Page 67 of Waging War
“What the fuck is that for?”
He starts for the back door to Lucky’s. Shifting my gaze to the guy beside me, I nod. “Keep watch.”
I trot after him back toward the building, skidding to a halt in the doorway. “Bruce—”
He’s pouring gasoline all over the office. The liquid sloshes from the nozzle as he frenziedly sprays it all over the room before trailing a line back outside and around the building until the can is completely empty.
“Have you lost your fuckingmind?” Lucky’s is chock-full of any proof I had hoped to hand over to Sasha to give to the chief, and it’s about to go up in flames, along with the stronger half of our plan.
“We have to burn the evidence,” he says, practically plucking the thought from my brain.
Bruce fumbles with his pocket for a set of matches. “Time to prove your loyalty, Ben.”
My heart stops. “Wait. We didn’t sweep the place first. There could be a couple guys left in there.”
His silence is final, and it shakes me to the core. Bruce knows what he’s asking me to do, and the devil demands his souls.
I stutter back a step when wickedness warps his face.
“Do it now,” he grinds out, nostrils flaring as he hands me the match box.
“Bruce, this is madness,” I try to reason, but just hours ago, I was fighting for him to trust me. How can I possibly go back on that now by outright defying an order?
The world ceases to move as I strike the match. Its tip glows with a burst of light as it falls toward the gasoline-drenched grass, which catches flame immediately.
The whole side of the building is consumed by flames in seconds.
I think about the possibility of Bruce’s men dying in there and decide right then that Bruce was right. I’m not a murderer. And I’d rather take a hundred more beatings than live with their blood forever stained on my hands.
I race around the building for the entrance as the fire rages outside.
When I fling the front door open, a thin layer of smoke swirls across the ceiling, coming from the very back.
“Hey!” I call out to the men who may be left.
Already inhaling the acrid smoke, I cough, but still, no one emerges from the back.
I sprint across the bar toward the storage room. Black smoke heavily fills the back hall, but when I throw the door open, a cloud of marijuana envelops me.
Just as I’d feared, two of Bruce’s guys are sitting on a stack of empty crates. They pass a joint back and forth, oblivious to the threat just outside the door.
“Get your fucking asses up. The building’s caught fire. We need to move!”
A deep haze now covers the entire inside of the bar, and the three of us choke as we race for the exit. Flames have already licked their way from the back office toward the main bar. One of the men freezes when he sees how close it’s gotten to the rows of liquor.
“Go!” I shout over the roar between my ears.
The building is going to blow.
Cool night air fills my lungs as I inhale greedily. We sprint across the parking lot to the empty field where I parked my truck, making it just in time.
The first explosion starts with a horrifying hiss, then morphs to a haunting wail as metal begins to buckle. Pieces of brick go flying, and even though I’m far enough away, I still flinch.
Bruce’s men make a run for the truck. They jump the parking block, nearly toppling the fucking thing, and drive through the field toward the edge of the road and wait.
“Fuck,” I breathe, bending at the waist with my hands on my knees.
What once was Lucky’s is now engulfed in angry orange and red flames while black smoke billows from what’s left of the top of the building. The first would be mesmerizing if it weren’t caused by the sadistic fuck standing beside me.
