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“Fuck, me!” Skitz cries.
We all turn our heads to look at him.
“I swear to fucking Christ himself, I’m too old for this shit!”
“I know you don’t believe me, but you’ve got no choice right now. We need to get these fucking weapons to the port.” I turnand help Mop lift a crate from the lorry, then walk up the ramp onto the next. Skitz wasn’t lying. These crates must be crammed with heavy artillery.
We work together in twos, moving the crates as quickly as possible. Vincent doesn’t help. He calls his men, letting them know what’s happening and to be ready for a new vehicle arriving at the port we’re dropping off at.
With one left, I climb on the lorry with Mop as the others get ready to leave. The lorry shakes as the front door opens then closes.
Billy. He’s awake. I hear him tread around the back of the lorry at pace.
“Billy, NO!” The way Vincent cries out makes my heart jump to my throat.
I turn, instantly feeling a thud hit my chest, a loud crack shattering my ear drums. Dropping to my knees, I pull air into my lungs, looking down and seeing blood seeping through my shirt.Motherfucker shot me.
I fall forwards, my palms flat against the steel floor.This also wasn’t part of the fucking plan.My vision blurs. Trying to stand, I realise that’s a stupid idea when the floor starts moving like a conveyor belt beneath me.
Just as I feel myself start to sway, Mop grabs me and steadies me. “Sit down! Don’t move!”
I try to brush him off, but he knocks me back against the inside of the truck. He rips open my cut. “Shit, Trav… you lucky son of a bitch.”
Some of the guys rush over to see what’s happening.
Mop pulls out the burner, completely blown to smithereens in his hands. “This saved your fucking life.”
My head falls back against the inside of the lorry, and I take a steadying breath, wheezing as I try.
The Joker and Beats are busy working Billy over as Vincenttries to rip them off.
“Tell them to stop, right fucking now,” I splutter.
“Fuck him. I need to check the wound. Looks like you’ve got shrapnel in there.” He prods and pokes at my chest forcing more blood to leak.
After I feel myself not completely losing consciousness, I bat him away. “Stop fussing.”
Mop smiles holding out his hand to help me to my feet. “You go back in this. Riggs can drive you—”
“We carry on,” I say.
“But—”
“But fucking nothing. We’ve got shit to do. Let’s go.”
He rips the bottom of his shirt, stuffing it against the small hole in my chest to stem the bleeding.
Grimacing, I then step down from the lorry with a thump. The second my feet hit the ground my head spins.
“You’re stubborn, you know that, right?” Mop says, hooking his head under my arm, guiding me to the livestock lorry.
Vincent helps Billy as he staggers to his feet. His eyes bore into me.
I return the glare. “Mop, you take my bike. I’ll take your place in the lorry. Beats, you drive us to the port.”
Mop nods and chucks him the keys.
“Billy, you’re with me.”
