Page 31 of Hard Rain

A man in a camouflage jacket walked up to Whip.

Saying something.

Too close already.

He didn’t like that.

The guy wasn’t standing like somebody asking for directions.

Whip answered without moving an inch.

Another man appeared near the diesel pumps.

Then a third.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

Not random. Not friendly. Three on one wasn’t a conversation.

He recognized one of them.

Mark Stiner, who decided he would step up and jab a finger into Whip’s chest.

Whip said something back.

Didn’t step away.

Didn’t posture either.

That wasn’t a good sign.

“That’ll be eighteen dollars, sir.”

Axel ignored the clerk.

“Be right back.”

The guy blinked. “Uh—”

He shoved the door open hard enough to rattle the glass.

Stiner suddenly swung, and Whip moved immediately.

Fast enough, the punch barely clipped his jaw before Whip caught the guy’s wrist and drove him face-first into the side of the SUV hard enough to rock the suspension.

The other two men surged forward.

And Axel moved across the parking lot like a fucking missile.

Axel reached them at full speed, drove one fucker straight into the pavement and had his Glock jammed beneath the second guy’s chin before either of them fully understood what had happened.

One boot planted between the first man’s shoulders kept him pinned hard against the soaked concrete.

Stiner had picked the wrong guy to fuck with.

“You good?” Axel growled.

“Yup.”