AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And what business is that?” Mustang asks calmly. The only sign he is uneasy is the slight shift in his stance, almost like preparing himself. Smoke and the boys, along with the DMC guys, stand around the two vans, waiting to see how this plays out.
“I informed Brick the price for doing business was going up. Now, he said he wouldn’t agree to any changes in our agreement, even though Istronglysuggested he reconsider. I hoped he had a change of heart and sent you withallthe money I requested.” Fat Mike glances toward the vans, then back at Mustang, sneering. “If not, we’re going to take those guns back with us.”
“They’re already loaded in our van.” Mustang’s eyes narrow as he glares at Fat Mike. “Regardless, I have the money we agreed on. The same amount I bring every time. Brick said nothing about any changes. So, until I’m told otherwise…” He holds out the envelope, staring straight into Fat Mike’s eyes.
I want to jump in and say something, stop the train wreck that is about to happen, but I know if I do, it’ll only make things worse.
“Yes, well…” He forces out a smile, taking the envelope from Mustang’s hand. “I’ll definitely be talking with Brick to…renegotiate our arrangement.”
“I’ll be sure to let him know to expect your call.”
We all stand there for another second before Mustang signals to his guys to mount up. The DMC van pulls away from ours, stopping over by their bikes, the driver leaning out to talk to Mustang.
Fat Mike watches them as he slides the envelope into his back pocket, his movements slow and deliberate. “Hey, Mustang?!” he yells.
Mustang turns, a slight frown on his face. “Yeah?”
“Give your dad a message for me.”
“What’s that?”
Fat Mike smiles, eyes remaining cold. “I always get what I’m owed… One way or another.”
Time seems to slow. I see him pull out his gun, an almost maniacal laugh escaping him as he pulls the trigger. Mustang dodges to the right, yelling out and rolling behind their van.
Someone shouts behind me before more gunshots ring out. I dive behind a dumpster, covering my head when a few bullets ping off it.
Everyone starts yelling, their voices barely audible over the sounds of gunfire. I pull out my Glock and peek around the side of the dumpster, seeing Dodger go down.
“Dodger!” I roar.
Hunched over, Fix races forward to grab his arm, pulling Dodger behind our van. After several minutes, Smoke leans around the van, giving me a thumbs up. I blow out the breath I hadn’t even known I was holding.
How many others have been injured? Everything had gone to hell so quickly, nobody had been able to duck for cover before the bullets started flying.
I hear shouting coming from where Mustang and his guys are pinned down. Glancing that way, I can tell some had been hit, but none of the injures look fatal. And our guys are all safe in the van.
Thank fuck.
A few pings against the dumpster had me pulling back again. I hear Fat Mike curse as the DMC members all start shooting in his direction. The sound is deafening as I huddle there, my gun clenched in my hand as I wait for a break in the chaos. Not that I want to shoot anyone, but if it comes down to me or them, well… I plan on going home today.
Fuck Fat Mike. Fuck his kiss-ass followers. And fuck the way they think things should be done.
Hearing engines, I peek around the dumpster, smiling slightly. Brilliant. The DMC guys used the barrage of gunfire for cover to get to their bikes and get the hell out of there.
With a few of their members bringing up the rear and shooting wildly over their shoulders, they pull away, their engines screaming as they push them as fast as they can go.
Fat Mike steps out from behind his bike, continuing to shoot at them until his gun is empty.
Slowly stepping out from behind the dumpster, I tuck my gun back into my holster, Smoke doing the same as he moves from behind the van.
“Who’s hurt?” I call out.
Smoke blows out a breath. “Dodger was shot in the arm. It was a through and through, but we’re pretty sure it caught the bone. Fix put a tourniquet on it until we can get him to Doc. Stress’ face and neck got cut up pretty bad when the van’s window shattered.” Smoke shakes his head, glancing toward Fat Mike, lackeys in tow, who makes his way toward us. “We stopped them from bleeding, but there are still a few big pieces of glass in his cheeks. We’d rather have Doc remove those.”
“What the fuck?!” Fat Mike yells.
Some would think he’s angry because he’s concerned about our injuries. However, we all know that’s not the case.
