Jameson nodded quickly. Gray took him in a hug, squeezing his shoulder, then released him quickly. “This will be quick. Okay?”
“Okay,” Jameson said with a determined nod, then grabbed an uncooked marshmallow and slipped into the shadows.
Gray’s attention focused like a laser onto the situation. He turned to Raiden first, pointing at his leg. “Don’t try anything. You’re already hurt.” He then faced Dee, whose face was tightened with concern, her easy smile gone. “I don’t know how much Jameson has told you—”
“He explained,” she said with a nod.
“Right,” Gray answered. “This could be anything, really. But if it looks messy, you get out of here. Got it? The door to the back porch is unlocked. You can go in there.” There was no way in hell he was going to go and get Dee messed up in whatever shit the guys had gotten into.
A few men appeared at the end of the driveway, at the top of the path that led down to the fire. “Evening,” Gray hollered, stepping forward as he squinted into the darkness. “Can we help you?”
The men started slowly down the hill and toward their little group, and Gray could feel everyone tense around him. He reminded himself that Jameson was safe, that no one would discover him there in the shadows. But still, every one of his protective instincts snarled like a pissed-off dog. Whoever these men were, they had come to his house, and he didn’t take a threat like that lightly.
“I said, can we help you?” he asked again, his voice sharp as he stepped forward.
The light reached the men, three guys who must have been in their forties. They each looked as plain and nondescript as Gray could imagine, with khaki pants and bland dress shirts, which he guessed was the point.
They probably weren’t looking to be recognized, whatever the hell they were doing.
“Evening, gentlemen,” the shortest man said. He had squinty eyes and a day’s worth of stubble on his face. “And lady, I suppose,” he sneered toward Dee.
Dee snorted, but didn’t say anything.
“We’re just enjoying an evening by ourselves,” Gray replied flatly.
The man turned to Raiden. “I hope you’re recovering from your car accident,” he said, ice in his voice.
Gray’s worst suspicion crashed down on him with the force of a brick house. It was the guys who had been moving the fentanyl, the ones he told Raiden and Horatio to leave alone. Fire licked up the back of his neck.
These assholes knew where they fucking lived.
Gray and Raiden exchanged a glance. Gray held his hand in the air, a signal to hold back. If push came to shove, he knew Raiden would be the first to throw a punch. But with Jameson and Dee there, Gray had to believe there was some other way, one that didn’t end in bloodshed.
“Do you have something you want to say to me?” Raiden asked. “Or did you drive all this way for small talk?”
The man sneered, and his two companions took a few steps in either direction, casing the property. Gray studied the way they moved, hoping to notice any weakness, an uneven gait or a favored leg he could exploit.
“We just wanted to come by, say hello,” the man said. “You’re lucky that we have some other problems keeping us occupied at the moment.” He stepped closer, drilling his gaze into Raiden’s eye. “Usually, when we catch a guy trying to break into one of our stash houses, we give him a lot more attention. A lot more love. You know what I mean?”
Raiden gritted his teeth. He could pummel the guy easily, Gray knew, and he hated being talked down to. Gray just prayed he could keep holding strong.
“Since we can’t give you that love and attention,” the man sneered, then finally broke Raiden’s eye contact to glance at the rest of them, “we thought we’d leave you with a little warning. Let you know that you’re not strangers to us. And if you ever, ever fuck with our men again…” He let a long pause stretch out, the fire crackling and some annoying song on the radio while Gray stood there, his heart in his throat. The man snarled, then lifted his shirt, revealing a handgun tucked into the waist of his pants.
“Well, nothing is worth losing your head over, is it?” He pulled the gun out, then waved it casually back and forth, almost like he was playing with a toy. Adrenaline flooded Gray, and he shot his eyes to his guys, begging them not to make a move.
The man trained the gun straight on Raiden, then smirked. Ice chilled through Gray’s veins, and he almost lurched forward to grab the gun, but thinking of Jameson in the woods, he stopped himself.
“Have a good evening, Raiden,” the man sneered. “Hopefully, we won’t be seeing you soon.”
Another second passed, the gun pointed at Raiden’s chest and Gray’s heart pounding, and then the man returned the weapon to his waistband. Gray let out a slow breath, and he and his friends stood in tense silence as the men walked away.
Gray shot his eyes around the group. Dee seemed fine, although clearly shaken, but Horatio and Raiden both had the fires of hell in their eyes. Gray knew it felt like swallowing nails to let some assholes come on their property and threaten their bullshit. He practically had steam shooting out of his ears, standing there. But lashing out wasn’t an option, especially not with guests at the house and a handgun in Raiden’s face.
Finally, the car doors slammed, the headlights flicked back on, and the pricks drove away.
“Fuck,” Dee breathed. “That was intense.”
“Jameson!” Gray yelled, finally letting himself feel the panic that he had put his guy in danger, and after all they had shared that morning. “Jameson, you there?”
