Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

overcoats and smoking cigars, everyone staring with suspicion
at each other with narrowed eyes, weapons cocked under the
table.
“Anyway, things got hairy, and the Irish pulled out their
guns. From what I could overhear, it sounded pretty bloody.”
I slump into my chair, feeling sick. “Was this meeting
Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Because Kage showed up on my doorstep in the middle
of the night with a bullet wound.”
Sloane’s eyes widen. “Oh shit. Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. I stitched him up.”
She blinks. “You did what, now?”
I wave a hand in the air dismissively. “It’s easier than it
sounds. Back to the meeting. What else happened?”
“So apparently, the Russians have been top dogs on the
East Coast for decades now. Even with their leader Maxim in
prison for the past few years, they’ve got the most powerful
operation. All the other families have made agreements with
them to get their goods through the ports—”
“Goods?”
“Contraband. Drugs.” She pauses for a moment. “Cargo.”
With a sick feeling in my stomach, I understand what she
means. “The Russians are trafficking people?”
She shakes her head. “That’s the Armenians and the
Chinese. The Russians are mostly into weapons and drugs
distribution.”
My voice comes out weak. “Oh. Great.”
“Anyway, the Irish blamed the Russians for the massacre
at La Cantina. I guess no one has shot each other for years. It
violated some kind of truce agreement. Plus, one of the Irish
guys who was killed was a nephew of somebody important. So
they wanted some kind of compensation. And their demands