Page 17 of Unmasked Anarchy
It’s a cold evening when everything changes.One minute I’m sprawled on the couch in the main room, hand halfway to my mouth with a handful of stale popcorn, and the next the air cracks itself open.Gunfire, close, so close that my eardrums feel as though they’re going to burst.
Windows shatter, glass flying everywhere, and before I know it, I’m being pulled down onto the ground, shouting voices around me.I don’t even know who pulled me down because they came from behind me where the bar was full of bikers drinking.
A loud, guttural curse tells me quickly it’s Gage.
More shots pound the air, splintering glass and voices rising, shouting instructions I can’t hear.I taste metal in my mouth; I think my tongue caught the brunt of my fall.My hands slide through spilled beer on the floorboards as Gage shoves me under the pool table, his big body covering mine, rocking with every loud gunshot.
“We’re good,” he says, but his jaw is clenched so hard the words barely make it out.I can smell his sweat, the tang of it mixed with bourbon.His eyes dart to the doorway and he barks an order at his VP, Rafe, who also happens to be his identical twin brother.
Boots stomp through glass.Someone is yelling for Gage.He stiffens, and then he’s moving, hauling me up with surprising calm, barking orders, gun drawn.I follow, bent nearly double, trying to wrap my brain around what just happened.The gunshots have stopped now, the sound of screeching tires outside telling me that whoever did it just did a runner.
No one looks at me.They all look at Gage.
“Follow them,” Gage roars, and four men get into gear, charging out the door to start their bikes.
I’m walked into the garage, shoved into a truck cab, door slamming behind me.Gage’s voice carries over the shouting.“Don’t open that door unless I tell you!”
I keep my head down, chest rising and falling as I wait.
Feet scuff gravel outside the truck.Faint voices, too many of them.I peek up.Gage is wiping his face with his arm, coated in sweat and streaks of something darker.A few other guys stand by the cab, eyes wide and empty.Muffled behind the glass, I catch a phrase, just a piece.
“Cartel.”
My face flushes, rage ripping through me.
No way in the world Gage would be stupid enough to go into business with the Cartel.
They are dangerous, a level we could never match up to.
“Told you this was a bad fuckin’ idea,” Rafe roars.
Idiot.
God damned idiot.
I leap up, pounding the window until Gage yanks open the door.
“You idiot!”I scream, my voice high and raw.“You said you weren’t in bed with them, you told me—”
Gage grabs my shoulders, shaking me so hard my head jerks back.“Do not fucking question me.”
“You honestly were willing to risk all of our lives for money.I thought you were smart, Gage, but tonight is proof you really aren’t.”
“Back down, now,” he roars.
But I’m past obeying.My voice climbs another octave, ugly and hysterical.“You are going to kill us all.”
I twist, swing an elbow, try to hit Gage in the face.It’s a stupid move; I know it even as it is happening.The last month of rage ...Tonight, everything just erupts inside me.The fury in me is so big, it makes my bones tremble, my jaw lock up.I want to hurt him.
I barely register his grip before Gage yanks me out of the cab.My spine snaps straight as he drags me into the open, hands locked around my arms so tight I know it will bruise.
“Let go of me,” I snarl, but all he does is shove, hard, slamming my back against the side of the truck.The breath is sucked out of me.The rage is white-hot now.I swing for his face and miss.Gage’s hand closes around my throat, not choking, just threatening, and his other hand pins my wrists together above my head, flush against icy steel.
“Back.Down.”
He bellows the words, but they seem almost distant.All I can hear is the ringing in my ears.
A cold voice pierces the static.“Enough!”
