Collateral Blood

1

Harry sat at the head of the long, battered table, the dim light casting shadows over his sharp features. His green eyes, once vibrant and full of mischief, were now cold and calculating, hardened by years of survival in a world where violence ruled and loyalty was only as deep as the next payday. The underground warehouse, hidden beneath layers of concrete and steel, was his sanctuary—his fortress. This place was far removed from the glitz and glamour the world associated with his name, but this was the real Harry Styles. A leader. A predator. The most feared man in this dark, violent world.

The cartel had been his life for over a decade, ever since he was seventeen and decided that the world didn't give a damn about him. He'd clawed his way up from being a street-level dealer to running one of the most notorious gangs in the world. His crew respected him, feared him, and followed his orders without question. But trust—true trust—was something Harry rarely gave. The stakes were too high, the risks too great. Mistakes, especially in his line of work, were often paid for in blood.

And right now, one of those mistakes was threatening everything he'd built.

He leaned back in his chair, the worn leather creaking under his weight as he stared at the men gathered around him. His second-in-command, Tom, stood by the wall, arms crossed, his face tense. On the other side of the room was Mason, one of their newest recruits—a cocky bastard who had somehow managed to screw up the most basic of assignments.

Harry's jaw clenched as he turned his gaze to Mason, who was avoiding eye contact like his life depended on it. Which, at this point, it did.

"So let me get this straight," Harry said, his voice dangerously calm. "You were supposed to oversee the delivery. Make sure the product got to our buyer. That was your only job."

Mason nodded, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "Yeah, boss. I had it all under control, but there was a... complication."

"A complication?" Harry's voice dropped a note lower. "That's what you're calling it?"

Mason swallowed hard, nodding again. "Yeah, man. Look, everything was going smoothly, but some local crew—The Black Vipers—ambushed us. They must've known about the drop. We didn't have a choice, Harry. We had to fight back."

"Fight back?" Harry's eyes narrowed, and he stood slowly, his movements deliberate. "And in the middle of all that fighting, what happened to our product?"

Mason hesitated, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. He finally stammered, "It... it got left behind."

The room went deathly silent. Harry's crew members exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to speak. They all knew what it meant to lose product—especially this particular shipment. It wasn't just a minor setback. It was a disaster.

The product in question wasn't your run-of-the-mill drugs or weapons. This was something far more valuable—something the cartel had invested millions into. A new form of synthetic opioids that could revolutionize the market. Potent, addictive, and nearly impossible to trace. If their rivals got their hands on it, they'd not only lose money, but they'd lose control over the streets—a blow to their reputation that they couldn't afford.

Harry's hand twitched, and for a brief second, Mason flinched, as though expecting the worst. But Harry didn't pull out his gun. Not yet. He had to think strategically.

"Let me get this straight," Harry said, voice cold as ice. "You lost the product. And now, The Black Vipers have it?"

Mason nodded, barely able to meet Harry's gaze. "Yes, boss. But we know where they're keeping it. We can get it back."

Harry's anger simmered beneath the surface, but he kept it in check. Exploding now wouldn't solve anything. Mason's screw-up had put them in a tight spot, but if they played this right, they could still come out on top.