Page 21 of Forgotten Comeback
“Gavin.” My shoulder receives a violent shake, and I snap my eyes open. “Need you on deck.”
Deck, not dick.
I rub my palms over my eyelids before climbing into the front of the van and into the driver’s seat.
Taylor McKenna is seriously fucking up my head. And my head’s already a fucked up place to begin with.
“Jesus Christ.” My brother notices my erection. “Is this turning into a full-blown sex addiction? Because we don’t have time for that shit.”
“Worry about your own boners.”
Besides, you can’t be addicted to something you’ve never had.
Right?
Yeah, I’m gonna say right.
“Get your fucking mask on.” John tosses it to me. “I’ll handle the artillery. You leave the message.” He taps the bottle of spray paint in the cup holder before peering through his binoculars. His phone buzzes, and he grabs it from his pocket. “Shit. They’re already inside.”
“How? I thought you were keeping watch.”
“I was,” he snaps. “Let’s pump the dining room full of lead. Only so many times that fucker can cheat death. Pull up to the front entrance quietly,” he instructs, and I shift the van into gear and creep down the street, turning into the parking lot. We reach the front of the building, with both of us hopping out.
Giving the spray can bottle a shake, I deliver the message.
Vengeance is coming.
Look at me being all poetic and shit. Inferno would be proud.
Hustling to the driver’s seat, I shift into D while mashing the brake. John unloads with a semi-automatic rifle; glass shatters as he empties the clip inside the restaurant.
“We gotta go!” My brother shouts as he jumps into the passenger seat and slams the door.
Tires screech as I peel out.
Our enemy returns fire, but we’re long gone.
My fist pumps the air in victory as I hoot and holler, but John doesn’t join in the celebration. “We wait and see how this shakes out?” I guess, lowering my hand.
“We wait and see how this shakes out,” John parrots.
The long game. Still fucking hate the long game.
Chapter
Nine
Taylor
I press the call button to Ace’s back door, and Russell appears, ushering me inside. “Hey, Taylor. Glad you could join us.”
“Happy to fill in. What kind of gaming do we have tonight?” I ask.
“You’ll be dealing blackjack. Stash your bag in a locker and follow me.”
I do so, ignoring the locker room bench as I lock up my bag and quickly exit, rejoining Russell.
He presses his hand to a censor to an employee-only door, and I follow him downstairs to the basement. It’s been transformed into a legit-looking casino, and I’m given the rundown as I step behind my table. “I’ll conduct inventory before the party begins and once more when we wrap up. Any chips you receive as gratuity, you keep, and we’ll square up at the end of the night,” Russell explains. “If you need a bathroom break during play, flag me down, and I’ll watch your table until you return. Any questions?”
