“And you were just accusing the princess of whining?” Caz says, his brows climbing to his hairline.
“Are we trading off?” Galen asks.
Caz shakes his head. “Boss wants everyone at the warehouse.” I open my mouth to protest, and he slams his palm over my lips. “You too, so no need to rip me a new one.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Galen throws his arms around, aggression and frustration leeching into the air.
“Saint says it’s too risky to leave her here unprotected.”
Before they can change their minds, I run up to my room while Caz heads to the bathroom. Grabbing my spare gun, I check the safety is on before sliding it into the holster and securing the belt around my waist. I sheathe my knives on my other hip and shove a spare clip in the pocket of my hoodie, pulling it down low so it conceals the belt. Then, I braid my hair, lace my sneakers tight, pull on black gloves, grab my cell, and skip downstairs to meet the guys.
“Oh joy. It’s Sports Barbie,” Galen deadpans, as Caz approaches behind him.
“Barbie was blonde,” I point out, letting Caz open the front door for me. His car is parked right outside.
“I bet you dye your hair,” Galen retorts, pulling the door shut behind him.
“I bet you kill puppies for shits and giggles.”
“Enough bickering, children,” Caz says, holding me at the waist as he steers me around to the passenger side of his sports car. “Daddy needs to concentrate on driving.” He tugs up the back of my hoodie unexpectedly, raising it and my tank well above my butt, and I instantly tug it back down, turning around and scowling. He holds up his hands. “Whoa! Calm down there, princess. I felt the gun belt. No need to look at me like I ruined your favorite sweater in the wash.”
“You don’t get to put your hands on me whenever you feel like it.”
Galen snorts. “Could’ve fooled me.” He opens the passenger door, shoves the seat forward, and gestures for me to get in the back.
“Princess is riding up front with me,” Caz says. “I want to feel her up in those tight yoga pants.”
Galen growls. “Who the fuck wears yoga pants to a fight?”
I prod him in the chest. “Someone who knows how important it is to remain flexible and alert, but I don’t expect you to understand that. Not with that giant stick shoved up your ass. Can you even walk with that thing?”
“Okay, amusing and all as this is, we’ve got some heavy shit going down today, and you two need to zip it; otherwise, someone might get hurt.” Caz is dead serious as he warns us with his eyes.
Galen climbs in the back without further protest, and I get in the front, and neither of us utters a word to one another the entire journey. Caz strokes my thigh while he drives, eliciting a rake of delicious shivers, and it distracts me from the upcoming fight.
We pull up to the abandoned military base thirty minutes later. It’s bigger than I expected with a bunch of dilapidated buildings scattered around the vast area. Dirt kicks up behind us as Caz drives on bumpy, cracked roads toward a larger building on the western side of the plot. As we approach, I notice the peeling brown paint, broken roof, and cracked panes of glass on the high row of windows at the top of the structure. The warehouse is bordered by woodland at the side, a large overgrown field out to the front, and rusted iron gates at the rear that appear to be only loosely secured
Two lookout towers stand idle on either side of the building, and I guess that’s on purpose. Ambushes generally only work if you have the element of surprise. From the outside, it looks like the place is derelict, but once Caz maneuvers his car inside the space, it’s like Armageddon on steroids.
There must be close to one hundred men here, all lined up in rows, wearing matching black combat pants, boots, and black leather jackets. Every man is clasping a gun, mostly machine guns, from what I can see, and sporting killer expressions. The amount of testosterone in the air is enough to light a bonfire.
Behind them is a myriad of bikes, cars, and trucks, and Caz parks his car at the end beside an armored truck. It’s open at the rear and weighted down with boxes of weapons and bullets. There’s a small door at the far righthand side of the structure, but other than that, the entire space is open plan.
“Grab me that vest,” Caz says to Galen.
Galen hands him a Kevlar, which he promptly thrusts at me. “Saint says you’re to wear this.”
Galen mutters under his breath, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
I put up no argument because only a dummy protests when someone is trying to keep them alive. Saint’s thoughtfulness stabs at the walls around my heart, threatening to pull them all down. I waste no time putting the vest on, securing my belt over it. I was cursing my lack of forethought earlier when it occurred to me that I needed my bulletproof vest. I keep it up at the cabin, because I’ve never actually needed it before, and I was always afraid Mom would find it and it’d invite questions.
I make a mental note to bring it home with me the next time I’m up there.
“Keep your hood up,” Caz says, when I’m ready to go, “and your head down. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and keep behind us where you’re hidden. Saint doesn’t want Sinner to know you’re here.”
“Doubt the yoga pants will help,” the jerk in the back seat says because he just can’t stop being a pain in my ass. He’s been pricklier than a hedgehog in heat this week and back to hating me with his usual vigor.
“Galen,” Caz snaps. “Zip it.”
