Arran’s Obsession (Body Count, #1)

Out of the lift, Arran went right to go to the back of the warehouse. I took the opposite direction. He didn’t ask, and I gave no explanation. I didn’t need to.

I’d heard his call. Whoever had sprayed paint on the exterior walls was either a moronic kid with no idea who he was messing with or a person who wanted to make a point with a cheap shot.

My money was on the latter.

If I was that individual, I’d be out there still, watching for the reaction I craved.

In the darkest corner of the warehouse’s grounds, the south side by the river, I exited and slipped straight into the shadows, an expert in using them like my crew name suggested.

Voices and radio static came from Tyler’s team. One strolled the perimeter, coming my way. I held still until he passed. This was exactly why I needed to be out here and doing this. No gun for hire could know the place as well as me, and while I respected Tyler, he didn’t usually work the warehouse. He was Arran’s intercept guy, heading out to ports and transit locations to take on new trafficking routes that popped up.

The trade that never died.

Alone again, I haunted the night-drenched surroundings. Instinct tugged my senses. I swung my gaze to the front of the building. Well lit and on a pretty brick-lined promenade at the end of the river walkway, it was the least likely place for trouble. Aside from fights between clubgoers at kicking-out time. Yet I followed the intuition, making it to the corner to give myself a view of the entrances to Divide and Divine.

From the street, a car accelerated.

My focus sharpened.

Tyres squealed, then in a rush, a vehicle bore down fast on the warehouse. It had the boot open and the windows blacked out in a way that couldn’t be legal. Meaning this wasn’t a car used often, or the blackout film had just been added.

I dialled Arran.

The driver performed a tight turn then reversed in hard, aiming straight at the club entrances. The car smashed into a low bollard, jerking the front wheels up. With the engine still on and fumes billowing, the driver crawled through the centre, only their shape visible through the dark glass.

I stuck my phone in my pocket and sprinted.

A naked body was shoved out the back of the car by gloved hands. The person dropped heavily to the ground in a tumble of limbs, and the driver whipped back to his seat, too fast for me to see anything but the skeleton mask he and the body both wore.

I couldn’t miss the blood, though. A slash of it gleaming under the yellow streetlights.

Driving my feet into the ground, I was almost on them.

“We’ve been rammed. I think someone’s hurt,” I yelled for the benefit of Arran if he’d answered my goddamned call.

The black car’s engine sound changed, then the vehicle lurched forward, a cloud billowing after it. The driver floored it.

Grey smoke swirled around the body dumped outside of the strip club. A blonde woman, nude, a red gaping slice across her throat, the bandanna only covering her upper face.

I stared at her in horror, then croaked out the words, “She’s been killed and dumped.”

Halfway up the hill, the car choked, stalling. They’d fucked it up in the crash. The driver scrambled out on the wrong side for me to see anything but their movement.

Furious, I took off, running hard to chase them down.