He doesn't deny it. Just grins wider, and that's when I see them.
More headlights. Coming from the entrance behind the loading bay, the one we didn't block because I'm apparently getting sloppy in my old age. Three more vehicles, packed with what looks like half the Southside crew.
Ten to our three.
Now the odds are getting interesting.
Funny that the immediate thought in my head is that Ellie alwayshatedthe number three.
"Surprise," Carson says, and his hand goes for his gun.
Everything happens at once.
Matt moves left, providing cover while Tony goes right. I'm already drawing, muscle memory taking over as each millisecond stretches. Carson's gun clears his waistband. Myfinger finds the trigger. The distance between us collapses to nothing.
The first shot goes wide—his, not mine—and then we're all firing.
Muzzle flashes light up the darkness like a fucked up strobe show. The sound makes my ears ring, echoing off the warehouse walls. I drop behind the Lambo, using it and the shipping container behind for cover even though bullets are punching through the door like it's made of tinfoil.
Fuck.
That's going to be expensive. Ilovedthat car. Had grand plans to fuck Ellie on the hood and everything.
Tony takes one in the shoulder, going down hard. Matt is still returning fire, but we're outnumbered and outgunned. Should have suspected that Carson was smarter than the average snow dealer and wouldn't walk into this alone.
The asshole's crew is spreading out, flanking us, and I realize with crystal clarity that I haveroyallyfucked up.
Another bullet punches through the windshield, webbing the safety glass. I fire blind around the corner, hear someone scream, but there's too many of them. Too much firepower.
This is how I die.
Shot to death in a dock warehouse over stolen product, and Ellie's going to hear about it on the news if the guys don't find out first. Probably won't even give a shit. Hell, she'll probably throw a fucking party that the psycho who collared and leashed her is finally dead.
The thought makes me angrier than the bullet that grazes my arm.
I pop up, aim, and drop one of Carson's guys with a headshot. But two more appear to take his place, and they're getting closer.
Damn, we miscalculated bad. This is a full-blown fucking coup.
Matt is down now too, clutching his leg and cursing in Spanish. Just me left standing, and my clip's running low.
This is it.
I grab another ammo clip, hands steady even though my heart's trying to punch through my ribcage. If I'm going out, I'm taking as many of these fuckers with me as possible. Starting with Carson and his smug fucking face.
That's when I hear it.
The roar of a motorcycle engine, getting louder, closer. Too fast for the confined area.
Then Tank explodes into view.
He's not even trying to be subtle. Just guns the bike straight at Carson's crew, using it like a battering ram. Two guys go flying, bones cracking as several hundred pounds of steel and rage collide with flesh.
Tank doesn't slow down, just ditches the bike mid-momentum and rolls, coming up with a gun in each hand.
The change in odds is immediate.
Tank moves like death incarnate, all that muscle and training put to use. He's not aiming for center mass like they teach in themovies. He's going for headshots, double-taps, making sure each target stays down.
