A shot cracks into the ceiling, and plaster rains down.
People dive for cover. Chips scatter across the floor. The prince’s guards move instantly, bodies shielding him as they crouch low. Dealers freeze with their hands raised, faces drained.
One of them steps too far into the open.
I drop behind the table as security responds instantly. Controlled bursts, trained movement. The room locks down in seconds.
Keller is already behind the bar with his weapon drawn. He fires, and his shot catches one of them in the leg. The man stumbles but stays upright, spraying rounds blindly in response.
One of the prince’s bodyguards ushers the prince behind a shelf while the other fires a shot, clipping one of the men.
Two of the intruders break for the cash bank near the front. One covers while the other grabs the box and shoves it into a duffel. They’re efficient and confident, like they’ve rehearsed this.
My stomach tightens. This is well-orchestrated. Someone wanted to make a statement.
A shot from somewhere I can’t tell takes one of them down. His partner doesn’t hesitate, finishes the grab, and retreats.
The remaining two lay down cover fire, forcing meback, as another helps the injured guy out. A round splinters the table inches from my head, wood fragments biting into my skin.
Keller fires again. This time, he hits one in the arm. The man yells but keeps moving.
“They’re heading out!” Keller shouts.
The last man pauses long enough to toss something across the floor before they disappear through the door. Tires scream outside.
Security is out, chasing them down. By the time I reach the exit, they’re gone.
I slam my fist into the doorframe, breath coming hard. Behind me, the room is a wreck. Tables are overturned, and glass is everywhere. Plares are huddled and shaking.
Keller joins me, face set. “They knew the layout and the perfect timing. This wasn’t random.”
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t.”
The quiet that follows is wrong. Too sharp.
Then a sound cuts through it. It’s cheerful and completely out of place.
A ringtone.
I turn toward it.
A phone lies in the middle of the floor, abandoned.
Keller reaches for it. I stop him with a look and hold out my hand. “Give it to me.”
He hesitates, then does. The device is light. Insultingly so.
I flip it open and bring it to my ear. The ringtone cuts off.
There’s silence on the other end until a voice comes through.
“Ridge,” Laurent Boudreaux drawls, his accent thick and deliberate. “Since you wouldn’t listen at our last meeting, I figured I’d get your attention another way.”
My grip tightens.
“That was just the beginning,” he continues. “You think a million and change makes us even? That’s a down payment.”
I say nothing.
