Bardhyn shifted gears, glancing at the man in his passenger seat from the corner of his eye. The employee was trying his best to look cool and unaffected, but sweat beaded at his temples and his breath came in shallow gulps. Bardhyn found that keeping those who worked for him on edge elicited the best results and also gave him the greatest pleasure. Pushing people mentally and physically was among his favorite pastimes. Forging passports, trafficking girls in several countries, running guns, and, of course, managing drug operations were immensely stressful jobs, and everyone needed a hobby. As long as his men were faithful to him, they had nothing to fear really. The man in the passenger seat had reason to be afraid. “Është në rregull gjithçka, Eltjon?” Bardhyn asked in Albanian. “Everything okay? You seem nervous.” “No, just hot,” Eltjon said, his neck stiff and his jowls trembling slightly as he inclined his head to Bardhyn. A spike of adrenaline or endorphin or some other hormone that felt damn good dispersed into Bardhyn’s system.
