I nod. “Good. That’ll help when we bring the hammer down.”
We start to pull back, slow and quiet. My feet know this dance well. Shadow work. Ghost-shit. No sound. No mistakes.
But Lucky’s still learning. His heel hits a loose board, snapping it in half. The crack echoes like a gunshot across the dead lot.
My blood goes ice.
Riot’s expression shifts from cocky to murderous in a heartbeat.
Flashlights whip our way. Muffled shouts explode into chaos. Weapons raise. Safety clicks off.
Lucky’s breath stutters, panic slamming into him.
I clamp a hand around the collar of his cut and drag him close until my mouth is at his ear.
“You move when I move,” I hiss. “Not a second sooner.”
Boots hit the ground. Heavy. Fast. Angry.
Riot’s already palming a knife, jaw tight enough to crack teeth.
We’ve got one chance. One.
“Truck,” I growl, teeth bared. “Now.”
Riot peels off first, cutting between shadows like he was born in them. Lucky sticks so close behind me I can feel his heartbeat through my vest.
We break away from the warehouse wall. Flashlights slice through the dark, heat on our backs.
We sprint.
Shouts get louder. Someone racks a round. Another yells to spread out. They’re organized. Trained. Not scared of starting a war.
My pulse pounds. Gravel skids under my boots. The truck is a black silhouette just ahead.
If we make it inside, we’re gone.
If they reach us before we get there…
We’re corpses with cuts on.
We hit the truck like hell’s nipping at our heels.
I yank the door open and shove Lucky inside first before he trips over his own damn feet. Riot dives in on the passenger side,slamming his door while I fire up the engine. Headlights stay off. No sense making ourselves a glowing target.
Gravel spits out behind us as I whip the truck around, engine growling low like it wants blood too. Riot twists in his seat, watching the warehouse shrink into the dark. Flashlights chase us for a second, then vanish. Outrun. For now.
Lucky gasps for air, clutching the oh-shit handle like it’s his rosary. Riot smacks him in the chest.
“Next time you step on a board, I’m choking you with it,” he snaps.
Lucky opens his mouth to defend himself but wisely shuts it again.
My hands are steel around the wheel, jaw locked so tight it might snap. That warehouse. Those crates. The boss-man we don’t know. It’s a storm the club sure as fuck didn’t see coming.
I slide a one-handed grab at my burner phone and toss it to Riot.
“Call Pres,” I grunt, eyes glued to the rearview.
