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Grabbing my knife and gun from the side of the car door, I slip my gun into its holder and keep my knife in my hand.
I’m in a type of mood today. In the mood to spill some blood, but unfortunately, I don’t foresee that happening. Unless I’m lucky, but I suppose that’ll also make me unlucky.
Keeping the fingers crossed, though.
Lynx and the rest of the guys pull up, forming a circle around me and Easton.
“Morning.” Easton says to Aziel as he hops of the bike. “Late for your own job.” Easton laughs.
“Shut the fuck up.” Aziel flicks him off.
“Have you heard anything this morning?” Easton directs the question towards Lynx.
“Nope. Supposed to be here at ten.” Lynx checks his phone. “Fuckin’ better not have stood me up.”
“Nah.” Aziel says, taking out a cigarette.
I lean back against the BMW and light my own cigarette. Fuck, I’ll be so mad if we came here for nothing.
We sit around for what feels like an hour, even though it’s probably only about ten minutes, when we start to hear the rumble of a truck.
In the middle of nowhere, this is a good spot for them to do their trade off. No one comes down this road unless they’re asking for trouble. Deserted about five miles in each direction, this tiny abandoned gas station is home to many illegal dealings.
Three conversion vans come into view, dust billowing around them as they speed through the gravel road.
“That’ll be them.” Lynx grumbles, getting off his bike and standing in a line with the rest of The Seven.
The roll to a stop, and a massive gust of dust clouds our vision from them. Once the dust settles, I watch as twelve men hop out of the vehicle.
Santiago, the boss, stands at the front and shakes hands with Lynx. “Good to see you.”
“You, too.” Lynx says. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long.” Santiago nods. “How have things been on this side of the border?”
“We’re keeping things steady.”
Santiago looks over at Easton. “Easton Malone. You’ve caused quite a ruckus up north.”
Easton steps forward and shakes hands with Santiago. “Gotta weed out the snakes and all that.”
They both laugh at that.
“Sanders has always been questionable.”
“No need to question those that are scum of the fucking earth.” Easton growls.
I don’t blame him. That son of a bitch killed Logan, and I’d do it over and over again if I had the opportunity.
Santiago lifts his eyebrows.
“So, this is what we’ve got. Three hundred for you. Daewoo, Baretta’s , and AR-15. Top of the line, the quality is fucking great.”
“Fucking steal.” One of his members mumbles. He looks high as a fucking kite.
A few of Santiago’s men open up the back of the truck and unveil blanket covered crates. They take the blanket off, and the most beautiful rifles stare back at me.
Lynx walks over and looks them over. Easton and I stand in the back and I have to say, the guns look good. Guns like this don’t normally get traded up north.
