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Arsenal reaches into his desk and pulls out two spare magazines, tossing one to me and pocketing the other. “Say less kid, let’s roll.”
Nodding in agreement, I stuff the spare magazine into my pocket and head for my car with Arsenal hot on my heels. The days have been warmer, but the night air is frigid, so when I jump into my Mustang and peel out of the parking lot, my tires slide on the ice-covered streets. Arsenal grips the dashboard with both hands and my heart thrashes in my chest as I struggle to regain control of the car. Whipping side to side, I fight against the trajectory of the car as it spins down the side streets.
“Shit, kid!”
“I’m sorry!”
The sound of scraping metal grates through my ears, and sparks fly as my Mustang sideswipes a parked car and spins into another car. I release the wheel, grabbing for the emergency brake and I pull.
“Hold on Knox!”
My Mustang spins out of control, and I place my hands on the ceiling of the car, closing my eyes to stave off the nausea while we wait for the spinning to stop. Finally we come to a stop in the middle of the road nearly 100 yards away from the club. Reaching down, I release the emergency brake, shift gears and take off in the direction of the bar.
The Underground is a good 20 minute drive from Rico’s but somehow, I’m there in less than 10. Tearing into the lot, I park, and jump out, not bothering to shut off the ignition or close the door behind me. But I get all of a few feet and my heart instantly sinks, because it’s already crystal clear that I’m too late.
No. No. No.
Reaching into my waistband, I pull out my Glock, holding it as I approach the bar. The doors and windows of Rico’s are blown out, so I step through all that remains of the door frame. Glass crunches beneath my sneakers and echoes through the empty room as I survey the inside.
“Shit,” Arsenal mutters under his breath as he steps through the doorway behind me. We both spin around slowly, searching the room around us, but it’s entirely empty. Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I swipe to Cole’s number and call him.
Please answer. Please.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
No, please no.
“What’s that?” Arsenal spins to face me.
“Shhhh.”
Following the buzzing of Cole’s phone, I hope like hell they are simply hiding, but something tells me that hope is pointless right now. Walking around the back of the bar, I’m met with more shattered glass, liquor running down the walls, and blood. Blood spattered on the floor, the safe, the glass, and Cole’s phone, vibrating in the wreckage. A mixture of rage and panic envelop me all at the same time, but the rage overpowers the panic and I let out an ear splitting scream as I pick up the intact bottles of booze; throwing them at the walls, smashing them one at a time.
They took them. They fucking took them.
“Riot,” Arsenal says my name, but I can’t respond. I can’t speak. My entire body is heaving as I struggle to regain control.
“Kid…”
Breathe in. Breathe out. One. Two. One. Two.
“The surveillance,” I mutter, swiping through my phone looking for the app Zeke installed on all of our phones.
I quickly find the feed, and rewind it to an hour before getting Cole’s text message. Arsenal steps up behind me, peering over my shoulder as I speed up the playback, looking for something. Anything.
“There,” he speaks up.
I pause the feed and back up slowly before hitting play. We watch on as a blacked out Escalade pulls up in front of the bar and several men in all black, with masks on pull up in front of the club. But these guys don’t look like ex-Reapers… They’re too organized. Too professional.
Shooting out the doors, they advance in an strategic fashion, shooting into the air as patrons scatter and run from the club.
They look like…
No fucking way.
Zeke jumps onto the bar, pushing Cole and Gigi to the ground, before slumping back down and firing back. Gigi escapes from behind the bar into the back, but Cole doesn’t follow. Zeke jumps over the bar, peeking over the surface and he appears calm, but he’s scared. I can see it all over his face. It’s just him and four men. Holding my breath, I watch on in horror as two men round the bar and take out Zeke and Cole one at a time.
