Page 76 of No Promises, No Lies

I choke at his response. But by now, I’m too far away for him to hear it.

Aidan picks up his abandoned hockey stick and resumes his drills like nothing happened.

All while I walk on shaky legs back to the locker rooms, fighting the overwhelming urge to run as fast as I can.

45

FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT

AIDAN

It’s nearly three a.m. I drum my fingers idly on the dash of the SUV. My thoughts drift back to the penalty box and Rory Kostalova.

“It’s getting late,” Liam grumbles from the backseat where he sits next to Alex. “Are we doing this or not?” He repeatedly loads and reloads his gun, growing antsy.

I can’t blame him. We’ve been staking out this warehouse now for hours with nothing to show for it.

“Not yet,” I reply. We need to confirm there are girls inside. One wrong move could spook the traffickers and we could miss any actual shot at throwing a wrench into their new, lucrative Boston operation. A reliable contact pinpointed this warehouse in particular as a temporary holding area they take girls, before auction. But there is no sense in storming the place if they’ve already moved them.

We know we have the right place when a nondescript white delivery van rolls up to the side door of the warehouse and a variety of suits step out.Suits strapped with AK-47s. Their attention is on the van and not scanning the surrounding area for potential threats.Arrogance like that gets you killed.It also points to inexperience.

I sit forward. Koen’s fingers curl around his gun, dragging it off the dash. He snaps his fingers to get Liam and Alex’s attention in the back seat. The mood shifts from bored to lethal in a few quick seconds.

A burly looking fellow steps out from the passenger side door. A cigarette hangs out of his mouth as he barks orders to the others. Two more armed guards appear from inside the warehouse.

As the back door of the van opens, the men haul out more than a few scantily clad women. The girls cower away from the men, their hands restrained in front of them. The men rush the girls along, herding them through the warehouse door.

One girl has to be dragged from the back of the van. A dark-haired beauty. She puts up a fierce fight. At barely five-foot-three she doesn’t stand a chance against the two Italian mafioso who wrestle her out, shoving her toward the others. One by one, they disappear into the warehouse.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens when the burly fellow steps forward, plucking one girl out of the group as they pass by him. He wrenches her arms with such force it nearly takes her off her feet. To no one’s surprise—it’s the little dark-haired girl.

The man hauls her backwards, slamming her back up against the side of the van, catching her before she slides to the pavement. Tenderly, he strokes the hair out of her face before burying his fist in it, wrenching her head to the side. She fights him, not giving up, but with his full weight pressed against her, there’s little she can do.

I watch as he takes the cigarette out of his mouth and presses it down on the soft, exposed skin of her neck. He covers her mouth when she screams and laughs at her pathetic attempts to wriggle away from him.

I click the safety off my gun, reaching for the door, but Koen’s hand on my upper arm stops me.

“Not yet,” Koen repeats my own words back to me, his mouth in a tight line.

He’s right; attacking now would jeopardize the entire plan. And it’s only because I see the promise of death in his black eyes that I drop my hand from the handle with a low, frustrated growl.

The pathetic excuse of a man finally releases the girl. She immediately spits in his face.

I spy a small smile pulling at Koen’s deep frown at the balls on her. The mafioso backhands her for it. The force of the hit takes her down to the ground.

Two of his guards pick the girl up by her arms and practically drag her into the building as she continues to struggle against them, desperately fighting being taken inside. Once they all disappear, I look to Koen.

My brother tightens his grip on the handle of his gun in his hand with grim resolve on his face. “Ready?”

I nod, checking with Liam to see if he’s ready—but he’s already halfway out of the car.

Together, the four of us move swiftly and slowly. The building has cameras, but they do not properly account for the shadows created by the building. There is no moon tonight and we’re dressed all in black. Balaclavas and hoods obscure our faces and we move strategically through the camera’s blind spots until we reach the door.It’s unlocked.

Arrogance.

Koen leads us through it. They have one guard manning the entrance. He’s dead before his body hits the ground. But the gun shot announces our presence to the rest.

Wooden crates are stacked high, reaching as far as the eye can see. Narrow aisles in between. The crates are haphazardly placed, with no rhyme or reason or sense of order.Fucking Italians.

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