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Nothing could stop me from coming back to my girl.
As we stepped into the parking garage, the chill of the night wrapped around us like a shroud. Greyson pointed to his car, a low-slung sleek black sports car. The silence seemed to stretch between us.
As we snaked through the desolate streets leading out of the city toward the distillery, my hands fidgeted on my knees, craving the feel of Kennedy’s soft hair between my fingers. The silence between Greyson and me was charged, each of us lost in our own grim thoughts.
I was trusting Greyson to help protect Kennedy and to protect us from losing everything while we did so. But could I really trust Greyson?
Could he really resist the opportunity to ruin us if he saw the chance to have Kennedy to himself?
We pulled up to the outskirts of the distillery, which loomed against the night sky. A perimeter had already been established. Greyson’s men communicated with subtle gestures as they prowled the invisible barrier, many of them armed with machine guns.
Sunny, Greyson’s right hand, approached as we stepped out of the car. There was deference etched into the lines of his face as he addressed Greyson. But beneath that, I caught the flicker of concern in his eyes, a concern that echoed in his hushed tone, meant only for Greyson’s ears.
“Trap,” Sunny muttered, casting a wary glance at the abandoned structure before us. “Velasco seemed to be alone, but it’s too convenient.”
“Could be,” Greyson conceded with a shrug. “But we’re not turning back now.”
The respect these hardened men showed Greyson impressed me. So did the weight of their trust in his decision, even when it might lead them straight into hell.
“Let’s move,” Greyson said, a note of finality in his voice that ended any argument.
Sunny nodded, pressing his lips into a thin line but falling in behind Greyson as we made our way towards the skeletal remains of the abandoned distillery.
“Want to stay warm in the car, or are you coming with?” Greyson’s voice was laced with a mocking challenge.
But he was already handing me a gun from his collection. The weight of it settled into my palm, which had a familiar heft, bringing me right back to my youth. I’d had to make a decision which way to go with my life—crime or hockey.
I’d been so sure I had chosen right until Kennedy was in danger.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I grunted, checking the safety before tucking the gun into my waistband.
Greyson’s men fanned out ahead of us like the wings of a deadly hawk. The distillery loomed ahead, windows blank and empty, telling us nothing about what waited inside.
The men breached the building with military precision. I was impressed. The Jackals had come a long way since I’d knownthem under Greyson’s father and the boss before that. I was glad there was more to Greyson’s changes for them than just vicious fights and pretty tattoos.
Inside, the air within was stagnant, thick with the scent of old spirits and rotting wood. As we swept through the shadows, the voices of Greyson’s men echoed from every corner, calling that each area they searched was clear.
But something felt off. Even though the distillery was empty, the sense of a presence still seemed to linger here. I looked toward the large, hulking silhouette of the grain silo outside.
“Think they made it all the way out, on foot?” He didn’t need to say more; his question hung between us, heavy with implication.
“It looks like they knew we were coming. But they didn’t get a lot of advance notice, or they would’ve taken the cars we passed by on our way in.” My pulse thrummed in my ears, the way it did during the start of a game, even though the stakes were higher. I nodded towards the silo, “That way.”
His eyes followed mine. He nodded silently, and we were moving again, exiting the false stillness of the distillery into the cool night air.
“Could be nothing,” Greyson said as we approached, though the set of his shoulders told me he was ready for anything.
His men were already streaming out into the woods, starting the search for our two targets even as others set up new guard stations in case they emerged from fighting.
“Could be everything. Could be our chance to keep Kennedy safe.”
As we neared the silo, I could feel the charged air of potential violence wrap around us, waiting to be unleashed.
We reached the silo, our weapons drawn. The gun was heavy in my hand. For Kennedy, there wasn’t a line I wouldn’t cross.
And with Greyson by my side, I felt an unexpected kinship. We were two sides of the same coin—we had always been so different, never more so than now, but we shared the same unwavering determination to protect our girl.
“Ready?” His eyes met mine, and for a moment, there was no mockery, no rivalry.
