Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75929 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
As if drawn there by just the thought—and totally, absolutely not because I wanted to run into Soren—I found myself standing outside the nightclub, finding Gav standing out front with his crew. Everyone had matching worried faces.
“Hey, Gav. Everything alright?” I asked.
“Wow. That was fast,” he said, turning to look at me.
“What was fast?”
“I just called Mr. Vale. I figured we’d be standing here for another hour or two, twiddling our thumbs. Or talking to the cops without one of you.”
“The cops?” I croaked, heartbeat hammering against my ribcage. “What do you need cops for?”
“Well,” Gav said, looking oddly squirrelly. “The thing is, we had a delivery this morning. And, well, we’re not sure what happened, but… I guess the door wasn’t locked. And someone…”
“They jacked everything,” one of his guys supplied.
If they expected shock or outrage, I was the wrong boss to be speaking to. Not many people knew this neighborhood better than I did. There was always someone around who was willing to steal a bunch of shit—from high-end electronics to fucking stuffed animals—and resell everything.
Everyone had to have a hustle.
I didn’t even particularly begrudge someone for this one, since we didn’t want the neighborhood knowing it was partially my club.
“Alright. What’d they get?” I asked, watching Gav’s brows knit.
“The flooring.”
“The… flooring?”
“Black marble tiles. Go for about fifteen per tile.”
“And how many tiles were there?”
“Seventeen hundred. That’s—”
“Twenty-five grand,” I supplied. “Marble tile, that’s heavy, right?”
“It would have been a project. Something like ten pounds per tile.”
“How long a gap was there between when the shipment got here and when you got here?”
“An hour,” Gav said. “Max.”
“Any chance the dumpster is missing?”
“The… dumpster?”
I moved past them, going down the alley beside the building toward the little opening behind where, the day before, there’d been a mini dumpster.
“What…”
“Work smarter,” I said, shrugging. “You said Soren is on his way over?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
Good.
He could deal with the cops.
I wasn’t going to get my ass chewed out by Renzo for getting my face on anyone’s radar.
“What?” I asked, catching Gav staring at me.
“Your hair is different.”
Shit.
The rest of the dye must have washed off in the shower.
Great. That was just great.
“Nope, same as it was,” I lied. Better to gaslight the contractor than have Soren find out I was secretly dying it each time I saw him, so he didn’t get suspicious about my credentials. “Alright. I’m gonna let Soren handle this. I have… somewhere to be.”
I had to see a man about a dumpster.
More specifically, I had to see a local crew about a dumpster. Because there was no way one guy had pushed that damn thing full of that much marble.
Before Gav could object, I slipped back down the alley.
“What is it?” Renzo answered on the first ring, sounding distracted.
“Someone jacked a shipment of marble from the club,” I told him. “Twenty-five grand in product.”
“Shit.”
“I want to get it back.”
“No shit you do. Alright, look,” he went on, sounding more focused. “I don’t want them knowing you’re involved with that club. At least not directly. If you want to spew some shit about not wanting the club to take this as a sign to choose a different location, when we planned to lean on them, go with that.”
“Got it,” I said. I hung up, then called Bastian.
“You’re calling me?” he asked. “Did something happen?”
“I need some muscle. Literally.”
“For what?”
“Someone in the neighborhood jacked the marble for the club. Just stacked it in a dumpster and rolled it off. I’m gonna need some help rolling it back when I find it.”
“Alright. Tell me where to meet you.”
Done with that, I shot off a text to Serano, then started looking.
The neighborhood was big, and there were many places to hide a dumpster. But there were also a lot of eyes around. While most people liked to mind their own business, sometimes kids or the unhoused would be willing to provide some information for some cash.
It was about an hour and a half before we finally found someone who’d both accept the money to talk and had actually seen something.
“Should have guessed it was the Gallagher boys,” Bass said.
“What do you know about the Gallagher boys?”
“Haven’t been sitting on my ass since I got out of prison, you know—”
“To be fair, I figured you would be fucking your way through all the boroughs.”
“Well, there’s been some of that,” he admitted, eyes warm. “But I’ve been working hard to figure out all the crews operating not only in Brooklyn but some of the other boroughs. So many have changed since I went away. When Renzo finally lets me have my own crew, I want to be a solid leader.”
“Etiquette lessons aside, I think you’ll run a solid crew.”
“Yeah? Means a lot coming from you.”
“Sure,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Hey,” he said, stopping mid-stride to look at me. “For the record, I’m not on your ass because I don’t think you know what you’re doing. I really need this job to reflect well on me. Lost years of my life inside. My career should be on par with Rico’s, but I’m doing jobs like an associate instead.”