that. Sorry, Lucky.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I squeeze his shoulder. Johnny’s as solid as they come, so I’m not about to go off. He knows to be on guard. “Atleast we know now. Nothing’s gone missing, because we haven’t been shipping what they want.” The last couple of gun shipments we sent out were domestic, delivered via armored truck to LA and Chicago. After the disaster last spring, when Marty Price hired those guys to hijack the Mexico delivery, we changed everything: schedules, routes, even the types of the trucks we used.

“We have more than enough evidence that the Sokolovs are fucking around,” Tristan says quietly, folding his arms. “When are we gonna handle this?”

I shake my head, even though he’s saying what I’ve been thinking. “We can’t tell, just by this video, that the Sokolovs are behind this. For all we know, it’s just some nosy security guard.”

“Come on.”

“We can’t prove it.” I tap the screen with every word. “If we’re gonna move in on Ivan and Ilya, we better have the receipts to back it up because otherwise, it’s war.”

“Hate to tell you this, but it’s already war, brother.”

After dropping Tristan back to his place, I drive home, my brain rearranging the pieces of the puzzle in an attempt to make them fit. The Sokolovs started messing with Kelly Logistics back in March, with the first shipment they stole from. What triggered that? Why?

It can’t be about my guy messing with Ivan and Ilya’s cousin. That’s old news, and anyway, I took care of it promptly. Peace was kept.

No, something else is at play here.

The next weekpasses in a blur of work, play, and very little rest. I’d like to say that sleep’s playing second fiddle to Bria, but she got her period the night we got back so sex has been a no-go. At least, that’s what she tells me. I told her I didn’t mind a little blood, but she shut that down real quick.

Maybe it’s for the best. My time with Bria and Liam in Cape Cod gave me the rest and mental break I needed, but too much of that makes a man soft, and soft is one thing I cannot afford to be. I need to keep the reality of this situation on the forefront of my mind: there’s a group ofsavage motherfuckers who want what we have and are willing to fuck with us to get it.

And that’s not the only thing.

My parents are due back at the end of the month, so Heath Murphy has called a meeting with the other families to discuss the direction of the syndicate. That’s fine, but Dad isn’t ready to step down, nor do we need him to. Not yet. He’s still young, and he’s strong. A fighter. If the way he handled his diagnosis and treatments the first time around is any indicator, we have nothing to worry about now.

“The way he’s handled it iswhyhe needs to be in charge,” Tristan says, knocking back the rest of his whiskey. It’s his third. Dad’s illness really fucks with him. On top of that, the girl he was seeing broke things off, so his emotions are all over the place. My brother doesn’t do anything halfway. He loves as hard as he fights. “He’s a leader. No one else has what it takes.”

I swirl my own drink, watching the amber liquid coat one side of the glass, then the other. “Someone’s gonna have to, eventually.”

“Eventually. But not now.” He peers at me, pointing with his glass. “And when the time comes, we’ll be okay ‘cause it’ll be you. There’s a reason it’s always a Kelly in charge.”

I stay quiet for a moment, remembering when I had that kind of confidence. Maybe it’s easier when you’re not the one in line for the throne. “You sure you’re okay? Why don’t you crash here tonight, sleep in the guest room.”

“Nah, I’m good. Gotta be up early. I’ve been slacking on training.”

Tristan’s idea of slacking is working out for two hours instead of three. “We can go together, then.” I knock my knee against his. “Nola’s been making French toast for Liam almost every day since we got back.”

“Fuck.” He groans, tilting his head back. “I love her French toast.”

“I know you do.” I laugh. “We’ll spar for an hour or two, and then you can come back here for breakfast with me and Bria. And Liam.”

His dark green eyes slither my way, his mouth quirked into a Cheshire grin if I ever saw one. “You and Bria, huh? Bria the Cheese?”

“And Liam and Nola.” I polish off my whiskey.

But he’s intrigued now, sitting forward as he eyes me. “You and Bria having a lot of French toast these days?”

Chuckling, I stand, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes. “You staying? If not, I’m calling you an Uber.”

Jumping up, he grabs his empty glass and the near-empty bottle. “Oh, I’m staying all right. I wouldn’t miss breakfast for anything.”

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