Page 97 of Waging War
We flatten our backs against the brick.
“Fuck,” I whisper, reaching for the gun holstered on my left hip and cocking it. “We can’t wait much longer.”
She slides her wary gaze past me toward the racket coming from the dock. Her foot taps lightly as she nibbles her lip, but eventually, she relents. “Alright. I’ll follow your lead.”
We slip between the two buildings beside the clubhouse and down a long concreate walkway. I press a finger to my lips when Hazel brandishes her pistol and gesture for her to hang back a few paces.
Stopping at the end of the walkway, we hear voices growing closer. We’re concealed by shadows, but bright light spills across the concrete slab directly in front of us. A semi-truck with lights flashing is parked where several men appear to be unloading its contents.
I peer around the corner, careful not to make a sound.
“What do you see?” Hazel whispers.
I turn back, keeping my voice low. “Seven men. No Diablo.”
Metal clangs loudly, and my pulse thunders when Alfonzo and Mike bark another round of orders at the men carrying crates from the semi into the giant warehouse.
Three large metal barrels are positioned where the copper doubler once resided.
“They removed the distilling machine,” I say to Hazel. “It seems he’s planning on having a much larger production than what he had at Lucky’s.”
My arm flies to her chest, pressing her back against the side of the building in time to miss the man walking by.
Once he’s passed, she jerks her head toward the truck. “There’s no way we stand a chance against these assholes.”
I hate to admit that she’s right. Surely the Wolves will be here any minute, but if Bruce isn’t out here and the deputy is, we may have better odds of cornering him ourselves.
“We need to find Bruce,” I say.
“Are we sure he’s even here? What if he’s covering his tracks again?”
Grabbing her hand, I circle us back the way we came. “It’s worth taking a look.”
We creep toward the front of the clubhouse, searching for any sign of Diablo or more of his crew.
Passing under a row of windows, I peer into each one. “There,” I say, pressing the tip of my weapon against the glass.
A row of dim lights shines in the far back hall of the clubhouse. Hazel nods, but when I reach for the handle of the door, it doesn’t budge.
Scrubbing my hand across my brow, I glance over my shoulder. “Now what?”
Reaching inside her pocket, Hazel produces two bobby pins. I smile as she shoos me out of the way before sliding them into the lock. Her brows pinch and her tongue snakes out over her bottom lip as she moves the pins around.
Pressing her ear close, she pauses just before we hear an audibleclick.
A satisfied smirk tugs at her mouth.
“Add that to the endless list of reasons why I’m attracted to you,” I whisper before stealing a kiss.
She slowly guides the door open, and we step inside. The clubhouse lobby is deathly silent and smells of rich leather and expensive cologne.
“What’s the plan?” she mouths.
There have been many ways I’ve fantasized about this moment. How many different visions have I had where Bruce was on his knees, begging me for mercy before I made that final killing blow?
But as much as I want to defy it, Félix gave the order. “We’ll have to detain him until the rest of our team gets here. In the meantime, I’ll get some answers as to where he’s keeping Sam.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
