Page 54
“There’s no fucking product,” I whispered in horror.
This wasn’t a setup to show Gunner couldn’t handle the job. Mario wanted Gunner leaving in a body bag. The thought of there being a hit out on Gunner sent me into a rage. The emotion pumped through my veins, and I knew I would put a bullet in the skull of anyone who tried to harm him.
It was like the wool had been lifted from my eyes, and the blind loyalty I’d given Mario was severed. Somehow the man I’d only known for a few weeks had managed to burrow his way into my soul in such a way that I was willing to betray the only other family I’d come to know. Deep down, though, I knew Mario never thought of me like family, only his obsession—an object to possess. And my affection-starved heart locked on to the first person that provided me any semblance of a family, of belonging.
Why I let myself be held under his thumb for so long, I didn’t know. But Mario never counted on a man coming along and showing me genuine affection. Gunner showed me a man shouldn’t demand you chain yourself to their feet. I didn’t know what Gunner felt for me, but I did know he didn’t keep me caged.
He held the safety net at the bottom of the building as I jumped off and attempted to fly.
Freedom. He gave me freedom, and I would protect him with every fiber of my being.
My fingers wrapped around the grip of my Sig, removing it from where it was holstered at the small of my back. Pulling back the slide, I checked the round in the chamber. My gut told me to be ready.
Me: Get your guns ready, boys. Crates are empty. We are about to play my favorite game: who’s the better killer?
Gunner: It’s so hot when you say shit like that. I should have ridden in the back with you. Could have let you ride on me…
The corners of my mouth turned upward. Typical. I just told him we were about to be in a firefight, and he was thinking about me naked. This man may have been as deranged as I was.
Gunner: We have someone tailing us.
The calm that came with the promise of violence slid over me like a second skin. My fingers brushed my switchblade tucked into my jeans, and I checked for the extra mags attached to my thigh. Good thing I hadn’t counted on using any of the guns in the crates. The Armandos were about to find out how accurate a shot I was and how much I loved the feel of my blade slicing through flesh.
Gunshots pinged against the left sidewall, riddling it with holes. My body slammed into the floor as I threw myself behind a crate, hoping no one would land a lucky shot. It felt like hours, rather than seconds, for the truck to stop—muffled shouts mixed with the echo of bullets against metal filled the cargo space.
My blood ran cold at the distinct sound of motorcycles approaching.
“Fuck. How did the Reapers keep showing up at shit?” I questioned. “Or were they asked to be here…” Now I wasn’t so sure my assessment of Mario’s plan was correct.
We were in their territory, but it was too coincidental that they would show up without a hint. It felt like a rock sank into my gut. I had been hoping this run didn’t have shit to do with last night or the other stuff going down in Tucson. But my hopes were quickly being dashed.
“Looks like I need to collect a reaper for questioning. Because I want to know what the fuck is happening,” I mumbled.
Staying in a low crouch, I made my way over to the roll-up door before fulling lying on my belly and lifting it just enough to peek out and not draw attention. The sounds of gunfire and approaching motorcycles drowned out the groaning metal.
How many of you fuckers are here? And where are you all at?
Directly behind the truck was clear, and without the metal echoing the shots, it was easy to tell that the action was happening to my left. Sucking in a breath, I squeeze through the narrow opening, my hips catching on the metal bumper.
“Fuckin’ Latin baby birthing hips…” I muttered, finally managing to squeeze out. Dust billowed at my feet as I hit the ground, and a sigh of relief left my lips when I spotted Gunner and Dex down toward the driver’s side door. Gunner was using the engine block as cover, popping up every few moments to get off a shot. Dex had a similar strategy, but he was positioned farther toward the front, looking around the hood rather than over. And the two worked seamlessly.
“Calm down, hussy. We are literally in a firefight,” I told myself.
Rather than head toward them, I dropped to the ground, crawling under the box truck. Making sure to stay behind the tire, I peeked out to assess where our attackers were. Motorcycles were a shit form of cover, so we had that advantage. Their advantage was their numbers, but those were quickly diminishing. I had just finished counting three downed men when I saw a reaper’s head snap back seconds after he peeked his head up over the gas tank of his ride.
Headshot. Right between the eyes. Damn, these guys were good; that was a difficult shot to make.
A coppery tang filled my mouth as I broke the skin of my bottom lip. I needed to fix that habit. But the more pressing issue was deciding the best course of action. Going to Gunner in Dex would only reveal there were three of us, taking away that advantage. But we were out in the fucking desert, and there wasn’t even a damn cactus to hide behind. And with five Reapers still standing, it would be a dumbass idea to go running toward them. So, while not an ideal shooting position, I’d work with what I had.
None of the reapers were expecting a third shooter, so they were leaving themselves exposed to the back portion of the box truck—a perfect opportunity for me. Thank Santa Muerte I’d practice shooting as much as I did. Including shooting off my back and side. The reaper closest to me would be the hardest for Gunner and Dex to take out from their vantage point.
Rolling over to lie on my right shoulder, I curled my body into a C, bringing my arms between my knees. Using them to brace as I aimed to shoot. I steadied my heart, mentally drowning out the commotion around me. I let my lungs fill with air before slowly releasing and pulling the trigger.
“Fuck yeah,” I whisper-yelled the moment the bullet connected with the side of his head. He collapsed, causing his club brother to cry out as blood splattered over him.
Aiming again, I pulled the trigger, hitting the squawking man. His freak-out caused him to move last minute, and the bullet hit him in the neck. If he wasn’t a reaper, I might feel bad that he was about to have a slow, painful death. But if he chose to ride with the Reapers, he knew the type of business they had their dirty hands in. So all of these men were guilty by association.
I didn’t stay in my position to watch the chaos break out. I didn’t want to be pinned down if they determined my location. Hot sand scorched my palms as I crawled toward the side of the truck Gunner and Dex were on. Shots and yells of a potential third shooter sounded behind me. Popping back up, I ran in a crouch toward the boys. All of Gunner’s attention was on the threat in front of us, but he called out over the noise the moment I neared.
