Pulling in another deep breath, I cracked the tendons on my neck and vaulted off the side of the building. As my concealed parachute deployed, the scent of blood reminded me there were big-headed criminals who needed to learn a very important lesson.
Never leave loose ends.
While I waited, I’d give their soldiers a tutorial in surveillance.
eight
. . .
Remo– 36 years old
“Fine, I’ll go.” I cut the call, already regretting my decision to meet the Colombian’s because Rayden decided he needed my brother. And of course he’d drop anything for that little shit.
Pocketing my phone, I headed out the club office, gesturing for four soldiers to follow me. I was halfway down the corridor to the exit when I slowed my steps, glancing at Gian who’d fallen into step beside me with that restless energy he carried like a badge of honor. Since the day I let him loose on Michael’s men, two weeks ago, Gian was angsty for action. Apparently, bookkeeping and perimeter checks didn’t cut it.
“You’re staying.”
His head snapped toward me. “What?”
“You heard me.”
He scoffed under his breath. “I’m your right hand, not your receptionist. You don’t leave your right hand behind.”
“You’re still learning what that means.” I kept my tone calm but firm enough that it didn’t invite argument. “This isn’t a street brawl, it’s a sit-down. And if it turns into something else, I don’t need you charging in like a pissed-off bull.”
His jaw tightened. “I can handle myself.”
“I know you can,” I replied, and I meant it. “That’s not the point.”
He searched my face, looking for insult, finding none, which only seemed to frustrate him more. “If this is about Michael’s?—”
“It’s about discipline,” I cut in. “You don’t follow me into every room until you learn which ones are traps and which ones need silence.”
For a second I thought he’d keep pushing. Pride sparred with obedience on his face before he exhaled hard through his nose and stepped back. “Fine. But if something goes sideways?—”
“It won’t.” I ignored his grumbling and followed my men who’d already exited.
Outside, the night air carried the distant hum of nightlife, and I paused unsure what claimed my attention. Wary, I let my gaze drift down the quiet alley before lifting to the rooftops. Despite the darkness, I could’ve sworn I detected movement. After my mystery fuck, I was eager to meet my stalker, sure they were one and same person. Although nothing stirred, I smirked at the rooftop silhouettes, then slid into our vehicle with two men while the other two followed behind us.
The Colombians had chosen a warehouse two districts from the port, neutral ground in theory, though nothing about this business was impartial anymore. We arrived twelve minutes ahead of schedule, the warehouse coming into view under pale industrial lights, long shadows stretching across cracked asphalt and a dark lot. Parking, we stepped out. One man stayed by my side while the other three fanned out, scanning the perimeter with a quiet vigilance.
Leaning my ass against the trunk, I checked my watching with a curse. “Fuckers could’ve arrived early.” Annoyed, I lit a cigarette.
“You think they’re actually showing up to talk?” he asked.
“They’ll show,” I took a long drag on the cig. “Whether they talk is another matter.”
Three more seconds and a sudden prickle at my neck gave me pause. “Hold up,” I said softly, tossing the cigarette.
The men looked at me, frowning. “What is it, sir?” one of them asked.
His answer arrived in the form of headlights flaring to life in front of us, blinding and sudden, engines roaring from both sides of the lot. Black SUVs rolled in fast and tight, boxing us in with armed precision.
“Fuck,” someone cursed.
“Stay sharp,” I instructed, drawing my weapon, ready to give the Colombian fuckers an ass-whipping.
The first shot hit the back of my SUV, seemingly disorientated than intending to kill. Flash-bangs detonated near our feet, white light exploding across my vision, the shockwave ripping through the air and flattening sound into a violent ringing. I pivoted through it, firing toward movement instead of faces, catching someone mid-charge as he stumbled out of the smoke.
