Rolling my eyes, I can’t help but smirk. “Really? When have I never been prepared?”
“How’s your body? Have you recovered?” I can’t tell her I’m still sore from the voting. Or the beating Killian dished out.
Or how my back aches from being curved around Collins all night. I’d sleep on grain if it meant she’d be comfortable.
Instead, I plaster on a false, flirtatious smile that has Killian growling behind me.
“You’re not supposed to worry about me, Ace. This is part of the Games.”
Her foot taps. “I’m not worried. Just…checkingon you.”
I wink at her, and she inhales, releasing the dread in her gut. “This is nothing compared to what I’ve dealt with before.”
It’s not. But it’s still dangerous. We’re doing this to get out of a war—one I started by being on his territory. If any of his guys find me, I’m fair game.
“Be smart, Hayes,” she warns, coming close. “Bruno always has someone at the storehouses. And the other contestants can?—”
“Can also attack. I know.” I elbow her playfully. “I’ll be fine.”
“Maeve,” Killian interrupts, eyes hard. “You can’t help him. It’ll seem like favoritism.”
She turns her head, ready to fight, but she sees the rest of the men looking at her. Thankfully the others are too far away to hear her advice, but the guards see it.
We can’t have any issues, not now. Not with Bruno coming after us. This has to be clean.
Stepping to the opposite alley, I jerk my chin at the reaper. “Call it. Give them a head start to even it out.”
She crosses her arms as a brisk wind blows into us. When Killian calls ‘go,’ she glances to the stars above, and I dart into the abandoned street.
Once I get away from the alley, I take stock of my surroundings.
I’m three streets over from one of Bruno’s fronts. We all know where our enemies work, to take stock of where not to go, but also where they’re weakest. It’s why Ace and I changed our delivery routes after Ferguson’s death; it’s why our spies are always out here. We know information is power.
The first front I find is a small laundry mat. It’s unassuming, but inside, it launders dirty money for clean bills. If I want to hurt Roman, this is a great place to start.
Creeping around to the back, I find the delivery entrance, smashing the glass with my fist. It’s a simple lock, and it takes seconds for me to enter the employee kitchen. No stove, but there’s a microwave. And cutlery.
I smirk.It’s like they want me to win.
Grabbing the entire drawer, I shove all of it in and input twenty minutes.
Hustling into the front, where a few broken-down washers and dryers sit, I push one aside, ripping the gas line. I have to move quickly—the microwave is old, but the metal will catch and with the gas pumping through this building? I’m sitting on a bomb.
Ripping lines from the walls, I only stop when the gas starts to get to my head.Time’s up.Sliding through the side exit, I tug my collar over my ears and turn down the far corner.
The explosion erupts and it’s fucking loud. Windows shake and crack, loose bricks drop overhead and the concrete under my boots splits.
I want to celebrate—preferably with a glass of scotch or Collins’ mouth around my dick. But I have more work to do.One down…
Three streets over, there’s another front. This one is a bakery.
Unlike the laundry mat, this one has cameras. And two guards sitting in the front.
It’s odd to see people guarding a mom-and-pop shop, but I know differently. They don’t just make bread and pastries inside the small white bricked building. They cook their drugs. The guards act as deterrents to anyone going in. Or leaving.
A woman slips out the side door, immediately surrounded by the two guards.
A mule. She’s run down, tired, in dirty clothes, with a picked-face. At one time, she was a beauty, then Bruno got her.
