Meridian pushed through the door with his brothers close behind him.
Every eye in the bar turned toward them. Conversations dropped. Men rolling dice froze and pool cues halted in mid-shot.
Men glared at their women, who were grinning and licking their lips, some dragging hungry gazes down their bodies as though assessing new merchandise. The smarter ones frowned, sensing the wrong kind of danger.
Across the room, fists clenched, and guns were being pulled, half-drawn but not raised, because even the dumb ones recognized something about them wasn’t normal trouble.
Someone yelled to cut the music.
On instinct, he and his brothers fell into their fight formation.
Meridian in the front and Ex a half step behind him on his right.
Mirage slipped behind Grace, completely swallowed by his frame, becoming the invisible heart of their machine.
A thick wave of bodies parted ahead of them.
From the back, four men stepped forward.
Meridian assumed they were the highest-ranked of the crew.
Their swagger was all bluster, shoulders pulled back, eyes flicking toward the door, as if wondering why the doorman had allowed them to pass.
The one in front bared his gold teeth in what he thought passed for intimidation.
“Y’all must be lost,” he drawled in that gritty South Side cadence.
“Well, we set our GPS to ‘find some ignorant, fake-ass thugs,’ and this is where it brought us.” Ex glanced around. “I’ll be damned. Nailed it.”
Mirage snorted under his breath, Grace didn’t blink, and Meridian’s lips twitched.
More men drew their pistols because, of course, they did.
“Yo, eliminate these fools!” the leader yelled.
“Here we go,” Ex chuckled.
Meridian and Grace dropped down to one knee, trenches flaring wide, as a hail of gunfire rang out.
Ex and Mirage squeezed in close to their partners, chest to chest, as bullets hammered his and Grace’s coats.
The pool hall erupted into chaos. Chairs scraped and glass shattered as more shooters poured onto the main floor.
The ineffective metallic pings against his armor felt like dull taps against his ribs.
“9mms,” he muttered as he kept his head ducked and mouth against Ex’s ear. “So primitive.”
Someone yelled, “They’re cops. Take ’em out.”
Another guy screamed, high and panicked, “Let’s get the fuck outta here!”
Ex drew his Magnum and aimed between Meridian’s ribs and elbow, gun resting on his spine.
Mirage mirrored him behind Grace.
Rounds started to slow, not because they ran out, but because they realized it wasn’t doing a damn thing. They hadn’t expected the bullets to bounce off.
Mirage moved behind Grace.
