Page 306 of Shadowman
“Thanks, Dad.” I chuckle, giving him dabs.
“So… what’s next?” Kemper asks.
Velle looks us all over—his crew, histeam. His Pen family.
Cocky, wicked smirk intact, he hums, “We fuckingwin.”
That should’ve been the end… Right?
If we all just sailed off into the sunset after reuniting like the badass band of warriors we are.
Come on now…That’s just too easy. It doesn’t work that way…Not on this rock.
We’ve got a war to win, and unfortunately, it’s gonna get a hell of a lot bloodier.
The guards are onregroupandstrategy. Seriously, if any of this seemed frivolous before, the way they’re behaving corrects that notiontoot suite.
Velle is drawing some kind of map in the dirt with a stick, while Joy and Kemper huddle around him, nodding and discussingtactics.
Rook is organizing the artillery. Apparently, this little hut is stocked with enough firepower to take on the cartel.Oh, wait…
Jasper and Hancock are on the walkie, communicating with the others inside the prison.
The way the six of them are moving on instinct has me wondering if any of them actually have any formal military training. Or if they’re justthatsick of Manuel Blanco’s shit. I know Rook was NYPD, and I think Jasper was a detectivesomewhere upstate. Kemper was in the Academy. Peters and Linetti are ex-military—but they’re in the prison. I have no idea what Hancock used to do…
And our commanding officer, theformer bouncerfromStaten Island… Let’s just say, he must have had a lot of on-the-job training over the last ten-plus years, becausedamn.
Even though there are noguardsandprisonersanymore, it does sorta feel like they’re the parents and we’re the kids. That’s not to say any of us arewithout skill…
Dr. Love is patching up those who need it, mostly Felix and Hancock, setting up a station with medical supplies in the event of further injury. Dash is using his bank robber experience to help Rook with the weaponry—he and Ren are checking guns, loading magazines, taking inventory of ammunition, and making sure everything is easily accessible.
Luthor is working diligently on getting into the servers with his device—which he callsLOIS 2.0, though it really looks like the first Gameboy ever invented—in order to free the prisoners who are still stuck inside their cells. Apparently, Velle’s plan to rally the prisoners to fight wasn’t without its challenges. Regardless, with the inmates and guards still in the prison, we have a great deal more manpower. Maybe not as robust as The Ivory’s… But I’m choosing not to dwell on that right now.
According to Luthor, he can also use that thing to get a message to the control room operators who are being held hostage, and he can fuck with certain aspects of The Ivory’s network inside the mansion. Overall, Luthor’s part in all this is extremely important, and it’s hard to feel likeanythingI’m doing is helpful compared to that. My best asset is my ability to fight, on the front lines or in the shadows.
The same goes for Felix, though he’s been ordered by his doctor boyfriend to rest his weapon for now. Since the prison fell, Felix has been busting his ass harder than anyone—maybeeven Velle. The kid has been taking out the Warden’s guys left and right, giving our side a fighting chance and allowing Velle and his team to recover from the fall. The little psycho is beyond impressive.
It’s funny to think I hated him so much for so long… We’re actually a lot alike.Okay, he’s much sweeter than me.
Anyway, for now, I’m busying myself by tending to Velle’s bike, which was in serious need of a tune-up, and fighting to keep my mind off of things I can’t change.
Like the fear of The Ivory closing in on us… And the betrayal of myalmost boyfriend.
“Need any help?”
Speaking of my new ally…
Felix is standing beside the Harley, holding out a bottle of water for me. I accept it with a grateful twitch of my lips, twisting it open and taking a few large gulps.
“You know anything about motorcycles?” My brow cocks, and he bites his lip.
“I know that people other than me look really cool riding them,” he mumbles. Chuckling, I wipe my hands on a rag. “I take it you had one?”
“I had a Kawasaki Ninja,” I reply, and his face scrunches like he doesn’t know what that means. It makes me smirk. “A street bike. Different from a Harley Davidson, but the mechanics are similar enough.”
He nods, though he seems distracted, finger running along the chrome handlebars.
I stand up, putting us face to face. “Something on your mind?”
