Page 78 of Killaney Blood
He winks and leaves.
I watch him go, heart beating like it shouldn't, already missing him more than I should.
God, I hope this isn't all a dream. If it is, I don't want to wake up just yet.
24
DECLAN
My headlights illuminate the familiar sign of Frank's Gym as I pull into the parking lot.
I see a few cars parked, one I know to be Jay's. The engine idles for a second as I look around, not seeing anyone.
Two black SUVs roll in behind me and park. I get out as they shut off their engines.
Shane hops out of the passenger seat of one of them, cracking his neck, followed by four of our guys. Three exit the other.
"Jay said there's trouble, huh?" Shane asks, adjusting his holster beneath his jacket.
"Yeah. Said there was a fight between our boys and some outsiders," I say, irritated by the fact I had to leave her to come here. "If they cracked another nose or trashed the place over nothing, I'm pulling them off the next fight."
We approach the front entrance. The door hangs partially open, interior lights dimmed.
We step inside, boots echoing against the concrete floor.
And that's when the second thing hits me.
Silence.
There's no sound of sparring, no yelling, no gloves hitting pads, no hip-hop blaring from the speakers. Just dead air and the distant hum of the vending machine off in the corner.
"Where the fuck is everyone?" I ask, getting even more irritated.
"Maybe out back?" Shane says, stepping beside me. His voice is low, also suspicious.
We walk deeper into the gym. Racks are lined neatly with weights. Water bottles sit unopened beside benches. A jump rope sways gently from a hook like someone just left it.
But the gym's empty and I immediately think, Jay better fucking be here. He's the one who called me.
My pulse quickens and we move. I've walked into enough tense situations to recognize when something isn't right. The skin on the back of my neck prickles.
Then Shane freezes mid-step, pointing toward the corner near the emergency exit. "What the hell is that?"
I pull out my phone, switching on the flashlight. A dark smear glistens on the wall. Unmistakably blood.
"Something's not right," I say, drawing my gun. The others follow.
My men fan out, weapons ready, raised as we approach the back alley door.
I take point, stopping right in front of it. I turn to nod to Shane, who nods back and brings his aim right at the door.
I take a deep breath and kick the door open with the heel of my boot, expecting movement, anything.
But at first glance, the alley appears empty, lit only by a single flickering lamp halfway down the street.
We take a second and then all file out, my men's aim moving from left to right, up and down, scanning the area.
I get to about the middle of the street and that's when I see them. Two of my fighters sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Blood pools beneath them.
