Page 41 of His Deadly Lies

There’s no time to reconsider this arrangement. He’s here with me, and we’re both in it too deep now to turn back.

If he blabs a word about this and I find out, I’ll kill him.

It’s that simple.

“Hey.” I snap my fingers, and my favorite manager, Sebastian, glances up from where he’s examining one of the boxes. He’s taken care of more than a few rowdy people at the club as well as any workers who have failed to do what they’ve been paid to do.

He’s our version of “crowd control,” and tonight, he’s handling inventory as well.

Carter stops and slides his hands into his pockets, taking in the room and revealing nothing.

“What’s the matter?” Bash wants to know once he closes in on the two of us. Only his attention is focused on Carter instead of me. “Who’s this guy?”

“Any problems?” I ask in an undertone.

He gestures toward the clipboard in front of him, flipping through pages. A sheen of sweat dotting his upper lip lets me know what’s going on before he has a chance to say anything. Yes. We have problems.

“We’ve got missing cargo.” Sebastian hands me the clipboard, and I’m surprised his hands aren't trembling.

Mine certainly are.

It’s our largest hit yet. My stomach sinks, a dull throbbing ache splintering through my skull. An eighth of the shipment is missing. This is no small attack. I say as much to Sebastian.

“I’m assuming you know what an eighth is, yes?” It’s not fair for me to take it out on him, but this is like being skinned alive. The intensity of the thefts is increasing.

My head throbs, the low pulse traveling down my spine, across my ribs, and into my low gut. Shit, this is awful. How in the world is someone getting the jump on us, especially with Papa’s increased security.

I practically feel Carter judging us from a few feet away.

“Look, the drivers say they didn’t stop this time,” Bash whispers. His dark eyes search mine. “I’m not sure what to fucking do, Mia. This is getting ridiculous. There are extra men on each shipment, and we’re still losing crates.”

I shake my head. “Yes, I’ve heard those excuses before, and I don’t have time for it tonight. Neither do you,” I say.

It’s complicated for me, being here without Rafel. Not knowing where he is. He’d already be moving to take care of the problem without me having to direct his movements. Sebastian is not used to being that kind of muscle in addition to doing line inspection.

He’s great at physical work, but he’s not in sync with me. Not like Rafel.

“It’s time to take care of things and send a message,” I say. I look Sebastian dead in the eyes, message clear. “This sort of thing cannot happen again. If they‘re not afraid of the consequences, then it will continue.” I flick a hand toward the gun not-so-subtly tucked in the tight waistband of his jeans. “Get to work, Bash.”

He grins and takes a step toward the driver for this latest shipment, dropping the clipboard. The man, the upper half of his face shaded by an inconspicuous white baseball cap, takes a step in the opposite direction with his hands held up placatingly in front of him. He’s middle-aged, with a mustache and beady eyes.

“Where did you stop?” I want to know. Too keenly aware of Carter watching me.

“We didn’t stop! I swear to God. I’m telling the truth. Please, Miss Balestra, I didn’t stop.” His face goes whiter the longer I stare at him.

“That’s your story, and you plan to stick to it. Right. Bash?” I say sweetly.

Sebastian steps right into the driver’s face and slams his fist home, right against the bridge of the other man’s nose.

“Where was the stop?” I ask the driver a second time.

He’s doubled over and glares up at me, spitting blood. The globule lands several feet from me, and I stare at it dispassionately.

This time Bash slugs the man in the gut. The driver doubles down to his knees, and I shift in front of him, using the tip of my nail to pry his chin up to face me. “The stop,” I repeat. “Where was it?”

“You’re not just a bitch,” the driver wheezes. “You’re insane! Out of your goddamn mind. You can’t treat people this way.”

I’ve been called worse. Rather than pressing him when he’s clearly not going to tell me shit, draw in a breath. Force it out through my nostrils. “Please. The staff are sick and tired of cleaning up blood down here. We need a good night tonight. So this is your last chance.”

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