Page 65 of Waging War
It’s not late enough for the barflies to be hanging out, but once the doors open, there’s usually a handful of out of towners or randos straggling in.
“Hey, boss man.” One of the guys I’m in charge of claps me on the back. He snatches his hand back when I cut my eyes to where it rests on my shoulder. “Uh, Diablo’s waiting for you in the back.”
Schooling my expression, I survey the sticky bar floor and the chairs strung about. No customers, no bartenders… only a few of Bruce’s guys and me.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise.
I shoulder past him through the dimly lit bar. The scent of old food and stale beer permeates the air without the cloud of smoke that usually clings to every inch of the place.
Dread rears its ugly head as I step through the beaded curtain leading to the back office of the bar. I feel as though I’m stepping into a snake’s nest, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m the meal.
“Ben,” Bruce greets me.
The man paces behind a rusty metal desk, in front of a window covered by broken blinds. There’s next to no airflow in here ever since he had a crew reroute the air conditioning. For months now, the large storage room across the hall has been the main production site for Remi, and the compound tends to break if it isn’t cooled properly after being pressed.
To his left and right are two large crates full of the narcotic. Their missing tops have been tossed to the ground as if someone recently dug through them.
“Bruce,” I say, surprisingly even.
Coming to a halt, he grips the back of the desk chair and glares. “Do you know why I’ve called you here?”
The fact that he asked me to come to an empty bar alone isn’t the only thing that has fear dousing my insides. It’s the sweat soaking his brow and the savage look in his eye that has every one of my nerves firing, urging me to flee.
I give a single shake of my head.
“We have a problem.” Dabbing his brow with the loosened tie hanging from his neck, those dark eyes hold mine. In a matter of seconds, I’m utterly exposed. Every secret I’ve been keeping feels as though it’s written in red ink across my face.
“We’re missing a shipment,” he says.
Missing?I specifically told Sasha the shipment was to be unloaded first. My chest aches from the sudden force of adrenaline.
“One of my men has informed me that an officer took out two of our delivery drivers before knocking him unconscious and restraining him.” His thumb swipes his bottom lip. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you, would it?”
My nails pierce the meat of my palms. “No. Why would I have anything to do with that?”
Bruce’s inky stare bores through me as my mind spins wildly, but I’m afraid to say anything more.
Where is Sasha?
As if I haven’t been trouble enough, Derrick may actually commit murder if something happened to her because of me.
The drawer closest to Bruce opens with a whine, and he reaches inside to remove a Glock. After popping it back closed, he cocks the weapon. “Do you remember what happened the last time I found out you’d lied to me?”
I slowly bring my hands up, palms submissively visible, but my blood boils to an uncomfortable degree. This will not be the way this ends. If I’m going to die tonight, it’ll be after I’ve finished watching this crazy fucker bleed out.
“Easy. Let’s take a minute to figure this out,” I say. “What reason would I have to interfere with your shipments?”
Bruce’s usually cool demeaner has vanished. His face reddens with anger as that wild look in his eyes grows crazier by the second. “Maybe you’re fucking with me.” He taps the gun against his temple, beginning to pace. “Trying to get in my head.”
What the fuck?
Something has shaken him to his very core to have him acting so irrationally.
His voice raises when he stops and turns the Glock on me. “Tell me what the fuck you’re planning!”
Needing to find a way to keep him from going completely unhinged, I scramble for a way to reason with him.
“I didn’t have anything to do with this, Bruce. You know my loyalty lies with you.”
