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Chapter 7

Trigger warning: Language, violence

POV Willa

West looked worried when we got to the bedroom. I was worried too.

"They're on to us." I said and he nodded.

"What do you think that dude, Smith found?" he asked in French.

"Who knows? It could be anything. My fighting, the gangs, the jobs we've pulled, our training." I continued in French.

"Fuck! What should we do?" he asked, staying with French.

"We're going to have to keep up with the act through dinner. Then tonight we'll make our move. We'll have to take out our guard and then check out the offices. We're only going to get one shot at it though." I replied, still in French.

"What do you think they're hiding? Why did mom run?" West asked in Danish.

"They're obviously not fucking business men, at least not honest ones. Import and export, my ass. I'm sure they're drug dealers or gun runners or some such shit. Mom probably figured it out and ran. You know how she was about morality and values, well, until the drugs." I answered in Swedish
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