“OK.” Mick backed off. His brother had always been short-tempered, but after Iraq . . . Mick had learned it was better to let some things go. Once Sam went apeshit, there was no calming him down until his rage ran out of steam. Mick swiped the manila envelope of cash from the coffee table. “Let’s go.”

Sam followed him out to the garage. Mick unlocked the door and raised it. His hand trailed along the shiny black fender.

Sam whistled softly. “Badass car.”

Mick unlocked a wooden storage bin in the rear of the garage. He took out two assault rifles and a box of ammo Sam had bought off one of his ex-military pals. He put the firepower in the trunk and covered it with a tarp. Then he slid behind the wheel and settled into the black leather seat with a satisfied groan. The engine started with the satisfying rumble of a V-8. He grinned at his brother through the open window.

Mick backed out of the garage. Sam opened the back gate, closing and locking it with the chain and padlock after the Charger passed through. He got into the passenger seat.

“No smoking in the car.” Mick stroked the steering wheel and inhaled the new-car smell.

Sam sighed. “OK, Mick. Gonna be a long drive, though.”

“I’ve barely driven her. She isn’t even broken in yet.” Mick thought about the cool blond waiting for him in New York. He couldn’t wait to break her. “Tell you what. When I’m done with the blond, I’ll let you have a crack at her before I kill her.”

“Promise?”

“You bet. We’re family, right?”

“Right.” Sam’s eyes lit up as if he were eight, and Mick had promised him a new bike.

He checked his phone. A text message showed on the screen. Every week the drop was in a different place, which wasn’t revealed until thirty minutes prior to his drop time. He opened the message. The address wasn’t familiar. Mr. K never used the same location twice.

“Plug this into your phone.” He read the address to Sam.

“It’s in an industrial park. Turn right at the light.”

Mick cruised through the residential streets, more slum than neighborhood. He followed Sam’s directions, and fifteen minutes later, he pulled up in front of a vacant warehouse. Litter piled up against the bottom of a Dumpster. There were no people in sight, but Mick knew they were being watched. A member of Mr. K’s inner circle was nearby, waiting to pick up the cash. He drove around the building. In the far corner of the lot, in the middle of a flat, open space with absolutely no cover, huddled a blue Goodwill donation bin. Mick pulled the car up to the receptacle. Leaving the engine running, he stepped out of the car. A cool night breeze swept across the flat and empty space.