Page 56 of Volt
I nod. “Team two, you’re clear.”
With the gunmen distracted and their backs turned as they fire at Domino’s position, Monk, Spyder, Cosmo, and a few of our guys come sweeping in from behind the line and open fire. Their bodies are dropping before they even registered there was somebody behind them. It’s all over in a matter of seconds, and Zavala’s men are lying on the ground in a spreading pool of their own blood, their bodies riddled with bullet holes.
“Clear,” Cosmo says over the comm. “All bogies down.”
A smile crosses my face as I make my way down from the rise. By the time I get to the parking lot, some of the guys are already putting all the drugs that were in the back of the van into a pile. Kilo after kilo is unloaded, the bricks stacked like they’re building a goddamn wall or something. Once that’s done, Nitro steps forward and sets a small canister at the base of it. He backs away, a vicious little smirk on his face. I have no idea what he cooked up for the occasion, but knowing him like I do, I think it’s safe to say this is probably going to get a little bit crazy.
The rest of the guys are lining up the bodies and arranging them around the pile of drugs in a macabre tableaux. When everything is ready, we’re all standing around the scene in a circle, transfixed by the sight. I clear my throat.
“All right, who’s going to do the honors?” I ask.
Cosmo smirks. “This was your op. You should do it.”
Nitro tosses me the remote he fished out of his pocket, a sly grin on his face. “Everybody’s going to want to step back about ten feet,” he warns. “It’s going to get a little hot around here.”
We all do as he says. When we’re all clear, I call out, “fire in the hole,” then push the button. For a long agonizing moment, nothing happens. But then there’s a blinding flash of light that’s quickly followed by a concussive “whump” that hits me like a physical blow. The next thing I know, the pile of drugs they’d stacked up is aflame, burning bright and hot—as are the bodies of Zavala’s men. The flames are so intense, I swear my flesh is singed. Or soon will be. And I’m pretty sure those bodies will be nothing but ash come morning.
“Christ, Nitro,” I call out. “What did you make?”
“Homemade napalm,” he says like it’s no big deal.
“I don’t know about you all but I can’t wait to get back to the clubhouse and listen to him screaming when he finds out we jacked another shipment,” Domino says with a grin. “He’s getting angrier every day. One of these days, he’s going to have a fuckin’ stroke and I intend to be on the line listening when he does.”
Our laughter quickly fades though as the same realization seems to hit all of us. Eventually, Zavala’s going to retaliate. He’s going to come gunning for us with everything he has. Given that Domino is right and Zavala’s starting to sound more and more unhinged as we cost him millions of dollars, the likelihood that he sends men to kill us becomes a certainty. I can’t help but feel like we’re starting a new stage in this war and that it’s going to get a lot bloodier.
I keep hoping for him to decide that he can’t keep sustaining the losses we’re inflicting on him. They’re substantial as hell. But Zavala’s dug his feet in and seems to be unwilling to move. He seems to be willing to sacrifice the boatload of cash we’re stripping him of just for a shot to get back at us. Just for a shot to wipe us out.
So, if he remains committed to this course of action, we just need to stay a step ahead of him. And we need to be ready because when this fight comes, it needs to be on our terms. Not his. Ours. We need to dictate the terms of the battle. Period.
That’s the only way we’re going to win.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Fallon
“So, this is the Ducati?” he asks.
I flash him a grin. “This is it.”
He nods as he walks around the bike, taking it in from every angle. I love this bike. I’ve loved it since my dad first brought it home and had always wanted one of my own. Obviously, this was not the way I wanted to get it. But it’s mine. I’ve been riding since my folks died and love the feeling of freedom I get when I’m out on the road.
“It sure is a gorgeous bike,” he says.
“It was my dad’s pride. He took good care of it,” I tell him. “I tried to keep it up like he did. Regular service checks, detailing, the works.”
He looks up at me and smiles softly. “You’ve done a good job of it. I’m sure he’d be pretty pleased.”
“I like to think so too,” I reply.
He takes another quiet moment to admire my bike. I can see that he appreciates it and that makes me feel good. I feel like it’s strengthening the bond that’s growing between us and it makes me stupidly happy. Blake pats the seat and gives me a smile.
“Ready to go for a ride?” he asks.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
It’s an absolutely gorgeous day. It’s the kind of day that was made for riding, I think. It’s warm, but pleasantly so today, and the azure stretches on into forever. There’s not a cloud in the sky. As we rocket down PCH toward San Francisco, I feel the sun on my face and can’t help but smile. This is nourishment for my soul.
After dinner at a quaint little sushi bar, we walk around the Mission District, admiring some of the murals that have been painted on the walls. I slip my arm through his and lean my head on his shoulder. Blake plants a soft kiss on the top of my head as we walk. We stop in Clarion Alley and look at the murals, most all of them conveying some message of social justice.
