Page 94 of Unveiled Wounds

“Grizz?” Sabre asked me.

“Yeah, Diego’s coming. He has a fascination with the girls, and if I had to guess, he thinks our numbers didn’t survive this attack.” If it had been Sabre, I would have gone for him, and there was no doubt in my mind he would have come for me.

“I think you’re right. Cyph, watch for them. I want to know immediately how many cars he’s bringing.”

“On it.”

“How, will the machine gun spray reach the front gate?” Sabre was plotting, but I had nothing to add until I knew more details.

“No. It will only hit around the middle of the yard. Since it’s on the roof, I lose traction with the height. As long as they comeat us from the front, we have enough room for the other two snipers on the roof.”

“Let’s do that while we wait.” Sabre threw out orders. “Berry or Pint—one of you needs to call the clean-up crew. I’ll pay extra for a quick turnaround. The executive team needs to meet me in the front yard. Everyone else stay where you are, but keep vigilant. It’s going to be a long night.”

Chapter 35

Round Three - Annihilation

Leaning against the porch support where I had originally started, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony. This fight was coming full circle. Either Diego Lopez was going to show up, or we’d have to chase him. I wasn’t looking forward to either prospect.

“Whose bet was an hour?” Cyph asked. “You’re about to win.” The brothers were back to their normal asshole selves. They’d taken bets on what time Diego would show up. It sounded like someone was going to cash in. I had picked forty-five minutes for something to do.

“They really need to get different vehicles. Black SUV with black tinted windows just drove by the first exit on the highway. If it exits at the second one, they’ll be here in less than ten.”

Sabre stood from where he had been sitting on the porch railing. “I don’t need the peanut gallery in my ear,” he said, leaving the earpiece. “I don’t care if they listen in, but now’s not the time to be distracted. Keep vigilant, and hopefully in an hour, we can put this all behind us.” Each member of the executive team nodded their head. The men in quadrant onewere still in position, but the eight of us in the front yard would be out in the open.

“They just took the back exit. Five minutes and counting,” Cyph rang through the earpiece.

Wreck had been sitting on the porch steps, but he stood, grabbed a shotgun, and walked towards the front yard. The rest of us followed, forming a line. Sabre was in the middle, as our president. I stood to his right as his second, and the rest of the men filled in. Berry and Twig were the biggest men in the club, and each one stood on the ends, rounding out our group. Each man had picked up a shotgun, for intimidation only. Diego was going to die by someone’s hand, and I wasn’t sure I honestly cared whose.

“They’re here,” Cyph kept running commentary from his room.

Two black SUVs emerged further down our street, but they were so slow, I didn’t think they would need to brake to make it through our gate. Each second brought them closer. All I could see was red. I no longer gave a fuck as long as Diego was dead at the end.

The first SUV rolled through the gate, heading straight towards us.

“It’s rude to hit your hosts,” Pretty muttered, as the SUV veered at the last minute, stopping inside. The second SUV did the same thing, parking directly behind the first. They wouldn’t be getting out. Cyph had already closed the gates.

The rear door of the lead SUV opened and a high-end loafer stepped into the gravel. If this was supposed to impress us, it didn’t.

The other loafer appeared, and then a man stood from the car. Diego Lopez was older than I’d originally thought. He was middle-aged, with silver streaks in his dark hair and mustache. Flapping the edges of his suit coat, he tilted his chin, staringdown his nose as he strolled towards our line. The doors of the second SUV opened, and four soldiers exited, guns drawn as they flanked their boss.

Four red lasers shot out of the sky—each one was dead center on a soldier’s skull. The snipers on the roof didn’t fuck around, and Diego had led his men straight to their demise.

The first one to speak would get the edge, and Sabre would stand here as long as he needed to. However, Diego’s eyes shifted. He was scanning the surrounding area, but each time his eyes stopped moving, he landed on one of his soldiers—dead. His eyes bounced, frequently, and I wondered if he thought his men were going to rise and avenge him.

His posture was straight, but when he crossed his arms over his chest, he gave away his insecurities. He had honestly thought crossing our gates meant victory. Diego was standing in the middle of his graveyard and still thought he could negotiate our downfall. “A trade. My henchman for your lawyer.”

“The only reason you’re standing there, all smug and mighty, is because I let you,” Sabre retorted with a snort. “I could get more for your henchman on a bounty. You’re familiar with those.”

A shot rang out from the roof, hitting the ground in front of Diego.

“Hit,” I heard Op say. He’d clearly done it on purpose as a scare tactic before the red laser returned to the soldier’s head. Laughter rang out through my earpiece. The brothers could hear what was going on, even if they didn’t have a front-row seat.

The trunk of the second SUV popped open, revealing a bruised and battered Gerry. “He’s your problem,” Diego said, his voice overly smooth. It was hard to tell if this was the real man, or some act. It was a mix of old-world cartel expectations and Hollywood. Pretty hit Wreck with his elbow, trying not to laughhysterically. We were supposed to be serious, but this man was a joke.

“If you think we’re going to be friends because you brought Gerry to my door, you’ll be sadly mistaken,” Sabre said. “Is he even alive? He’s not moving.” There was no love lost between Gerry and the club. He thought we had stolen his girls from him, not taking accountability for the role he had played.

Gerry was facing us in the trunk, but his eyes were blank. He wore a white dress shirt and a pair of black pants, both soaked in filth and blood. The source was obvious. Gerry was holding his severed hand, cut at the wrist.

---