Page 49 of Crowned

I turn toward the sound, every nerve in my body on edge. The footsteps are steady, echoing through the cavernous space. Whoever it is, they’re not in a rush.

“Who’s there?” I call out, my voice sharper than I intend. The question bounces back at me, hollow and unanswered.

For a moment, the footsteps stop, and the silence that follows is worse.

Then, a low chuckle reverberates through the warehouse. It’s faint at first, almost like I imagined it, but it grows louder, carrying an edge of mockery that makes my stomach tighten.

“Bhodi.”

The voice is familiar, but not in a comforting way. It’s one I’ve heard before, somewhere buried in the shadows of my past dealings.

I grit my teeth and scan the darkness. “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

The chuckle deepens, and a figure steps into the dim circle of light cast by the lone bulb. He’s stocky, dressed in a tattered leather jacket and heavy boots, with a scar cutting across their jaw. His face is a jigsaw of rough edges, a patchy beard failing to hide the years of violence etched into his features.

“No,” he says, shaking his head with a grin that doesn’t reach his cold, calculating eyes. “I’ve got the exact guy.”

I don’t recognise his face, but I recognize his type. He’s the kind of person you don’t turn your back on, not even for a second.

“What do you want?” I ask, my voice calm despite the adrenaline pumping through me.

“What do I want?” He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, the tip glowing red in the dim light. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’re the one poking around in places you don’t belong.”

“I’m here for information. That’s it.”

“Sure you are.” He exhales a plume of smoke, his grin widening. “But information isn’t free, kid. And you’ve been asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. That puts a target on your back. Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous tonight.”

“Generous how?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.

He takes a step closer, the scent of smoke and sweat hitting me like a wave. “I’ll give you a piece of advice for free: walk away. Whatever you’re digging into, it’s bigger than you, bigger than whatever pathetic plan you’ve cooked up. You stick your nose in too far, and you won’t get it back.”

I don’t move, holding his gaze even as my pulse pounds in my ears. “I’m not walking away.”

His grin falters, replaced by a flicker of irritation. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under his boot.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I figured you’d say that.”

Before I can react, he lunges forward, grabbing the front of my hoodie and slamming me back against one of the rusted shelves. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my ribs, and I bite back a grunt.

“Listen to me, you little shit,” he growls, his face inches from mine. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. You think your contact’s on your side? Think again. Everyone’s got a price, and yours isn’t worth much.”

I clench my jaw, glaring at him. “You don’t scare me.”

He chuckles, a dark, humorless sound. “Good. Fear just slows you down.”

With that, he lets go and steps back, watching as I catch my balance. He adjusts his jacket, his expression unreadable now.

“You’ve got two choices,” he says, his tone suddenly businesslike. “Turn around and go back to whatever safe little corner you crawled out of, or keep going and find out just how deep this rabbit hole goes. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. He turns and disappears into the shadows, his footsteps fading until the warehouse falls silent again.

I lean against the shelf, my chest heaving as I try to process what just happened. My contact’s words echo in my head: Everyone’s got a price, and yours isn’t worth much.

I glance around the empty space, my fists clenching. Pulling my hoodie tighter, I step back out into the cold night, determination burning in my veins.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe we’re all in over our heads. But we’ve already made our choices.

The room feels smaller than usual, the walls pressing in like they know something I don’t. The others are scattered around – Reef, pacing by the window; Vance, perched on the arm of a chair with his usual detached calm; and Cove, brooding silently by the table, his fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the wood. They all look up the second I step inside, the weight of their stares hitting me like a physical force.

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