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“He’s gotta be talking about Cas.”
Rolling his eyes, JJ mutters, “No shit.”
“What’s the plan, brothers,” Myles calls down.
“If we start shooting, it’ll lead the club straight into a fight. We need to lure them in here while keeping our asses alive,” Zach advises.
Looking over at me, JJ takes a deep breath and says, “We’ll set up on the second floor. I’ll take the rat up, and when we’re clear, you open the door and get up the stairs before they walk in.”
“You think they’ll just strut in here like that?”
“For them to be here, they already know they outman us. This guy doesn’t give a shit. He’ll walk in.”
“Okay. Go.”
Jogging over, JJ wastes no time grabbing my arm and hauling me up to my feet. Using the barrel of his gun, he shoves it against the middle of my back, urging me toward the stairs. At the top, he stops me behind a pillar and shoves my shoulder down until I’m on my ass.
From here, we still have a clear view of the first floor, while having the pillars as a shield.
“You move, I’ll put a bullet in you, no matter what deal Cas has with Mommy and Daddy.”
“Untie me—I can help.”
I already know I’m wasting my breath when he snorts. “You think I trust you to have my back, rat?”
“He’sourenemy,” I argue.
“You’re wrong. You’rebothour enemy, and we’re keeping you both close.”
“I—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
The stairs creak under Zach’s weight as he climbs to the top and takes position behind the pillar next to ours.
“When they venture inside, let Cas know what they’re facing when they get here,” JJ orders Zach, showing the unspoken hierarchy between the two.
It’s a few minutes before anyone steps over the threshold. Bert walks in, surrounded by his men, using them as a human shield.
His eyes dart to every corner, but not out of fear of bullets coming toward him. His chin is high, his shoulders relaxed.
Coming to a stop in the middle of the room, he does a three-sixty slow spin. When he looks up, he laughs.
“Hiding, are we?” he bellows, laughing some more. “A warehouse full of sons of the men who killed my son. I should wipe you all out— sons for a son.”
“Good luck with that,” Myles yells from behind his.
“I do hope you’ve let your president know I’m here.”
Dragging a chair from the table, he places it in the middle and tips his head for his men to tighten their circle around him.
They shuffle in, but we can still see him from up here. He pulls out a pack of smokes and lights one up, taking great delight in inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke upward.
“While we wait, why don’t we talk,Ethan? Tell me, are your mom’s hand still crispy?” he laughs.
Motherfucker.
“I must admit, I was surprised to see you wearing a cut after everything your parents did to get away from the life. I shot your mom once, and I regret to this day it wasn’t in the head. And your piece of shit dad, how’s he doing these days after surviving a gut wound? So many happy memories of seeing them bleed, but sadly, not of them dying.”
