That’s it?
My nose twitches as my hands stop trembling, and I smack the folder down onto the couch.
“Goddammit!”
This isn’t nearly enough to get even close. Even though the PI was mostly useless, it’s more than nothing. Maybe I can still use this information. It’s worth checking out the address to see if I can find those men it mentions. Maybe it’ll lead me to more.
It’s decided then.
I slurp up my coffee in one go, grab my bag again, and march out the door. I hop into my car and go straight to the address in the document. It’s a seedy-looking warehouse with flashing illuminated red logos plastered on the wall above the door.
Bottoms Up. What a cheesy name. Looks like a strip club. Why would the PI give me this address?
Sighing, I position my car behind another to blend in. Then I wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Boy, they weren’t lying when those characters in the movies always said stakeouts were boring as hell.
I keep staring at the building, hoping something might happen, but nothing does. It’s just men of all ages and sizes sneaking in, hoping to get a quick look for some small bucks. Not at all interesting to watch, if you ask me.
The longer I look, the harder it is to keep my eyes open, and without realizing it, I slowly drift off to sleep.
In my mind, I’m in a beautiful park with luscious trees filled with chirping birds and flowers scattered all around the grass with bees buzzing about. There’s a nice lake right beside us as I sit with my parents on a blanket, eating some homemade sandwiches and fruit salad.
Suddenly, the entire place is on fire.
I jump up as the blanket and the lake disappear as though they never existed. My parents are gone, vanished into thin air. All that’s left is the fire, burning through everything it touches. The grass morphs into a wooden floor, and around me concrete rises like blocks of cinder being built up from the ground. But the fire rages on until the flames lick my fingers, and I scream out loud.
No one can hear me.
But I hear them.
My parents—they’re here too, calling my name.
“Mom! Dad! Where are you?”
I want to find them, crawl to them if I must, but I can’t move. My legs and arms have gone numb. My throat is clamped as I try to breathe, but the air is clouded with toxic fumes. I’m dying, I can feel it, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
Suddenly, two hands grasp at my shoulders and pull me up. A stranger drags me out through the door, away from the fire. Away from my parents, who are still inside.
I gasp.
My eyes burst open, and my lungs suck in the air like they’d been starving for oxygen.
I swipe away the sweat from my forehead and close my eyes for a second to allow myself to recuperate.
Calm yourself, Harper. It was only a nightmare. A nightmare I can’t seem to escape from, not even in my sleep.
I grab my bottle of water and take a sip to take my mind off things. When I look up, there’s a limo parked right in front of the warehouse. A bunch of shady-looking men in dark suits step out.
I sit up straight. As some of the men look around, one of them flashes a gun. Shit. I lower myself in my seat and try to make myself invisible. Another one of them looks around once more. Then they all go inside.
My heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest.
What if that’s them?
I have to know, so without thinking about it any further, I get out of the car and make a beeline straight for the door.
Marcello
Bringing the tumbler to my mouth, I take a sip of the whiskey as my eyes scan over the strippers dancing around the poles. The harsh red lights in the club give me a headache, but I endure it for the sake of business. After all, an extremely valuable shipment of stolen electronics will need plenty of protection with a fuck ton of firearms, which is why I’m here. I just want to get the weapons and get out of this place.
“I don’t like these rat-faced Irishmen,” Claudio says out of the blue. He’s tapping his foot, a nervous habit I don’t like. But in Claudio, I forgive the nervous tics. He’s been an ally to my family for a long time.
“The Duffy brothers are harmless,” I reply, waving a careless hand. “They flock toward money like moths to a flame. I’ll offer half of what they want for the weapons, and they’ll have no choice but to accept it. We’ll leave with our guns, and by next week, we’ll be sitting on a fortune.”
“Yeah,” Claudio mutters. “But I’ll never trust an Irishman.”