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I kept my expression neutral. “I’m listening.”
“Some French guy, an older Black man, had some brutal-looking guards with him.”
Renard.
“What makes you think there’s a partnership and where did you see them?”
“At the Rojas compound,” he said. “We were in the middle of a meeting when they just showed up and Manuel told us he had to convene with his partner. Dismissed us.”
“So you literally heard the wordpartnerout of his mouth?”
“I sure did.” Jake nodded. “Not even two days ago.”
Fuck.
That was more than enough time to plan out all sorts of havoc, but nothing had happened, which was damn near worse than an obvious attack.
Maybe that was the point though.
To build up anxiety before anybody made a move.
“What does the new partnership mean for your club?” I asked, wondering why – beyond trying not to get killed – he would divulge this information to me. There had to be something more in it for him.
“Rojas hasn’t brought it up; it’s been business as usual. But I’m not putting too much stock in that. I don’t know what he’s about to do, but if shit is about to go left, I’d rather have as few enemies as I can get.”
The revving of a motor caught my attention before the visual of the bike speeding in our direction did. The gun was the next thing I saw. I was off my own ride, snatching Jake down by the time the first bullet went whizzing by, in the space where my chest had been a moment before.
The rider easily picked off the guys Jake brought, a shame for them, but a blessing for me. The attention he spared to them allowed me a moment to recover from my sudden drop and get my own weapon out.
I moved out of the way just in time to avoid another attempt at a head shot as he circled back—fuck.
So it wasn’t just a drive by for intimidation; it was a hit.
But who is the target?
Beside me on the ground, Jake had managed to get his weapon out, but he was clearly no expert marksman. Still, it was enough to keep the rider distracted, and weaving. I threw myself to the other side of my bike, using the machine for as much of a shield as I could as the rider came in hot, gun raised.
I aimed.
Pulled the trigger.
One.
Two.
Three.
Momentum sent his bike flying into the front of the dispensary as he came crashing down.
Vaguely, I could hear sirens, hear screaming, and I knew a midday showdown would bring cops and who knew who else.
The rider probably wasn’t alone.
Still, I rushed over to where he’d fallen, taking note of theMaraudersjacket he wore.
“You know this motherfucker?” I asked Jake, who’d run up beside me.
“Never seen him a day in my life,” he told me, shaking his head.
