ONE
declan
In the quiettruck graveyard in Queens, where I’m surrounded by the rusted bones of vehicles scattered among peeling tires, the glint of a gun captures my attention.
The full moon hits the muzzle of that flashy fucking gun like a spotlight.
My heart thumps as adrenaline spikes.
The gun glints again as its owner sweeps it across the grounds. A victim-seeking missile.
I take a slow, silent breath.
Whoever it is, they’re between me and where I need to get to.
The building with the drugs.
I press against the side of an old shipping container, eyes locked on the old office across the yard, next to a truck that’s either been resurrected or doesn’t belong. My gaze never strays far from that fucking gun.
Security?
This place shouldn’t have any. No one who values their life comes here unannounced. This is prime mafia and cartel territory…neutral ground for deals, bodies, and secrets.
It’s not Murphy land.
If I’m caught?—
Shite. I only have two hours to fix the biggest fuck-up of my life.
I secretly sold a million dollars in coke that my brothers and I stole, then got paid in counterfeit bills. Stood there like a fuckingeejitwhile the bastard walked off with our product and I pocketed fake money. Didn’t even check it properly until it was too late.
If Callahan finds out I lost that shipment to a con artist, I’m done. Not demoted. Not transferred to Dublin. Buried in a shallow grave kind of done.
But O’Shay’s contact tracked the scammer down and intercepted the shipment before it was sold to the Cinco Cartel.
O’Shay said the drugs would be in the warehouse until a midnight pickup. It’s ten now. Two hours to grab the coke and disappear before anyone realizes I fucked up.
Should be simple. Get in, grab the drugs, get out.
Across from me is a truck with faded and peeling letters that make my gut clench:
Marc + Ella Imports
The Marcello mafia. Do they use this place, or was the truck dumped after it outlived its usefulness? Either way, I file it away for later. The Marcello family’s one group Callahan wants to meet.
If they use this yard and I’m caught here, I could torpedo Callahan’s negotiations before they even start.
I’m just fuck-up central.
Through the debris, I plot a course to the warehouse. I was going to beeline it, but now I need to zigzag, dancing on a razor’s edge because who the fuck knows when that gun will reappear? I can make it to that rusting truck ahead and to my right, then?—
Gravel crunches under a boot.
I freeze.
Heart pounding, I cock my head, listening for more. Another crunch and another.
But the steps aren’t getting closer. They’re moving away from me. There’s gravel all around the building, so I take my chances and make a run for it.
