Bonez cursed under his breath, his sharp nails tapping against the wooden table as he glared at the glowing screen of his phone. Shin’s short message burned into his eyes like fire.
“Come to the warehouse. The boss wants to talk to you.”
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of fear and death. Bonez leaned back in his chair, his hand tightening around a crumpled piece of paper. He opened it again, his jaw clenched. It was the wanted poster—the one plastered all over the cities, the one that carried his face and the faces of his men.
He spat a curse.
“f**k… who did I miss?!” he whispered through gritted teeth.
His mind raced. Every attack, every raid, every bloody m******e they had done—he replayed them in his head. Bonez prided himself on being thorough. No witnesses. No
