Page 35 of Tank’s Weakness

We slip into the shadows and make our way to the warehouse. As we approach, I can’t help but shake my head.

These fucking idiots have no security and have hundred-thousand-dollar cars sitting in a warehouse parking lot, completely left unattended while homeless people are camped on the corner. I’m not saying that the homeless would do something, but if they wanted to, they could have a fucking payday.

We line up on either side of the door, Crow and I on one side and Bear and Jagger on the other. At Bear’s nod, I open the door quietly, and they slip inside. Crow and I are quick on their heels, and I shut the door behind us quietly. We follow the sounds of voices, and when the room opens up, Bear looks back at me and nods.

I watch as he, Jagger, and Crow break away. We each take a corner of the room. It takes Crow a minute to get to the furthest corner, but when he does, he crows, signaling it’s time.

“Is there a fucking bird in here?” one of the guys at the poker table asks.

“Could be. This place is abandoned after all,” someone else says.

“There’s a broken window up there.” Another one points toward the wall high up.

“Gentlemen, it’s fine. Trust me,” a guy says cockily.

“Are you sure about that?” I ask, gun drawn as we step out of the shadows.

Like usual, some of the guys jump up and try to rush toward an exit but are met with a barrel pointed right toward them.

“Not today, motherfucker,” Bear grumbles.

“Too slow,” Jagger quips.

“Put them up,” Crow demands.

“Are you guys cops?” one man whines.

“Do they look like fucking cops?” another snaps.

“Just get on the goddamn ground,” I hiss.

Most of them do as they are told, but one asshole tries to run, right toward me. I step to the right and hold out my arm, clotheslining him in the throat.

He gasps as he falls to the ground.

“Oh, that’s going to leave a mark,” Jagger jokes.

Putting my gun in the holster, I lean down and turn the guy over on his stomach. Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out a zip tie and cuff his wrists.

When I roll him over, I recognize him but can’t place how I know him.

“What’s your name?” I demand.

“Blaine,” he gasps.

Blaine.

It takes me a minute to piece it together, and when I do, I laugh.

“Well, isn’t this a turn of events?” I muse.

“You’re that thug she’s dating. Does she know that you’re here?” he chokes out.

“What my girl knows is none of your business.”

Reaching down, I haul him up and see that the guys have secured everyone else.

“Is this everyone?” I ask Blaine.