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End it.
Heart racing, I destroyed the image of Ronnie in my head. It served me no purpose being there now.
Now, I had to think about the plan. Now, I had to—
My phone vibrated in my hand again.
I groaned. I couldn’t look at it. If it was Ronnie, I was fucked.
Like before though, I was incapable of stopping myself from reading the incoming message.
Opening my eyes, I stared at the shattered screen.
And sucked in a sharp breath.
“Miss me, Trip? I hear you’re back in town. Think we should hook up. R.”
Did Lila know I’d failed to get in contact with Rufie? Did she expect me to be so fucked up by missing Ronnie I’d forget to do it? Was that why he was texting me?
Another incoming message flashed on my screen. “Hope you brought your girl with you. I can’t wait to meet her.”
A prickling heat crept over me. A slow smile stretched my lips. Rufie had just signed his death warrant. He might not know it. He might think he had the upper hand, but at the mention of Ronnie, he’d struck the final nail in his coffin.
Smile turning to a grin, I tapped in a reply and hit send.
“Coffee? Our usual place in an hour? You game?”
It took him five minutes to reply. He would know exactly what I’d said. That I was going to fucking kill him at the Trinity warehouse in an hour.
“See you then, Trip. Alone. I’m not in the mood to share you.”
“Done,” I answered.
Grin growing wider, I got to my feet and stripped the sweat-drenched running gear from my body.
Party time was about to begin.
I needed to get ready.
Goodbye, Lucas Pratt. Hello, Tripwire.
Chapter 5
I arrived at the coffee shop—a derelict warehouse Trinity used as neutral territory before expected violence—fifteen minutes early. Climbing off my hog, I studied the dark, broken windows and boarded-up doors.
The last coffee I’d drunk had been the coffee Ronnie had made me two mornings ago. I could almost fool myself into believing I could still smell the delicious aroma of the beans roasting.
The smell of coffee wouldn’t be waiting for me inside.
Rufie and his unwashed stink would be in there, along with who-the-fuck knows how many of my once-fellow Trinity members.
I was walking into a death trap. I knew it. Rufie knew it. Everyone in there knew it.
I was armed with my Glock, Berretta, brass knuckles, two hunting knives, and my switchblade. All would be taken from me the moment I walked into the place.
That was the way I wanted it. I wouldn’t be the one disarmed when my weapons were taken from me. Years on the MMA circuit had taught me the person with the most powerful punch in the ring wasn’t always the best fighter.
I fixed my stare on the warehouse, pictured Rufie inside.
