Liam stood about fifty feet from the warehouse.
Hawks' old place.
The last time he'd been here, Hawks had been bleeding out on the floor. Dying. Now someone else was trying to claim it.
The building sat low and wide. Single story. Concrete walls painted a faded grey, streaked with rust stains from the metal panels near the roof. No windows on the front. Just solid wall. The big roll-up door at the center was shut tight, chains hanging from the handle.
But there was a side entrance. Regular steel door. Propped open.
And there were people outside.
Seven of them. Standing near the entrance. Passing cigarettes between them. Talking. Laughing.
Liam started walking toward them.
He kept his pace steady. Casual. Hands in his pockets. Just another guy approaching.
Fifty feet became forty. Thirty.
Their voices started to reach him. Faint at first. Just the sound of conversation. Then clearer.
