Page 201 of Lethal King

They think they’ve gotten away. They think they’re in the clear.

They’re dead wrong.

“Speak to me,” I grumble from the driver’s seat of my quiet car. The engine has been turned off. The lights dimmed. I might as well be a shadow.

“I have eyes on them.”

The fresh voice comes through my phone’s speaker. I reach towards the ignition.

“Tell me when.”

“Just let me get into a better position,” Deacon says. I can hear the focus in the young man’s words. He’s all in.

A swell of pride rises up behind my chest. It’s joined by a pang of guilt.

This kid chased these fuckers down after they slaughtered his entire crew. He’s got the bravery of a lion and the loyalty of a wolf. And until just a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know his name.

Now, we might as well be blood brothers. Because I’ve entrusted my life to him, and he’s entrusted his life to me.

“When you give me the word, I’ll flick my high beams on,” I remind him. “So don’t worry if you can’t find any good lighting.”

“Oh yeah, shit,” Deacon curses. “Alright, then I’ll set up here. Give me a second.”

My fingers twitch over the ignition. I’m starved for blood. I’ve never been a patient man, but I’m trying my best to change—if even only for the moment.

Dad was right.

I never gave my men a chance.

I have good soldiers working for me. Deacon is proof of that. I’ve just been too lost in my own head to see it.

That’s my fault. And it’s going to change, starting tonight.

Deacon and I came up with this little plan of attack together. It’s not complicated, but it’s not like we had much time, either.

“Maksim says you have a hell of a shot,” I say, trying to distract myself from the wait.

“That’s just because I learned from the best,” Deacon confirms.

“Maksim taught you how to shoot?”

I shouldn’t be surprised. But I am. How does that man find the time to teach on top of everything else he does?

“Yep. The old man’s got some skills.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” I nod. “Let’s do him proud.”

“Yes, sir.” Deacon’s voice becomes more hushed as he approaches our targets. “Ready,” he whispers.

“Showtime.”

Transferring the call to my earpiece, I finally press down on the ignition. The engine roars alive. Before I can flick the high beams on, I see the lights on the phone screens ahead vanish as the men jump at the sound.

Get ready to meet the devil, assholes.

I kick down on the gas pedal and my car lunges forward, picking up speed until the alley walls become nothing more than a blur.

The high beams flick on just as the first bullet hits my armored windshield. It barely even makes a dent.