Archer
The heavy oak table in my study was scattered with blueprints, photographs, and notes—our roadmap to the next phase of control in this city. Ric leaned over the table, his fingers tracing on his ipad.
“We need to move the shipment through Boston,” Ric said, his voice sharp and focused. “The police presence is lighter there, and the security we’ve paid for has already cleared the area. We have to do this quickly, Don already sent the word.”
I nodded absently, my gaze fixed on the Ipad, but my mind was miles away. Her face kept flashing in my head—Elena. The way her lips pressed into a stubborn line when she was trying to hold her ground, the fire in her eyes when she challenged me.
“Archer,” Ric snapped, pulling me back to the present. “Are you even listening to me?”
I blink
