Page 8

“All clear!” one of our men’s voices booms.

I blow out a breath, my head thumping against the metal as I lean backwards.

Standing, I walk towards Beanie Hat’s body.

I kick him over to reveal lifeless eyes and a face that’s no longer recognisable.

Jac comes to stand beside me, cursing under his breath.

I tug the material off my face, pulling oxygen into my lungs as the air cools the sweat off my face.

These masks are fine in the colder months, but in the summer they nearly suffocate me. It’s safer to keep our identities hidden from suppliers, which means suffering these godforsaken pieces of fabric. It’s enough that most of the underworld knows us; the suppliers don’t need to know who’s buying from them.

"We need to get this to Matt. We need to find out where our Italian suppliers disappeared to tonight," I state, leading the way back to the car.

Our team are already heaving deceased bodies into black bags, ready to be disposed of, never to be spoken about again.

We enter the blacked-out SUV, taking one last glance at the destroyed container now littered with multiple bullet holes.

"Fuckers," I mutter before Jac pulls out of the docks.

Chapter 3

Camila

“Shit,” I mumble as I drop my silver hoop earring in the pile of sparkly outfits under my desk. Kneeling down on the soft carpet, I frantically flip through the various pieces of clothing, throwing them to the side and behind me, looking for the stupid piece of metal. The green glitter on my suspender belt scratches uncomfortably at my waist as I bend. Quiet chatter and giggling from the dressing room next to ours mixes with the low rumble of music floating in from the main room of the club.

Found it.

I pull myself back up into my white swivel chair, aiming the earring into my ear. The mirror’s LED lights shine brightly into my face, giving my light, honey-blonde hair a healthy glow. Which is a stark difference to those dark circles under my eyes still poking through the makeup. I normally opt for a more natural look—no one ever stares at your face when you’re up on that stage; they’re only interested in your cleavage or the jiggle of your bum when you move—but I desperately needed to cover the tiredness on my face. It’s only been getting worse since the radio silence from my past life.

I flip my phone over on the make-up-stained white desk, lighting up the screen.

No new texts. No new threats.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I flip it face down again and lower my head into my hands, elbows resting on the desk. “Stay gone,” I mutter as I run my fingers through my hair.

“It is heaving out there tonight,” Corrine wheezes as she enters.

I jolt upright in my seat.

That would explain the unusually empty dressing room.

I busy myself with my hair as Corrine dramatically slumps into the chair next to me, blowing a stray strand of black hair from her face. “Your hair is a mess. Let me.” She moves to stand behind me, grabbing the blonde locks into her hands and separating them into sections.

I tap my finger anxiously on the desk and catch Corrine’s chocolate eyes in the mirror, one perfectly waxed eyebrow cocked as tanned hands work to tame my waves back down.

“What?” I question, trying to sound nonchalant, but I probably don’t at all. I’m constantly just waiting for another threatening text to come through. Or for him to jump out at me at any given moment.

“You’re doing that nervous finger tap you always do.”

“It’s not a nervous finger tap. It’s a… habit.” I shrug. “And I had a super busy day. I’d love nothing more than to just get into bed.”

“Busy cuddling Obsidian in bed, recovering from last night’s shift?” she asks, doubt present in her voice.

“Precisely.” I nod, giving her an unconvincing giggle.

She rolls her eyes, a small smile appearing on her face.