Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Alex followed closely behind Trout, who walked briskly down the long hallway, briefing off everything Alex needed to know about the job.

“Cameras, every corner of the house,” Trout said. Alex took mental notes, memorizing the layout. He'd need to know the safe angles just in case.

Trout stopped in front of a room and handed Alex a key. “This is your room. Change into your uniform. I’ll be waiting.”

Alex entered the small space. Bare but adequate, just enough for one person. A single bed, a table, a chair, and a wardrobe. A tuxedo lay neatly on the bed, his uniform. 

Fancy.

He changed quickly and stepped back out to find Trout leaning against the wall.

“Took you long enough,” Trout said, scanning him up and down. “Let’s go.”

“Where exactly—”

“Don’t speak unless spoken to,” Trout snapped, placing a finger to his lips. He turned and began walking, leaving Alex to follow silently.

They descended to the fourth floor and entered a large, soundproof room, a shooting range.

“Being a bodyguard means knowing how to handle this.” Trout pulled out a pistol and held it up. 

Alex swallowed the urge to scoff. He’d been dismantling heavier guns since eighteen. Still, he feigned ignorance and gave a clueless shrug.

“Do you know how to use this?” Trout asked.

Alex shook his head. Play dumb. Observe. Blend in, that was how he planned to do it.

Trout disassembled the pistol slowly, then reassembled it twice under Alex’s watchful eye, and he stepped away from the table.

“Your turn.”

Alex stepped forward and picked up the gun. He fumbled on purpose, dragging out the task until Trout groaned, and hissed repeatedly.

“Finally,” Trout muttered. “Again.”

This time, Alex moved quicker, still clumsy, but better. Trout raised a brow. “You’re getting the hang of it.” He gave Alex’s shoulder a half-hearted pat. “Now hit the target.”

Just then, Lucian entered the room, silent as a shadow. He stood by the door, arms crossed, watching them. He'd finished taking a bath, so he decided to come down to the shooting range where he knew they'd be.

Alex picked up the pistol again. He slouched his shoulders, tightened his elbows—wrong stance, wrong grip. He fired, and the bullet went wide. He jumped slightly at the sound.

Trout burst into laughter. “Who let Barbie in here?” He clutched his aching tummy. "It's a gun shot not a bomb."

“Like this,” Trout said, taking his own shot. Not perfect, but close enough to the bull's eye.

Lucian’s voice cut through the air. “Try again.” He walked towards them.

Alex turned, startled. Lucian approached, looking cool and composed. He stopped behind Alex, far too close. Alex tensed up.

“You’re holding it like it’s going to bite you,” Lucian murmured, placing one hand on Alex’s shoulder, the other guiding his grip.

Alex felt the warmth of Lucian’s breath brush the back of his neck. The room felt suddenly smaller, heavier. He was too close for comfort.

“Relax,” Lucian said. His voice was firm but low, laced with something unreadable.

Their fingers overlapped on the cold metal of the gun. Lucian adjusted Alex’s aim.

“Now shoot.” Alex pulled the trigger, and the sound of the gun shot rang out as it hit the target.

Bull’s-eye!

Lucian didn’t move. His hand still lingered. Something crackled in the air between them, forbidden.

His phone buzzed snapping him back to reality. He stepped away and pulled it out.

Skipper, the man in charge of his shipments.

“The shipments have arrived,” came the voice on the other end. "Arrived five minutes ago."

“I’m on my way.” Lucian hung up, pocketed the phone, and turned to Trout. 

Trout gave a single nod, no questions asked. He understood everything that was unsaid.

“Let’s go, new guy,” Lucian said to Alex. "Your first job." He turned, and walked towards the door.

Alex followed silently, wondering where they were headed. Outside, a black Range Rover waited at the front door. They hopped in, four men in each car and they drove off.

As they drove, he discreetly noted the route, memorizing the landmarks. They were headed to the outskirts, an industrial area.

The car rolled into a private high-end secured warehouse compound. Three trucks were parked. Two were filled with mattresses, and the third was empty.

Lucian stepped out. Alex and the others stayed by the car, per Trout’s orders. 

Lucian approached a tattooed man, Skipper.

“You checked them?” Lucian asked, and Skipper shook his head.

“We had to wait for your go-ahead first.”

Lucian pulled out a cigar, and Skipper lit it for him. 

He exhaled slowly, puffing smoke into the air. This side of the city was always cold, something he didn't like, but what choice did he have?

“Let’s go.”

They walked to one of the trucks. Lucian crouched by a mattress marked with an X. A jackknife was handed to him. He cut it open and dug his hand inside.

He pulled out a vacuum-sealed packet that had a White powder—Cocaine.

Alex's heartbeat spiked. Drugs. They’d smuggled narcotics into the city, hidden inside mattresses. These guys were good.

He needed proof. Something concrete. He edged forward, trying to read their lips, but Trout grabbed his shirt, yanking him back.

“Where the hell are you going?” he narrowed his eyes.

“I need to take a piss.” he lied.

Trout pointed toward the trees. “Go there.” he let go of him.

Alex muttered a curse and disappeared behind the nearest tree. He pulled off his shoe, removing the hidden burner phone. No way he’d use the Romanos’ issued phone for this. It was too risky, and he didn't want to take any chances.

Just then, he heard voices nearby.

Moving carefully, he crept towards the sound.

 Behind a thick tree trunk, he saw Trout speaking with another man.

“The coke is good,” the man said, passing Trout a sealed sample. "You have to pay double because I'm risking my life to get this."

Trout sniffed it, grinned. “That’s pure.” he smiled. He dipped his hand into his pocket, brought out money and handed it over to the man.

Alex’s eyes widened. That’s it. Hard proof. He needed to get this to the inspector. First things first, he had to call her.