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“You promised me you’d help me with this. Are you backing out?”
“Nope. No. Nothing like that.” She shakes her head. “You know where my allegiances lie. I’m just saying…if we could do this the natural way.” She takes a sip of her whisky. “You know, boy abducts girl, girl gets Stockholm syndrome and falls for her captor—I’d feel much more confident about not losing my license.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Still, keep the contract in a safe place. I’ll drag her down the aisle if I must.”
Freya hands me the glass. “I’m off to bed as well. Promise me you won’t stay up too late?”
I finish the last sip. “You know I won’t make a promise I can’t keep.”
She leaves me, her laughter trailing behind her as she goes.
I go to the kitchen to leave the glass in the sink. Once the girls are safely upstairs, I head to the Great Hall, where my men wait for me. I open the heavy oak doors to find them mingling around the table, sampling the whisky Fredrick has brought with him.
He’s a distiller by trade, but the nightclub he houses the distillery in is a business funded by us Burnes. He’s working undercover for me, opening the new hotspot, as Freya calls it, using his staff as eyes and ears to observe men who flash their cash, those who can afford top shelf but live in social housing, flats subsidized by the council. We’ll hire many young people from the island who have been eager to try life in the city but didn’t want to leave the warm embrace of family.
We trust them. They’re loyal to us. They will help us bring down the devils.
“Gather around, men,” I say.
Their faces are stoic and determined as they choose seats around me in the dimly lit room, the torches flickering from the iron sconces on the walls. The air is thick with a palpable energy that crackles between us like electricity.In this room, I host a collection of family members, Bayne’s family, as well as men who have sought me out.
Men who were loyal to the Hoax and happy enough trading arms or drugs, but when it came to people, they left, looking for a new gang to join. These men, ex-insiders, have provided much of our early intel, helping us get into place to research the Hoax’s comings and goings.
I stand at the head of the long oak table, my gaze sweeping over the faces of my loyal men. Bayne, tanned and fresh from his honeymoon to my left, and Declan, my most loyal man in Glasgow, to my right.
The soft glow of the torches flickers across their hardened features, casting shadows that dance like ghosts across the stone walls. In front of me, a map sprawls across the polished surface, dotted with black “X’s.” The X is swirled at the four tips of the letter, mimicking the one the Hoax uses for a symbol.
I’ve stared at those hideous wee “X’s” for so long that I’m starting to see them in my dreams. Starting to have them in my writing. Luckily, there are only a few words with “x” in them.
The “X’s” on the map mark the territory of our rivals.
One in red ink, just over the bridge that travels over the river Clyde, marking a warehouse where they store goods.
Several “X’s” on apartment buildings where they rent one-bedroom “safehouses” to store their “livestock,” as they so respectfully refer to their prisoners; the brothel, an older brick home in a darker part of the city; and several other spaces we know they operate but haven’t yet figured out what those places are used for.
My men report on their findings one by one, their voices low and tinged with simmering tension. They speak of whispered rumors and shadowy dealings of young women disappearing into the night only to reappear as broken shells of their former selves.
Or never reappearing at all.
I clench my jaw, my fists tightening as I listen to their accounts.
The Hoax may think they are untouchable, hidden behind their web of deceit and violence. But they need to find out who they're dealing with. They don't know the lengths I will go to protect what is mine and who is under my care.
But my men do.
Thus far, not a single woman from our island has been put in harm’s way, shielded from the dangers of the city, from these men.
This rival gang dares to traffic young women in their despicable sex rings. They think they can operate in this city without consequences, and so far, they have. But they are sorely mistaken if they think they can continue.
We will not stand idly by while innocents are exploited and abused for profit.No, we will strike back with all the fury of a storm at sea, with the brutality of my Viking ancestors.
My day-to-day job is selling illegal arms. It’s how I make my money. The sea connects Glasgow to the island and England and Ireland, places hungry for arms that can’t be found on their lands. Freya has her own cash-laden side hustles, taking an occasional bribe if there’s a cause she deems worthy and working her magic in the courts.
One family that she was particularly fond of, she did a two-for-one deal, earning acquittals for two family members facing time.
“We need to strike. And soon.” I turn to my right-hand man, Declan, the man I sent to collect Fiona, his steely gaze locked on mine. He nods once, a silent signal that he is ready for whatever comes next. “We won’t be able to stop them outright, but surely we can find a way to weaken them.”
The room falls silent, the weight of our shared mission heavy in the air. Declan's eyes gleam with determination as he speaks, his voice steady and unwavering. "We have been gathering information on their operations for months now. We know their weaknesses and routines. We know where they store their weapons and where they hold their meetings. It's time we start to make a plan to use that knowledge to our advantage." His words hang in the air, mingling with the tension that comes before a dangerous mission.
