Page 133 of Trapped Truth

BLAINE

THE FLOOD - OLIVER HAZARD

I’ve never been well-acquainted with nerves or anxiety. My position in our illegal empire didn’t allow for such frivolities. I was raised to be detached. Collected. A scheming force of nature operating from behind the scenes, driving our business interests and raking in the profits.

The Phantom.

Ridiculous, really.

If my commitment to that goal wavered at any time, there was no doubt about what my father’s response would’ve been. I have the marks to prove it. Imperfection wasn’t tolerated, nor was uncertainty in the face of enemy fire.

Now? Shit, he’d have a field day watching me check and recheck my weapons a million times over while waiting for the red light to turn. Nervous anticipation buzzes in the haze drugging my extremities, but I don’t have the benefit of smoking a blunt to take the edge off.

“Are you ready for this?” Ember watches me from the passenger seat.

“I’m honestly not sure.”

“I wouldn’t blame you for being a little worried.”

“A little?” I laugh flatly. “I’m fucking terrified. Didn’t know it was still possible.”

“Everyone gets afraid, Blaine. Even scary mobsters.”

“Pretty sure my scary mobster days are over, sweetheart. I’m now a regular, garden-variety criminal without a whole lot of firepower left.”

I’m thankful we haven’t attached our comms earpieces yet. The last thing I want is for the rest of our team to hear that pathetic admittance. Getting them to agree to this plan took two days of back and forth as it is.

Police cordons litter every major road into the city, adding to the suspense. In the wake of the penthouse attack, their presence on the streets has tripled. Officially, the public still believes the explosion was related to gang warfare.

In London’s glittering business district? Yeah, right. People aren’t stupid. Tension is at an all-time high; evident in the scurried footsteps and furtive looks of those on the streets.

“The city feels different.” Ember reads my thoughts, picking up on the palpable unease.

“Like a bomb primed to explode.”

“Blaine! Not funny.”

“It wasn’t a joke.”

“Too soon,” she mutters in disbelief.

The rundown suburb on the outskirts of London grants us a level of anonymity. I’ve no doubt the location was selected carefully. All communications with Angela have been through Gunnar’s mysterious contact, adding to the precariousness of this mission.

I don’t know these people.

We’re taking a stab in the dark.

Admittedly, it’s a risk that involves expert air support from above and an entire team of trained agents waiting on standby to intervene at a moment’s notice. Deadly rage in guns and leather will drop from the sky if anything happens to us.

“There.” Leaning forward in her seat, Ember nods at a bank of dreary-looking businesses. “Is that it?”

“Seems so. Let me circle a couple times.”

“Why choose a sandwich shop of all places?”

“It’s nondescript. Hardly rouses suspicion.”

She fiddles with the strap on her hip holster. “I don’t like it.”