“It’s his only chance, brother. He’s in a bad way,” Doc assures Fury.
I make the split-second decision. “Get a cage. Now."
Fury runs for his truck as Doc continues working on Biggy, preparing him for transport. I stand, scanning the alley, rage building in my chest. Two of my prospects attacked on my turf, right outside my fucking door.
"Spread out," I order. "Look for shell casings, footprints, anything."
My brothers move into action, searching the area with phone flashlights.
"They got the drop on them," Fiend says, voice tight. "Professional hit."
Los Cuervos sending a message. Testing our response. My blood boils as I look down at Tank's mutilated body.
"Zeus, get the security footage. I want to see everything." I point toward the warehouse. "Fiend, coordinate with the others for a body removal. Make sure to keep the spectators inside until we can get the area cleared. Don't want civilians out here panicking.”
Twelve minutes later, I'm staring at grainy security footage on Zeus's laptop, watching two figures in dark clothing approach our prospects. The image quality is shit, but I can make out the general sequence of events—a brief conversation, then sudden violence. Tank takes a bullet first, then Biggy attempts to fight back before he goes down too.
I watch it three times before I notice something else. At the edge of the frame, just for a few seconds, I catch a glimpse of movement. A shadow that doesn't belong. It quickly disappears behind the building.
"Stop." I point to the edge of the frame. "Back it up."
Zeus rewinds the footage, and I watch again. Same shadow, same quick movement. Someone else was there. Someone or something witnessed the slaughter.
My mind races through possibilities. For all I know, it could have been a stray dog, but there’s a gnawing in my gut that I’ve learned not to ignore.
"Enhance that," I say, leaning closer.
“I ain't CSI, prez,” Zeus mutters, but he zooms in anyway. The shadow is blurry, small.
My pulse quickens.
I stand abruptly and stride toward the door.
“Chaos? Where you going?" Zeus calls out.
I don't answer. Can't explain the compulsion driving me back outside, back to the scene of what’s possibly a double homicide—unless Biggy miraculously happens to pull through.
Without another word, I head back outside. The guys look up from where they're still processing the scene. Several patched brothers have already hauled away Tank’s body.
Mayhem is behind the wheel of Fury’s truck as it idles nearby with Biggy inside, ready to take off as Doc climbs in, holding pressure on Biggy’s wounds.
"Take him to Henry Ford Hospital,” I tell Mayhem. "Use the back entrance. Cash only. No club cuts."
I move past them to the spot where I saw the shadow on camera. Something pulls me there—instinct, maybe.
I don’t see a thing. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except…
It’s a long shot, but in the interest of covering all bases, I stride over to the dumpster. With one quick motion, I fling the lid open fully, pointing both my phone light and my weapon inside.
At first, all I see is trash. Then movement—slight, almost imperceptible. I reach in, grabbing what feels like an arm, and pull.
A young woman emerges from the garbage, tear tracks streaking through the dirt on her face. Her huge hazel eyes blink up at me like a frightened animal.
Fuck me, she's tiny. And young. Probably barely out of her teens. Her dark blonde hair is matted with god knows what, and she's shaking so hard I can hear her teeth chatter. But it's her eyes that gut me—wide with terror, but also filled with an innocence that appears vastly out of place in this world of gang executions, underground fighting, and turf wars.
"What the fuck?" The words slip out before I can stop them.
