Chapter 61. Emergency

S:

The room smells like expensive cologne and political rot.

Leather chairs. Mahogany table. Suits that cost more than most men make in a month.

All of them smiling. Grateful.

Desperate.

“Your men did excellent work,” one says, the one with the square chin and dead eyes.

“We owe you,” says another.

I lean back in my chair.

Let the words wash over me like background noise.

“I gave orders. That’s all.”

I wave a hand, disinterested. “If you want to thank someone, thank my team.”

They exchange glances.

The kind of glance that stinks of hidden agendas.

Then it comes.

The trap wrapped in pleasantries.

“We’d like to take you out for dinner,” the youngest offers, trying to sound casual.

“To thank you properly.”

Kieran snorts beside me.

Loud. Obvious.

Unapologetic.

I raise a brow.

“Since when do you people want to dine with us?”

No answer.

Just more looks.