f*****g hell. I need to give Cillian more credit. He’s a lot more perceptive than I realize sometimes.
I roll my eyes. “You really should focus more on your s*x life then mine.”
“What’s going on with you lately?” Cillian asks. His tone shifts from our normal bro-banter to something more serious. “For real, Artem.”
“Nothing,” I said, trying not to let my irritation show. “I’ve just been preoccupied with work.”
“Okay, brother. If that’s your story,” Cillian replies, letting it drop.
The screech of tires on gravel saves me from any further interrogation.
Two cars drive up at the same time. Standard wannabe-mobster bullshit—windows tinted too dark, no license plates, the backseat jammed with burly enforcers holding guns they barely know how to operate.
We have intel that this is the thi
