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I sit up, alarmed. I knew I wasn’t being paranoid. The other players in New York have been way too quiet for my liking, and now I see why. “Tell me what happened.”
“They struck the gambling dens sometime around three. I only found out about it now. I’m on my way to see how bad the damage is.”
“I’ll meet you there. Order the rest of our men to be there.”
“You got it,” Milo says, hastily hanging up.
Time is of the essence. I’ve never known the Russians to twiddle their thumbs and wait for a counterattack. They’re more of a bulldoze and conquer kind of group. There’s no doubt in my mind that if the Irish—hell, maybe even the Chinese—catch wind that land is up for grabs, I’ll have a real mess on my hands.
Arin shifts beside me, her brows knitted together with worry. “Is something wrong?”
“It’s just a, um, business conflict. It won’t take long.”
She gives me a knowing look. “Okay,” she whispers. “Please be safe.”
“I promise. I’ll see you tonight at your show, alright?”
I give her one last kiss before getting up to get dressed.
* * *
We arrive twenty men strong, armed to the teeth well within the hour. The gambling den in question isn’t fully operational yet, still under serious renovations in the basement of an old liquor store whose owner had his license revoked. We move quickly, storming inside to find—
Nothing.
“What the hell?” one of my men grumbles, lowering his pistol. “Uh, boss? You sure we have the right place.”
“Milo confirmed the address,” I reply, glaring at my surroundings. Everything is as it should be. No signs of forced entry, no unwanted guests. What the hell was Milo talking about?
The angry screech of tires braking to a halt is what tips me off.
This whole damn thing was a trap.
“Get down!” I shout far too late.
A hail of bullets rains down upon us, shattering windows and decimating walls. I hit the floor hard, narrowly missing being shot. Half of my men aren’t so lucky, riddled full of holes before their limp bodies have a chance to land.
The attack lasts for an eternity, the thunderous clamor of bullets rattling my eardrums. A few of my men are alive, but understandably disoriented as the shooting eventually draws to a close. There’s no time to relax, however. This was only the opening act.
The doors to the gambling den burst open, a team of six or so men charging in with their weapons at the ready. They’re dressed from head to toe in black tactical gear, their faces obscured by tinted goggles and cloth face masks. One look at them and I know these aren’t the Russians or the Irish or the Chinese. These men are new players on the block.
Either way, Milo sold me out.
If I get out of this, I’m going to kill him with my own two hands.
The mercs are quick to pick off the survivors, shooting at point blank range. When they finally get to me, I spring into action, a bullet whizzing past my temple as I trap my attacker’s arm in a lock. I twist hard, forcing him to not only drop his gun, but to snap his elbow in the opposite direction. His scream is cut short when I nail him in the face with a hard left hook, sending him flying into his teammate beside him.
I manage to roll out of the way as the remaining four assailants open fire, ducking behind an overturned table. It’s not an effective shield, splinters flying every which way and nearly taking out my damn eye. Two of them try to rush me again, but I’m ready, sweeping their legs with a good, hard kick. Snatching up a piece of broken plaster, I swipe at one of the men, stabbing him in the bicep with all the force I can muster. He stumbles back, disoriented enough for me to kick away his pistol and slam his head into the nearest wall. His body slumps, unconscious.
Only three more to go.
I’m running on pure adrenaline at this point, nothing but the sound of my labored breathing and the pounding rhythm of my war drum heart. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the glint of a knife as one of the mercs charges at me, eager to stab. My body is starting to feel heavy, so even though I manage to slide out of the way, the knife still slices through my suit. Luckily, I take no damage.
When the merc pulls away, he notices the special lining of my suit, now exposed.
Kevlar.
When I get out of this mess, I’m going to kiss Arin until she sees stars.
