Page 64 of Claim

Backed. Protected.

Ghost wouldn’t be circling. No one would. Because everyone would know I’d gone down loyal. That I’d taken the hit the way I was supposed to. Even if Cormac himself had been the intelligence, even if the whole thing had been a loyalty test dressed up as bad luck, the outcome would’ve been the same. Money on my books. Goods coming in through the right hands. A defence team paid for and waiting, ready to get me to that Spanish villa. Not the kind found on legal aid lists, but the kind he’d bought years ago for men like me — men who did what they were told and didn’t flinch when the net closed.

But that wasn’t what was happening.

Cause I hadn’t done what I’d been expected to.

I’d taken an empty duffel into that warehouse instead. Filled with dead weight and empty bags. I’d cleaned every line back to me and the poison because I wasn’t planning to sell it. I’d been planning to walk. I’d been laying the groundwork quietly, carefully, making sure there was nothing left that could stick once I stepped away.

The plan had been simple. If the feds didn’t turn up, if the buyers took the bag, I’d have taken the money straight back to Cormac and told him I wanted out. Clean. Final. Cash in hand, leverage on my side. Proof I could still deliver and proof I didn’t want to anymore. Plus, he’d have both the poison to sell and the money to bargain with.

It wasn’t loyalty. It was a trade.

And if the feds did turn up, there’d be nothing on me. No product. No possession. Just presence and a name. Not enough to bury me, not enough to justify this.

I’d gambled on that.

On being careful enough. Being two steps ahead. The idea that restraint might count for something.

I’d been wrong.

Cormac hadn’t wanted restraint. He’d wanted obedience. And the moment I didn’t bring what he expected, the moment I proved I was backing away, I’d failed the only test that mattered. But it hadn’t stopped with him. He had voices in higher places than I’d accounted for. People who didn’t get their hands dirty, who didn’t need to. People who could offer him something better than loyalty in exchange for sacrificing me. Clean lines, untouched networks, a future that stayed intact.

I’d been the price.

A problem removed.

A lesson delivered.

“You should know him in your line of work.”

And if all of that was true, then being on the outside was just as dangerous as being in here. Maybe more. Not just for me, either. For anyone connected to me. Because the second they decided I might talk, that I might trade information instead of quietly taking the fall for the drugs, for Kyan, they’d stop hedging. They’d go all in. Silence the risk. Tie it off clean.

That was how this ended if I stayed boxed like this. Or if I walked free without protection.

Either way, the people I cared about were in danger.

I needed out.

And if I got out, I needed someone I could trust. Someone who wasn’t owned, or scared, or already bought.

I dragged a hand over my face.

Who the fuck did I trust anymore?

Normally, it would be Tyler. My second had been loyal to me since day one. But Cormac had sorted that, hadn’t he? Made me deliver a lesson so hard to him that his loyalty would drift, especially if Cormac dangled him my position in front of him. Tyler would grab that with both hands. He’d always wanted it. And as I hadn’t heard from him, via letters or any of the other less legal routes into the walls, I had to assume he wasn’t mine anymore.

I was on my feet before I’d fully decided and banged on the door. Once. Twice. Again. It took a while. Everything in seg took a while. Eventually footsteps, then the hatch slid open, and a guard poked his head in. “What?”

“I need a phone call.”

He looked at me as if I’d asked for a fucking massage. “You’re in seg.”

“I know.” I swallowed. “Cheers for the location pin. It’s legal-related.”

That made him pause. “Wait there.”

“Where the fuck else am I gonna wait?”