DAMIEN
Hitting fourth gear in my Audi R8 rental, I sped down I-94 from Detroit Metro Airport just after nine o’clock at night. Getting off the highway at Jefferson Avenue and going through some shady as fuck neighborhoods to reach my final destination. I pulled into a gated lot just after ten, driving through what looked like a scrap metal yard to the back where a rundown warehouse appeared. Graffiti covering the exterior of the place and windows were broken out all around the dump. Not what I was picturing for such an exclusive meeting. I parked the R8, got out, and made my way to the entrance. There was a huge steel door that opened as soon as I stepped foot in front of it.
They are waiting for me.
Once I was inside, I took in my surroundings. Old machinery lined the outer walls, and the stench of rusted metal and dust assaulted my senses. As I walked further in, there was a large rectangular table in the center of the warehouse where several men had gathered, including Vlad. I took the empty seat next to him, surrounded by the exact men he said would be there. Some I recognized, others I didn’t. There were ten of us, including me. My guess was this warehouse was neutral territory for everyone, given the fact that each person in attendance brought something different to the table. Masterminds from all around the world.
It was like a fucked-up version of the United Nations.
I was familiar with these types of setups from my time working for Emilio and from my own connections. Although, it was never anything like this scene. This was on a much greater scale, and I preferred to stay in the background. Watching their mannerisms, looking for anything out of the ordinary. Picking up behaviors and characteristics most people would ignore.
The only rule for tonight was no entourage, you showed up alone. No security detail, which I’m sure was a stretch for these men, considering most of them didn’t even take a shit without being surrounded by armed detail. They were all highly wanted men, and not by the cops but by their own kind. Wanting to take them the fuck out to take their place as kingpin.
“There better be a really good reason why there’s a fucking narc sitting at the table,” the man that called himself Vinny rasped, glaring at me. He was an arms dealer, and one of the few I did recognize.
“They didn’t tell you? I’m here to arrest your sorry ass,” I mocked, void of any expression.
Vlad chuckled, “Vinny, he’s here like the rest of us, wanting to make a deal and offering a hell of a lot of names to protect our asses. Including yours. So, calm the fuck down.”
“How about we make our way around the table. Introduce ourselves that way we can be one big happy family,” Felix chimed in with a French accent, bringing our attention to him. He was sitting at the head of the table. “I’ll start. I’m Felix André, I specialize in money laundering.” He nodded at the man to his left to go next.
“I’m Jonas Schneider,” he introduced himself in a German accent. “I chop cars.”
It went on like this, everyone took their turn until it was mine. “I’m Damien Montero. I come offering my boats for trafficking your guns, your diamonds, your drugs, and whatever the fuck else is needed. I also come bearing names of politicians, feds, and judges. Those are just to name a few who will keep our dirty hands fucking clean.”
“How can we fucking trust you? How do we know the fucking feds aren’t listening right now, waiting to raid this shithole? I don’t fucking like you, and I sure as fuck don’t trust you,” Vinny roared, sitting parallel to me at the table.
“What’s there not to like? I’m giving you everything on a silver platter. I suggest you don’t shit where you eat.”
“Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up,” Vlad interrupted. “You both have huge cocks, so kiss and make-up so we can start this meeting.” Signaling to Felix to continue.
“Welcome everyone, we’re only missing—”
The steel doors abruptly opened, and everything proceeded in slow fucking motion like a ticking time bomb about to go off.
Me.
Life changed in a split second. I lived in a world that was black and white, and then suddenly…
There was color.
The hair on my arms stood up and a familiar sensation radiated throughout my entire body. When in walked a woman in a white fucking dress. Her long hair cascaded down to her thin waist, framing her beautiful face.
Except, the bomb inside me didn’t detonate until she confirmed another one of my worst fucking nightmares, aside from thinking she was gone and out of my life for good.
“I’m Amira, your drug lord.”
BOOM.