“Asa and his boys—Nino and Tariq.”
“Nino Moretti?”
“Yup.”
Benito whistled softly. “I thought he was just a weed slinger.”
“He was, then him and Asa got tight. Pretty sure he’s the one fronting the next product run. Asa don’t trust no one else.”
Benito turned it over in his mind. He barely remembered Nino Moretti. Somehow, over the past few months, faces that had once been razor sharp had blurred to become almost meaningless. Only Mickey’s face came to him with ease—his slate grey eyes, sandy hair, and his rough, sexy grin. Benito saw it in his dreams, awake, asleep, always.
“You still there?”
Benito nodded slowly.Finish this. “Tell me everything you can about Moretti, then we’ll arrange the drop.”
* * *
Cherry Bank Way. Three miles outside London, the sprawling industrial estate was a place Benito had spent more time than he cared to admit. He knew it like the back of his hand.
He also knew it was three miles too close to the city he was forbidden to enter without a parley with Asa Gerrard.“Stay out of London...”Benito shivered, and not from the cold, though the battered Ford Fiesta he was currently holed up in was the worst car he’d commandeered so far—damp and draughty. Even the gear stick was mouldy. But it ran, and it was nondescript enough that no one noticed it had been parked in the same space on the industrial estate for nine hours.
Ninelonghours that felt like years.
Benito blew warm air onto his frozen fingers and flexed them, trying not to wish he was in the SUV he’d abandoned earlier that day. Heated seats. Windows that closed all the way to the top. A steering wheel that didn’t seem perilously close to falling off.
Was it all for nothing?
Hours ago, Benito might’ve feared it was, but in the last ten minutes, things had changed. Across the darkened car park, a thrum of activity had sprung up around the loading bay of a faceless unit. A BMW backed up to the loading bay, boot open, wheels off, while men moved with a silent efficiency and rhythm Benito knew all too well.
They’re loading up.
Better still, after twenty-four hours of stalking the locations his contact had named, Benito’s target, Nino Moretti, was front and centre, getting his hands dirty like a man who knew he’d bear the consequences if shit went south. If he’d needed confirmation this was Asa’s run, this was it. Benito wished he couldn’t see Moretti’s face, though. His strained shoulders. The tightness around his eyes. Damn. How many times had Benito been in his position? Worse, how many times had he dumped it on other people with no care to what happened to them beyond how it affected his own agenda?
Benito’s heart skipped a beat, adrenaline and guilt sparking a slow tattoo in his chest he’d been dreading all day.You’re growing a conscience.
He’d said those words to Asa once.
Asa had laughed, and yet... he’d still set Luis Pope free.
Maybe—
Benito killed the thought before it took hold.
Focus.
His gaze flickered to the clock. Nine on a night he’d planned to while away driving for Uber and sending Mickey thirsty texts, and now he was going to spend it tailing the BMW who the fuck knew where, praying the piece-of-shit car he’d bought could keep up until it was time to strike.
Benito counted heads. Four in total. Too many to fight on his own, but he was banking on one of them staying behind to clean house in the unit.I can take three.It was a risk, but with a haul the size Benito was witnessing on the move, if he won, it was over...ifhe could shift the product, bank the money, and somehow convince Asa to accept his own cash as payment for Benito’s freedom.
You’re insane. It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed Benito’s mind, but he was starting to care less. If he lost tonight, he was finished, but staying tied to Asa for the rest of his life, caught in a lie he couldn’t escape, he was dead anyway.
The crew loading the BMW finished up. They fixed the wheels back on and resealed the boot. Then, as Benito had predicted, three of them got in the car while the last remained behind.
Nino Moretti climbed behind the wheel. Benito eyed him, wondering why he’d never crossed his radar in a meaningful way before. Had he been a foot soldier all along? A cog in Asa’s hidden machine that had taken Benito down? Or was he a grunt? A kid who’d come up too fast and was now way out of his depth.
The last option suited Benito better. He waited for the BMW to cruise out of the unit and leave the car park. The metal door descended, shielding the remaining crew member and concealing Benito’s escape.
He started the Fiesta. It spluttered to life and he cringed.Fuck, I’ll be lucky to make it out of the city.As if being behind enemy lines wasn’t risky enough.