“They’ll tell the truth. And the truth is that our tanks will never be more than half full. A slight mismark on the paperwork that is easily bought, if you know what I mean.”
I nod, my lips between my teeth. Then I shut the gate and lace my hands behind my head.
“Ransome… Tristan is never going to stop.”
“Never going to stop what?” I ask, though I know full well.
“Breaking the rules. Crossing the lines. Hurting people we care about. Taking things from us. People from us.”
The pang in my chest pisses me off.
He’s talking about Nik and it’s a direct hit to the nerve. I don’t talk about my younger brother to many people. My dad and I definitely don’t talk about him. Not about his accident. Not about how he was supposed to be thepakhaneven though he was younger than me. And definitely not about how we would be stupid to believe the accident was an accident.
“This job will take the Chadovichs off the map, son. They’ll have nothing.”
I suck the inside of my cheek. “So you want to take their territory?”
“We won’t have to take it. They’ll lose it by default if we are running an operation this size. I want you to think about that.”
Of course I am thinking about it. I am also thinking about how having Tristan Chadovich out of my hair has been a goal of mine since we were young. He’s always been a snake and that’s saying a lot in this world. Most of our morals point just left of due North. But Tristan… Tristan has a history of being loyal to no one, blood included.
“Also, son, I want you to take a look at this.”
I follow my dad over to a back room where the product—as he calls it—is being packaged by workers who better resemble robots than people. They’re silent, their heads low and their eyes lower.
“You smell that?” he asks.
I smell nothing. The room is loaded to the brim with fresh snow and yet it is odorless. That’s a sign of good stuff.
“Take a look,” he says, showing me a sample under the light. It’s bright, fine, and almost luminescent.
“People can cut that shit and create the same effect. Plenty of agents will produce the same appearance.”
“Which is why it’s tested.”
“Colormetric purity?” I ask.
“Tested.”
“Reagent?”
“Tested.”
Goddamn.
If he’s right, and he probably is, this is the purest I’ve seen in a very long time.
“It’s worth triple what the Chadovichs are pushing.”
Triple. Jesus fuck.
“And the mules?” I ask.
“Vetted. These aren’t street dealers. We’re working with Pablo Alvarez.”
I can feel the color leaving my face at that. He’s the kingpin in the drug world. A bolt of power surges through my veins. At the same time, I know the risk. Whether my dad favors the word or not.
“This is deep,” I state as we walk back into the main room where the trucks are.
