“Mr. Roarke,” he hisses.
“You’ve been up everyone’s ass all over Southie trying to pin something on my family or me. I think it’s time I threw you a bone.”
He barks out a bitter laugh. “I don’t need shit from you, you punk Irish motherfu-”
“Shut the fuck up and listen.”
He shuts up.
“What if I had something for you. That be worth anything to you?”
He’s quiet another second before he answers.
“I’m listening.”
I smile grimly as I snatch the bag of guns up and head for my car.
“Agent Marlow, how’d you like to make the bust of your miserable career?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Connor
The warehouse on the outskirts of Dorchester, near Anton’s turf, is black and deserted when I pull up and shut the engine off. The car parked fifty feet away facing me flashes its lights, and I grit my teeth as I open the door and step out.
Marlow.
I know I’m walking into the lion’s den here, but I’m out of fucking options. Besides, the guns are locked in the strongbox in my trunk, I’m not carrying anything, and if Marlow had anything real on me, I’d be in jail already.
That said, I called Liam - with Aela there too this time - on the way over here and let them know what was going on. I assured them I wasn’t drunk, or insane, and that I knew what I was doing.
…Even if I’m not entirely sure that’s true.
We’re meeting here because “here” is about two blocks from what I know is Anton Boiko’s main clubhouse, in an old printing factory the Boston Globe used to use way back in the day. SWAT’s staging in the dark warehouse next to us, gearing up to strike.
Marlow’s no ally, I know that, but it seems we’ve got a mutual enemy in Anton. You know that saying that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?
Yeah, well, that doesn’t apply here at fucking all, but if Marlow and I can use each other to get what we came here for, I’m fine with that. He confirmed on the phone before I even jumped in my car back to Boston that surveillance teams spotted a van driven by one of Oleg Liski’s guys heading back from Cape Cod.
Those motherfuckers have her, and if working with this piece of shit and his FBI buddies gets her back before Oleg hurts her, so be it.
And if he has hurt her?
The rage roars up inside of me.
If he’s hurt her in any way, I won’t be held responsible for the thunder I call down on this entire city, that I can promise.
I walk towards Marlow’s car, nodding at him as he steps out.
“Roarke,” he nods back, and I notice that his hand hovers by the holster at his hip.
“I’m not carrying,” I growl.
We size each other up, which is comical considering the physical differences between us. Him, the short, middle-aged, paunchy guy with graying hair and sallow skin. Me pushing six foot two and about two-twenty of lean muscle.
His perceived power comes from the fucking badge he wears. Mine’s been earned through blood and sweat and tears.
“So.” Marlow eyes me warily. “We have a deal?”
I grit my teeth, glaring at him. We do, and he knows it, he just wants to hear me say it to his face. I’ve already run this by Aela and Liam, and they’re both completely okay with giving up anything we’ve got on Anton and his crew. The cavalry swoops in and yanks Sierra out of there, and I spill whatever we know about the Ukrainians - who’s who in the operation, drop spots, known activity, the fucking works.
Bringing the law in on matters that involve the Saints isn’t something that’s taken lightly. In fact, I’m not sure it’s ever been done. But we tried diplomacy, and that clearly went up in smoke.
Anton asked for trouble. We’ll bring it to his goddamn doorstep, and if that involves sticking the goddamn FBI on his ass? So be it.
“We have a deal.”
Marlow smiles. “Excellent. That’s excellent. I’m glad we’re going to be friends here, Roarke.”
I swallow back the rage, knowing the clock is ticking but knowing I have to deal with this shithead.
“Can we get this show on the road now?”
He smiles. “Sure, Roarke, sure.”
I hate the way he’s being so casual - his fucking nonchalant demeanor considering what’s at stake here.
Marlow jerks his head towards the warehouse behind us and turns to head that way.
“Surveillance just confirmed the same van is parked outside the printing factory now, so we’ll be breaking down Anton’s door in ten minutes.”
“I’m going with you.”
Marlow just laughs as he strides ahead of me and shoulders open the side door. “I don’t think so, Roarke.”