Levi and I trade a look. Right. The gunrunners’ meet is today.
“You have to be here, Jinn,” Jace says, jaw tight. “They won’t trust a handoff without the president standing on the gravel.”
“I’m sorry, guys,” Jinn says, not sounding sorry at all. “Jace, as my VP, I have full faith in you.”
The line clicks off.
For a breath, none of us talks. Missing cash from the safe, and now this. My palm still burns from crushing that cup, and my gut burns worse.
“So we carry his mess,” I say, voice low.
The gunrunners want us to move a shipment across state lines, no questions, no names, just cash. All high risk, federal heat if anyone slips. None of us agreed to this, not really. Jinnmade the promises, Jinn set the price. He’s the one they expect to see.
My hands curl into fists. We’re left holding his bag, the club’s rep on the line, and all I can think about is Carrie—gone, out there, maybe running straight into more trouble. Jinn’s already disappeared with Marcy and a stack of cash. Now he wants us to smooth things over with armed strangers on our turf.
I can feel Levi’s tension next to me, the hard edge in Jace’s stance. In my gut, everything is wrong.
For a second, none of us move.
Jace scrubs a hand over his face. “He’s unbelievable.”
Levi’s jaw is locked, his eyes cold as steel. “We’re the ones standing here if this blows up. Not him.”
I nod, anger grinding under my skin. We all knew the score, even if we didn’t agree to play. Jinn cut the deal with out-of-town gunrunners—crossing state lines, carrying enough heat to fry all of us if it goes sideways. Jinn’s name is the only reason they’re coming. And now he’s disappeared, and it’s on us to look them in the eye.
Jace looks at both of us, shoulders set. “Doesn’t matter what we want. Only way is through.”
Levi glances at the door, then the lot. “He dumped this in our lap, but we’re not letting him ruin the club. We get through today, no matter what it takes.”
He glances at the screen, thumb hovering, then shows us—the coordinates from Jinn.
A location. Coordinates we recognize: the old gravel lot just south of the truck stop, a place nobody goes unless they’ve got business better kept in the shadows.
Jace swears under his breath. “He wants us to meet them there. Now.”
No one argues. There’s no time to second-guess, no point in splitting hairs about how Jinn keeps pushing the dangerous shit onto us.
I grab the keys to my truck. It’s big, battered, nothing flashy. No club decals. Nothing to stand out but the dented fender and a reputation you can’t see unless you’ve heard stories in the right bars.
We pile in, Levi shotgun, Jace behind me.
We take back roads, tires humming over cracked asphalt. Every intersection looks empty, but I’m watching mirrors, windows, every flick of motion. The world outside is all sun and shadow, ugly little towns strung along highways, broken fences and the hollowed-out shells of old motels. I can feel the weight in my chest, the kind that never really leaves when you’re running a job like this—especially one you never wanted.
We pull into the gravel lot. It’s wide, open, with tall grass pushing in at the edges. The ground’s rutted, puddles glinting in the low morning light. No one else here yet. I kill the engine and the silence is total. Birds scatter from the grass. In the distance, a train wails like it knows what’s coming.
Jace checks his phone again, then glances at me. “We wait.”
We do, five minutes, then ten. Tension builds with every tick of the second hand. I flex my fingers on the wheel. Levi drums his fingers against the door, eyes never leaving the horizon.
And then they arrive.
First, a black SUV pulls in slow, heavy with attitude. The windows are tinted, spotless, the kind of ride bought with untraceable cash. Behind it, a beat-up white panel van rolls in, riding low—too low for what it ought to be carrying. The van parks at an angle, blocking the only easy exit from the lot. My neck prickles. That’s not an accident.
Doors open. Three men from the SUV, two from the van. All of them in work jackets, caps pulled low, sunglasses eventhough the sun’s still weak. They spread out, but not casual—too practiced, too alert. One stays by the van’s rear doors, hand never straying far from his pocket. Another lights a cigarette and keeps his back to the lot, eyes on us over his shoulder.
Jace gets out first, posture relaxed but projecting power. He nods at them, no smile. “You’re early.”
Their lead man, the driver of the SUV, is big—neck wider than most men’s thighs, jaw bristling with stubble. He looks Jace over, measuring, then shrugs. “You’re late.”
