Page 9 of The Ghost of Rage's War

“Yeah. There’s a reason I’m called Sharp. You might get to witness it someday. Tell ya now, I do not work on a percentage, I don’t accept drugs, booze, or women as payment. I ain’t your servant, you don’t tell me to fetch and carry. If I am doing that, I’m distracted, and you take a bullet.

“If you have got assholes working for you, they watch their mouth, or I’ll break their bones. I don’t know what quality you’ve employed before, but I don’t accept shit. Disrespect me, I’m gone. I’m aware of my value and won’t take a cent less. I’m also not your personal assassin. Now, if you can work with me, here’re my digits. It’s good for twenty-four hours, and then the line goes dead. You don’t get a second chance,” Sharp said and wrote his number on a napkin and handed it over.

Toxic studied it as Sharp got to his feet. “See ya around.”

Sharp left and headed for his truck. It was five years old and looked immaculate, all part of his image. He knew Toxic was watching him closely. In a couple of hours, Toxic was going to get a beatdown again. Sharp would receive a call by the morning.

Sharp - two weeks later

Sharp’s fist hit the little punk hard and knocked him to his knees. Blood streaming from his nose and bust lip, the fool looked up at Sharp.

“Back the fuck off,” Sharp warned.

Toxic raised an eyebrow and turned to the worm on the floor.

“Drix, you shouldn’t have gone for me,” Toxic tutted as he strutted forward. “Sharp here doesn’t like threats.”

“Toxic, you got to—”

“I don’t gotta do shit. You’re five k short, where’s the fuckin’ money or drugs?” Toxic demanded.

The strung-out smackhead snivelled, “It’s not my fault—”

“I want the money or the drugs,” Toxic ordered.

Sharp barely held a snort in. With Sharp at his back, Toxic was a strutting peacock.

“I don’t have either,” Drix replied.

“Then your sister will be working to get me the cash,” Toxic sneered and pulled a gun. Before Drix could react, he put a bullet in the fool’s brain. He glanced across at Sharp, who shrugged.

“You better call clean up, that ain’t my job,” Sharp said. His mind was racing. There was a girl in danger. Sharp had to get Anderson to find and move her before she was forced into prostitution.

“That’s why I like you,” Toxic stated. “I’ll send theguys round to collect his sister. She’s a tasty piece, stuck up, but she won’t be for long. Once she’s had a few cocks shoved in her mouth and up her ass, her attitude will soon change.”

Sharp gritted his teeth. He wanted to punch this fucker out but refrained from blowing his stack. This was his in to Santos, and then from Santos, it was the mysterious Manticore group.

Sharp had a target and needed to keep it in mind. Meanwhile, Anderson had a victim to save. In front of Toxic, Sharp texted his brother. Toxic didn’t even bother asking what Sharp was doing. He was a fucking idiot, despite his intelligence.

Sharp - six months later

“Don’t give a shit who you are, I pat you down, or you don’t come in,” Sharp growled at a guy trying to enter the room Toxic was in.

“Step aside now, asshole,” the prick retorted.

Sharp grinned. “Ain’t happening. The boss is busy.”

“Getting blown? Get the fuck out of my way,” the idiot snapped and tried to barge past.

Sharp grabbed his arm, elbowed his face and then, twisting his arm upwards and outwards, forced him to his knees.

“Get the fuck off me! You just signed your death sentence!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Sharp sneered and yanked on the arm, making the guy yell in pain.

“Let Jackson go, please, Mr Sharp,” a smooth voice said, and Sharp turned around.

And there he was, Romeo Santos in the flesh.

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