Page 1 of Kael

Chapter 1

Kael

The heavy Florida humidity had turned into a thick, suffocating fog that had swallowed the city lights whole, leaving the roads nearly pitch black. Ominous. I was halfway back from the port after a deal, ready to be home, when my phone lit up on the passenger seat.

I reached over, fingers tracing the cracked glass, and flicked the screen open. Security alerts from the warehouse cameras pulsed across the display. I opened them.

Four feeds popped up.

Three figures slipped through the side loading door like they already knew the layout. I zoomed in. My chest tightened—a cold spike of adrenaline cutting straight through me.

Bria.

She hung back near the stacked crates, eyes wide, breathing fast. Even through the low-resolution feed I could see the fear on her face. She didn’t want to be there. Her addiction was stronger than common sense, and she wasn’t alone. Two skinny junkies with cheap guns were already moving down the main aisle, heading for the weapon crates.

She brought them here.

I hit a U-turn.

I let out a slow breath. That was on me. I’d taken her there once when I needed to meet Malachai. I knew what she was. She’d crossed me before.

I’d let her go too many times. Gotten too lenient.

Fifteen minutes later I was back.

I killed the headlights and turned off the main road, tires crunching over gravel as I rolled up to the back entrance. I drew my gun, screwed on the silencer, and slipped through the rear door. The city would swallow most of the sound, but I didn’t need any extra attention tonight.

Inside, the first junkie never got the chance to scream.

He was hunched over a cedar crate, crowbar jammed into the seam. I put two rounds through the back of his skull before he finished prying it open. His body dropped like wet meat. Blood sprayed across the plastic-wrapped rifles. The metallic tang of hot copper flooded the aisle.

The second one spun, eyes wide, and tried to raise his cheap Glock. Too slow.

I caught his wrist and twisted until the bone snapped like dry wood. His muffled shriek died in his throat. Before he could register the pain I drove my knife up under his ribs, twisting slowly, feeling the wet heat of his insides. The wet gurgling as his lungs filled was almost peaceful.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “It’s quicker if you stop fighting.”

He pissed himself before he died.

I wiped the blade on his shirt and looked toward the corner where Bria hid behind a stack of pallets.

I could smell her fear—that sweet, familiar panic.

“Come out, Bunny.”

My voice carried softly through the warehouse, bouncing off the corrugated steel.

No answer. Only her shallow breathing. I started walking, stepping over the bodies and the pooling blood.

“I know you’re there, baby. Saw you on the camera. Saw you bring these stupid motherfuckers into my warehouse.” I paused. “Why, Bria?”

A soft whimper. Then the scuff of sneakers on concrete.

She bolted.

Fast little thing—quick and easily frightened, like a rabbit. Her sneakers slapped hard as she sprinted for the side exit, arms pumping, hair flying. Desperate.

I was faster.