Chapter 4

FOUR

COHEN

L ennox's office was cloaked in the warm glow of lamplight, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor as we settled into our chairs.

The room was spacious yet cozy, with sleek modern furnishings contrasting against a backdrop of exposed brick walls. A large mahogany desk commanded attention at the center of the room, its polished surface adorned with stacks of paperwork and a state-of-the-art computer setup. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled to the brim with meticulously organized files and books. Large windows overlooked the bustling city below, offering panoramic views of the skyline beyond.

The scent of whiskey mingled with the faint aroma of cigar smoke, creating a familiar atmosphere as we gathered around Lennox's desk. I leaned back in my chair, the leather creaking softly beneath me, as I took in the sight of my brothers. Not brothers by blood, but my family nonetheless.

"Cheers, boys," Cole exclaimed, raising his glass in a toast. He looked at ease in the office, dressed comfortably in dark jeans and a henley. His piercing blue eyes and dark hair caught the lamplight as he grinned.

Lennox chuckled, the sound rich and hearty as he raised his glass in a toast. "To good friends and even better whiskey," he declared, his voice booming in the intimate confines of the office.

"To good friends and better whiskey," we echoed, clinking our glasses together before taking a sip of the smooth, amber liquid.

"So, who's up for some sports talk?" Mateo chimed in, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he leaned forward in his chair. His sandy blond hair and relaxed attire complemented his laid-back demeanor.

"Always," Cole replied eagerly, settling back in his seat with a grin. "I've got some strong opinions on the upcoming season."

Lennox, ever the avid basketball fan, launched into an animated discussion about the latest trades and player performances. His blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he loosened his tie and recounted the highlights of the previous night's game, gesturing wildly with his hands to emphasize his points.

Cole, with his characteristic wit, chimed in with his own analysis, playfully challenging Lennox's predictions for the upcoming season. "You're putting too much faith in that rookie, Lennox," he teased, a meddlesome grin on his lips. "I'm telling you, he's all hype and no substance."

Mateo, leaning back in his chair with a casual air, added his two cents to the conversation. "I don't know, Cole," he remarked, his tone contemplative. "I think he might surprise us. Remember what happened last year with?—"

Before Mateo could finish his sentence, I interrupted with my own perspective, eager to join in the lively exchange. "I have to agree with Mateo on this one," I said, leaning forward slightly to make my point. "The kid's got potential, but he needs time to develop. Let's not write him off just yet."

"I don't know, mate," Cole said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "I think you might be underestimating the competition this year."

Mateo raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his gray eyes. "Oh, is that so? Care to make a friendly wager on it?"

The challenge was met with laughter and good-natured ribbing as we debated the merits of our favorite teams. Despite the gravity of our work, moments like these reminded me of the importance of our friendship.

But even as we laughed and joked, I couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered at the back of my mind. There were dangers lurking in the shadows, threats that we couldn't afford to ignore.

"Alright, enough sports talk," Lennox interjected, a note of seriousness creeping into his voice. "We need to discuss the situation with Salem."

The jovial atmosphere of the room shifted as we turned our attention to more pressing matters.

"I've been keeping an eye on her," Mateo said, his voice grave. "Something's not right. She's been acting more reckless lately, taking risks that she wouldn't normally take."

I nodded in agreement, a frown tugging at my mouth. "I've noticed it too. We need to figure out what's going on before it's too late."

Lennox reclined in his leather chair, a cigar dangling from his lips as he listened to Mateo recount the previous night's events. His sharp eyes darted between us, taking in every detail as he processed the information.

"Last night, she stabbed some fucker in the middle of a diner," Mateo began. "It was messy as all hell. The group of men were pissed when she left, and I had to organize a cleanup so it wouldn't come back to bite her."

I leaned against the desk, my fingers tapping idly against the polished wood as I listened to the banter between Cole and Mateo. There was a tension in the air, an unspoken worry that hung between us like a dark cloud.

"As much as I love her spirit, she's been pushing the limits lately," Cole remarked, shaking his head. "She is taking way too many unnecessary risks. Have you seen the amount of Black Dahlia killings this month alone?"

Lennox nodded in agreement, his expression severe as he considered my words. "She's always been headstrong," he remarked, his tone tinged with concern. "But lately, it feels like she's slipping away from us."

Cole exchanged a knowing glance with Mateo, a silent understanding passing between them as they contemplated Salem's recent behavior. "We need to keep an eye on her," Cole said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. "We can't afford to lose her."

His words were a sobering reminder of the dangers we were up against. We were all too aware of the risks that came with our lifestyle, but Salem's recent actions had set off alarm bells that we couldn't ignore. It was a wonder the FBI weren't already at our doorstep, and on top of that, the remaining fathers were still a threat. I pushed my hands through my dark hair in frustration.

"Agreed," I added, my voice firm. "We need to figure out what's going on with her before it's too late."

We sipped our drinks in silence. Salem was a force to be reckoned with, but even the strongest among us could fall.

With a heavy sigh, I drained the last of my drink, the liquid burning a fiery trail down my throat as I contemplated our next move. We couldn't let Salem slip through our fingers, not when her safety was at risk.

I walked over to Lennox's bar cart and reached for the bottle of whiskey, its surface cold against my fingertips as I poured generous measures into each of our glasses. The sound of ice clinking against glass echoed through the room as I passed the drinks back around.

Our brief silence was shattered as our phones simultaneously chimed. "Speak of the devil," Mateo muttered, his voice imbued with possession. We exchanged wary glances before reaching for our phones, curiosity mingling with apprehension as we read the message that had appeared on our screens.

It was from Salem, a cryptic invitation to meet her at an old warehouse she had discovered. The opportunity she presented was alluring. She had found a location that could provide us with the perfect base of operations, a sanctuary from the prying eyes of our fathers and their cronies.

We finished our drinks, and our anticipation was evident. These were the types of moves that would benefit us all. With a shared glance exchanged between us, we headed down to the lobby before ordering a car to whisk us away to the address in the Bronx Salem had provided.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the warehouse, its rusted exterior looming ominously against the night sky. With a nod from Lennox, we stepped out onto the cracked pavement, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the stillness of the night. As we approached the entrance, I took in the weathered exterior of the building, which bore the scars of years of neglect and decay. Graffiti adorned the crumbling walls, vibrant splashes of color standing out against a backdrop of urban decay. Broken windows gaped like empty eye sockets, allowing the faint glow of streetlights to filter through the darkness within.

Lennox motioned for the driver to leave us while we ventured into the warehouse. The vast expanse of the space stretched out before us. The main room was filled with rows of towering shelves and forgotten crates covered in dust. The air was thick with the musty scent of age-old decay, and the faint echoes of our voices bounced off the cavernous walls as we called for Salem.

Minutes ticked by in agonizing silence until, finally, a voice pierced through the stillness. It was Salem's, calling out from somewhere deep within the bowels of the warehouse. With a sense of urgency, we hurried toward the source of the sound. My heart pounded so loudly in my chest, I was sure the others could hear it

As we entered the room, confusion washed over me like a tidal wave. Instead of finding Salem, we were greeted by the flickering light of a projector, casting eerie shadows on the walls. On the screen, Salem's image appeared, her face illuminated by a ghostly glow.

"Sorry, boys," her voice echoed through the room. "I couldn't make it tonight."

We exchanged puzzled glances. What the fuck was going on? What was Salem playing at? Why would she lead us here only to be absent when we arrived?

Frustration bubbled up inside me, mingling with the growing unease that gripped my heart.

"What's going on Salem?" Mateo's voice rang out, the urgency clear in his tone as he glanced around the sparse room, searching for any sign of her.

"Come on, Butterfly, what's this all about?" Cole chimed in, his brows furrowed in frustration.

Their voices reverberated off the walls, bouncing back as unanswered pleas in the empty expanse around us. But there was no response, only the cold silence of the abandoned warehouse and the distant hum of machinery.

Before we could even begin to process what was happening, the door to the room slammed shut with a resounding clang, sealing us inside. Mateo rushed forward, his hands groping at the handle in a frantic attempt to force it open, but it refused to budge. Panic shot through me like lightning, threatening to overwhelm my senses.

As the realization sunk in that we were trapped, Salem's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "You see," she taunted from the screen, her words dripping with malice, "It's come to my attention that the very murderers I was hunting were right under my nose, right in my bed, this whole time." The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as her words echoed in my mind.

The screen flickered. Salem's face faded, and in her place, a video began to play. Grainy footage of us dragging a heavy hockey bag out of Remi's hotel room played on a loop. My stomach churned at the scene depicted before us, each frame a damning testament to our actions. I exchanged stunned glances with the others, the guilt of what we had done settling heavily on my shoulders.

Before we could demand answers from Salem, a smoky gas began to seep into the room, its sickly sweet odor twisting my stomach into knots. I staggered back, my vision swimming as dizziness flooded over me. Desperate gasps filled the air as we struggled to remain upright, but the fumes proved too potent to resist.

With resignation, darkness closed in around me, swallowing me whole as unconsciousness claimed me. As the world faded to black, I wondered what twisted game Salem was playing and what fate awaited us at her hands.