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My eyelids grow heavier.

Footsteps.

Somewhere close.

Then a deep male voice breaks through the fog.

“Fuck. Stay with me, sweetheart. I've got you.”

Chapter 2

Torch

“Tell me you didn't threaten the client.”

Striker grins at me from across the table.

“Define threaten.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Grim chuckles from his chair.

I look at our president, waiting for him to intervene.

He just takes another sip of coffee.

“The guy wanted us to send one man to protect a shipment worth three million dollars,” Striker says. “One fucking man. And apparently, we're supposed to follow whatever route his driver decides to take.”

“So you threatened him?”

“I explained that if he wants our protection, he follows our rules.”

“And how exactly did you explain that?”

Striker scratches his jaw.

“May have suggested he shove his instructions up his ass.”

Grim bursts out laughing.

I close my eyes.

Some days, being vice president of the Damned Sinners feels like supervising a collection of heavily armed children.

Extremely competent, heavily armed children.

Which somehow makes it worse.

“Let me get this straight. The guy hires us because somebody's been threatening to hijack his shipment. Then he decides he knows more about security than we do?”

“Exactly.” Striker points at me. “See? You get it.”

“I get why you were pissed. Doesn't mean you need to tell the client where to shove things.”

“Would you rather I draw him a fucking map?”

“Only if you want to explain to Grim why we almost lost a very lucrative client.”