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“The vet’s shitting a brick, Dies. You sure we need him with us?”
A muscle in Dies’ jaw twitched. “I’ll handle it. Go make sure the snipers packed Big Red. Ava Jade’s going to be up in the hills with them.”
“Nice,” Pinkie said. “I’ll go check.”
Diesel followed him out the front door while I turned the ear piece this way and that between my fingers. “How’s the range on these?”
“More than good enough.”
“Is he always such a buzzkill?”
“Might as well be his middle name,” Rook said with a rough laugh. “Where do you think Corv gets it from?”
Grey scooped up all the comms gear and deposited it back into his bag.
“Come on, let’s go gear up,” I said, my fingers itching for my blades as we left the house. One way or another, each one would kiss the skin of our enemies tonight. And one way or another, Carson Bates would be ours before the night was through.
“Should we do it now?” Grey asked as we stepped out into the night to a swarm of Saints double checking their weapons. Strapping on vests and other gear.
“Do what now?” I asked.
Rook caught my elbow, dragging me to the open back of a nondescript black van. “Diesel got a wide selection, but if there isn’t one here that suits you, you can borrow one of ours for now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Corvus stepped ahead of Rook, flipping back a swath of grey fabric laid in the bed of the van to reveal an arsenal of handguns.
Grey wrapped his hands around my shoulders from behind, looking over my shoulder at all the weapons. “Call it an early Christmas present.”
A thrill went through me and I found myself grinning. “I get to pick one? Whichever one I want?”
“Yep,” Grey said in my ear. “Personally, I’d recommend the Smith & Wesson or the Colt 1911.” He indicated two near identical guns save for the difference in grip. One had a reddish colored diamond pattern grip that looked to be made of horn while the other was a lighter oak-looking wood.
“You know I’m a sucker for a Browning,” Rook added, lifting a gun from the cloth that looked similar to his own, save for the darker grip. He disassembled it in a matter of seconds, checking the parts before clicking it all back together and handing it to me. “Looks solid.”
“She can’t go wrong with the Beretta or the Colt,” Corvus spoke up, passing me another in my other hand. This one was a simple black number, sleek and smaller than the Browning. I tested the weight of each in my hands, truly feeling like a kid on Christmas fucking morning.
I set both down, deliberating, my eyes raking over the options until one caught my attention. The black cherry grip with a carved out starburst design was so unique by comparison, and I lifted it, feeling its weight. A winged pewter medallion in the middle of the grip reminded me of my Crows. It felt like the right size.
“Your girl has expensive taste,” Diesel said, coming up behind us. “Not going to lie, I was kind of hoping she wouldn’t choose the Wilson Combat. It’s a beauty.”
“Yeah?” I asked, holding it at arm’s length to look down the sight, ensuring I wasn’t pointing it at anyone. It was heavy enough that I knew the mag was loaded, but the safety was still on.
“Yeah,” Diesel echoed. “It’s a solid choice—basically what would be born if the Colt and the Browning had a baby. Here.”
He reached around me to grab two extra mags. “They’re a fifteen round capacity.”
I took them from him, hating how this man could make me furious one minute and thenlike thisthe next. “Thanks for doing this, Dies. I appreciate it.”
He nodded. “Of course. ’Bout time you had your own weaponasidefrom your blades. Here, I grabbed a couple holster options for you. Thigh, ankle, or chest?”
Considering I already had my blades across my chest and strapped to both ankles as well as my belt and one thigh, there was really only one free space. “Thigh,” I said, but Corvus took the strap from Diesel before I could reach out and grab it, kneeling at my feet.
“Spread your legs for me, Sparrow.”
Yes, sir.
He set to fastening the straps in place, anchoring them to my belt, attaching the gun holster, positioning it just right. “Gun.”
