Chapter 3
Alonzo
“Boss… we found him.”
Jasper’s voice was low, as he shoved a man forward by the collar. The guy stumbled to his knees, blindfolded. He trembled like a leaf.
“He was there the night you were drugged,” Elijah added.
I didn’t blink. I just flicked my fingers.
Jasper ripped the blindfold away.
The man’s eyes darted wildly before landing on me. His lips trembled. “I… I didn’t do it,” he stammered, voice cracking.
I studied his face was too pretty for this business, soft in all the wrong ways.
My hand went to the table beside me, and without warning, I tossed a gun at him.
The metal clattered against his palms. He barely managed to catch it. His hands shaking so hard the muzzle wobbled.
“Hit me,” I said calmly.
He froze.
I took a slow step forward, eyes narrowing. “I said, hit me, bastard.”
When he still didn’t move, I grabbed his hand and forced the barrel to my temple. My men shifted instantly, hands going to their weapons, but I didn’t care.
“Do it,” I growled. “Or I’ll show you how it’s done.”
He tried. God, he tried—but the safety was still on. Pathetic.
I let out a sharp, humorless laugh and stepped back. “That fucking bastard sent a rookie to kill me?”
The sound of my boot smashing into his jaw echoed through the room. He crumpled sideways, blood spraying the polished floor.
“Please… please, spare me…” he whimpered.
“Not that easy,” I said flatly and grabbed the gun back from his useless grip.
The butt of the weapon slammed into his skull—once, twice, three times until crimson streaked down his face.
I wiped my hands on a silk cloth, the blood smearing like paint.
“Pack his body,” I said coldly to Elijah. “Send it to his family. Nice and neat.”
I dropped into my leather chair, lit a cigar, and let the smoke curl lazily toward the ceiling.
The Red Pigeon goon sitting across from me stared at the bricks of pure product stacked on the table—each one worth more than his life. His pupils were blown wide, greed dripping from every glance.
“This is just a trailer,” I said, my voice smooth. “I can get you more.”
His hands shook as he reached for the sample. “I’m in. Tomorrow evening, my men will collect.”
He left like a dog with a stolen steak.
“Boss, your favourite policeman is retiring. If you want, Boss, we’ll drag him here—drop him at your feet.”
Charlie’s eyes lit up.
You could tell he was itching to grab that pathetic excuse of a policeman by the hair and slam him down like some offering. If anyone made our job difficult it was that old fucking policeman.
“Not now!” I cut him off, my tone slicing clean through his excitement. “Finish every job he screwed up. All of it.”
Elijah nodded, but I wasn’t done. I paused at the doorway, turning slightly.
“And that girl… the one from last night. Have you found her yet?”
The room went quiet. My crew glanced at each other like they’d just heard something impossible. I never asked about strangers. Ever.
Charlie swallowed hard, a bead of sweat slipping down his temple. “Boss… I’ve already got our men looking. Every block, every alley.”
“Boss,” Panther said slowly, “we went back to the bar. The bartender swears she’d never seen her before.”
I spun on him. “Then why the fuck are you still standing here? Go find her.”
Panther hesitated, then asked the wrong question. “Boss… why her?”
The glare I gave him could’ve buried him six feet under without a shovel. “How can a woman just… vanish overnight? What if she is a trap?”
He swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbing like a death clock.
“Y-Yes, Boss.” He rushed out of the room.
This morning’s scene replayed in my head like an insult on a loop when I woke up in cold sheets.
The girl who’d been in my bed was gone.
Weird. Usually, they stayed. Hung around for a payout. Some even seduced me to stay by my side. Begged to be my mistress.
But her? She’d vanished like smoke.
I dragged the quilt aside and pushed myself up. My gaze locked on the red stains smeared across the white sheets.
My jaw tightened.
Blood.
My brows furrowed. “Who the fuck did they bring me?”
I tried to remember her face, but it was nothing but shadows. A blur.
All I recalled was the heat. Her scent. The way I’d lost control.
I’d fucked her through the night, round after round, until my body gave in.
Turning, I froze.
On the other side of the bed sat a neat pile of bills.
A hundred bucks. Chump change for me. And on top of it, a scrap of paper, handwriting rushed and uneven:
I only had this much.
My chest tightened with something I couldn’t name. Rage. Curiosity.
My eyes narrowed at the memory. A hundred dollars. That was her price for me? Did she think I was a male prostitute? Worse—did she think I was a cheap one? I crushed the bills in my fist, my teeth grinding until my jaw ached.