Page 55 of Ravaged and Ruined
He taps another key, and a new screen loads with a list of numbers and digital strings I can’t begin to understand.
“And?” I ask, my pulse ticking.
“And…” he draws it out like a game show host, “I got taps on the phones still in use and I’ve flagged keywords. If they so much as whisper about moving I’ll know before they finish the sentence.”
“What about traffic?”
“Cold.” He shrugs, reaching for another energy drink and cracks it open. “Meatpacking plant’s dark but that doesn't mean it’s empty. I’m keeping my eye on it. No satellite heat signatures, yet, but I’ve seen dust tracks on the roads from a few days back. Could be there’s no one there or…”
“Or they’re blocking the signal,” I finish.
“They're too dumb for that but can’t be sure about the buyer.” He finally looks up at me for a split second before returning to the screens.
I run a hand down my face, my jaw clenched. “Fuck.”
“You look like shit, by the way,” he adds, way too casually.
“Thanks for the update, Dr. Phil.”
He snorts. “Nah, I mean it. You haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. Go grab a few hours. If anything shifts, I’ll sound the damn alarm.”
“I don’t sleep well when I’m on edge.”
“Then take a rage nap. Slam that whiskey, punch a wall, whatever you gotta do. You’re no good to anyone dead on your feet.”
“Already am.” I respond, raising the half empty bottle to my lips.
I stare at the blinking dot, red and taunting for a long minute. Hashtag’s right though. I feel like I’m dragging a mountain on my back. And if I go down, they all go down with me. I’m not giving the Scorpions or anyone else that satisfaction. Not ever.
Hashtag tips his head toward a recliner in the back, “You can crash here if you want real time alerts as soon as they sound.”
I take him up on the offer and settle into the thick leather chair. It feels good to be off my feet but my mind won’t still. I keep hearing Lacey’s voice in my head, even through the haze of whiskey, begging me not to shut her out again. But that’s all I’ve been doing since I shoved her into the van, boarding up the parts of me that want her here, that miss her laugh, her fire, her damn stubbornness.
I sit with the bottle of Jack in one hand and a cigarette burning between my fingers in the other. Smoke curls toward the ceiling in lazy ribbons, thick and stale like how I feel, before I snuff it out. Every swallow burns. Every drag feels suffocating.
The glow from Hashtag’s setup cuts through the dark like a lifeline and I almost drift under its ghostly rhythm.
I nod off in the chair, half-listening to the clicks and hum of coded intel filtering in. Hashtag’s world is all static and signals, his den lit like the inside of a motherboard, his keyboard never stopping. My head lolls against the backrest. The warm whiskey bottle in my hand thumps against the seat whenever I shift. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but exhaustion pulls hard.
A sudden chime drags me back. I open my eyes to Hashtag on full alert. Words flashing across his lower screen.
“Prez,” he whispers, “we’ve got something. Just came through Cholla’s phone.”
My eyes snap open. My body reacting before my brain catches up and I’m out of the chair standing behind him in an instant. A wave form rolls across the screen, and a deep voice becomes audible.
“Pickup’s at midnight. No more excuses. You don’t have all my product this time, I swear to God…”
Hashtag lowers the volume, eyes darting to another screen. “I’m running the voice through every recognition database I’ve got. No ping yet.” He lets out a sharp breath, “Prez, the voice is too polished for a street crew. I’m leaning toward cartel-adjacent if I had to guess.”
I drag a hand through my hair, thinking. “Cholla should be sweating. He’s got nothing to deliver. We’ve got the guns, and the girls are safe with the Harlots. All he’s got is a half dead crew.”
“Which makes him unstable,” Hashtag mutters.
I square my shoulders, my gravelly voice turning to steel. “This drop’s going down, one way or another and we’ll be ready.”
My jaw flexes as I exit the room. All the haze in my skull is gone, burned off by a new wave of fury. I slam the door open, adrenaline carrying me like I’m not running on empty. Midnight’s coming and we’re gonna be ready.
I fire off a text to the rest of the crew and head straight to church taking a few minutes to pull myself together before they join me.
