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“Aye. Friend of yours?” “Something like that. Where is he now?” “Got him in the warehouse at the docks. Had him since the middle of the night, but didn’t want to, uh…” He coughs. “Disturb you. What do you want me to do with him? Fish food?” “No. Bring him here. I want to talk to him. And not so much as a bruise on him, understood?” “Copy that. I’ll text you when we’re on P1.” Declan disconnects. I lock the library door, then use the hidden door behind the bookcase to access a corridor that leads to a service elevator. Then I head down to P1 to wait. Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in front of a handcuffed man with a black cloth hood over his head who’s on his knees on the cold cement floor of my parking garage. He’s hissing and struggling like a feral cat. It takes two of my bigg
- Writer
