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During one of the lulls, she found a large piece of paper, stole Barry’s markers, and wrote up a peppy new sign that in no way insinuated how anxious she was about being there.
She was, too. Despite all of the protection, her gaze kept slipping to the windows, scanning the streets, occasionally flinching when a person appeared out of nowhere.
By lunch, though, she seemed to settle down and enjoy interacting with a small rush of customers.
I waited until that died down to make my way up and get a refill.
The bikers seemed to be shooting the shit.
Jackson was typing away on his phone.
Barry was reaching up over his head to stretch.
“Business has been decent today,” I said.
A smile started to form on her face.
It froze there, though.
Because not a second later, Dezi’s voice rang out, surprisingly firm and strong.
“Get down!”
Tables and chairs slammed and knocked to the ground as the guys did exactly what they were told.
And me? I fucking dove over the counter, taking Shale down with me, both of us landing hard just as the bullets started flying.
Glass shattered and there were the thudding sounds of bullets lodging in walls, tables, machinery.
“Ow!” Barry screamed, making Shale try to jerk away from me.
“They’ll take care of him,” I assured her as I climbed over her body, covering her completely as the bullets kept flying.
Then, finally, there was a screech of tires.
And the most eerie fucking silence I’d ever heard in my life.
Save for Shale’s ragged breathing and Barry’s whimpers of pain.
“It’s clear,” Niro called out. “What’s the plan now?” he added as I climbed off of Shale, then helped her to her feet.
“Gotta call the cops,” I told them, tone apologetic, but they all seemed to understand. “Barry, you good?” I called, looking around to find Jackson holding a piece of his own shirt to Barry’s arm.
“He’s grazed,” Jackson said, tone calmer than you’d expect.
The bikers, they were more used to high adrenaline shit like shootouts. Jackson, not so much. But Jackson was still unbothered.
“Barry!” Shale said, trying to rush forward, but I yanked her back. “I’m so sorry,” she said, tears flooding her eyes.
“Hey, listen to me,” I said, reaching to frame her face, forcing her to focus on me. “I need you to call the police, okay? You tell them that someone shot out your windows. That’s it, okay? They don’t need to know shit about the cartel. Just a random shooting. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed, sniffling hard, trying to hold it together. But tears slipped down her cheeks regardless.
I caught them with my thumbs, brushing them away.
“You’ve got this. It’s okay if you sound freaked when you call them.”
“Okay,” she agreed, sniffling again as she walked stiffly toward the phone, dialing 911, then talking to the operator.
