The timing couldn’t be any shittier.
“Now you’re hungry?” Madelyn asks, arching an eyebrow at me as I pull my pickup into an empty space along the side of the diner. Out of sight from prying eyes inside but within my own clear line of vision on the one exit doorway.
If Franco’s men were inside, they’d be driving tan sedans. Novák’s men prefer more luxurious rental cars. Exclusively Mercedes . . . which stand out in this shithole of a town like a bloody red thumb, where beat-up flatbeds are the choice vehicle.
Hayden’s going to be pleased I’ve located them. Their reappearance in Shelby giving us the perfect chance at retribution for Jaxson’s death. All I need is an order. Which I’m betting my boss will issue. Hard to be sure, though, given how the bastard’s so unpredictable.
Manipulation is Hayden’s strength. Which approach to take, who to threaten, fuck, or kill. A master strategist calling the moves on a twisted game of chess where only he can fully see the outcome. Despite all the shrink lessons, I’m nowhere closer to understanding my boss. Still, year after year, his downright brilliant choices have kept TORC intact. Out of the public eye and deep in the clandestine underbelly of society. Hayden’s an enigma. Though his intolerance of anyone deviating from an order is crystal clear.
“Are we going inside or are we just going to sit in this parking lot staring at the building?” Madelyn says impatiently. Yeah, good sex has lulled her into a false sense of intimacy. She’s comfortable. Feels safe.
And I’m about to freaking obliterate that screwed-up notion.
“Remember who you’re dealing with, Madelyn,” I remind her, allow my harsh censorship to enter my tone.
“Keep the doors locked. I have to make a call.”
“What’s going on?” she asks. I ignore her and climb out of the pickup. My boot rolls over a stone and I kick it away, sending it sailing through the air to ping against the unspoiled body of the scumbag’s new Mercedes.
Novice move. Yeah, I’m asking for trouble.
Still, I hesitate. I feel her staring at me through the dirt-streaked glass. Ignoring all common sense whatsoever, I reach into my small travel case I’ve tucked behind my seat and retrieve Diego’s gun. Then I hand it to her. “You know how to use this?” I grind out. Dumb move, arming her, yet I do so anyway.
“Point and pull the trigger,” she replies steadily, though she’s frowning at me in confusion.
Damn it. If she knew any better, she’d shoot me now.
I hit the lock button, close the door, and ducking my head so she can no longer track my expression, head around to the corner of the building to a spot where I could keep watch on the truck yet remain unobserved myself. Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I make the call.
“Declan,” Hayden answers after one ring. “Status.”
Fuck me. He never beats around the bush, does he?
“I’m working on it.”
“Meaning you haven’t found her yet.”
“I’m close.” I stop myself from telling him how I’ve bait on my hook. How soon, Kylie will be coming to me. “More immediate news. There are two Mercedes parked outside the Pitt. Novák’s crew is back in town.”
I do a quick scan of the parking lot. Two truck drivers are climbing the chipped cement steps leading to the Pitt’s entrance. Otherwise, except for the woman likely to get me terminated—her blond head clearly visible through the pickup windshield—the parking lot is vacant.
“Terminate them. Call me immediately if that traitor is with them. But don’t kill her unless I say go.”
Damn it. I hadn’t considered how Kylie might be meeting with these assholes. Selling secrets and selling us out. But she couldn’t be that stupid. That brazen to be doing it so goddamn openly. Like she’s flipping Hayden and the rest of us the bird. No way. She’s well aware of the consequences. And how I’m around to administer them.
“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” Hayden demands.
I freeze, then force out, “No.”
For a second he’s silent. “Call me when it’s done.”
Shit, I hate working in shades of gray, not knowing what he’s discovered or what the consequences will be. But I better get busy. Gray’s much better than coffin black.
I stride back to the pickup. Unlock the doors even before I reach it, then tug mine open, retrieving a baseball cap out of my bag to cover my head. “Open the glove box,” I say, handing Madelyn a small key. Despite her obvious confusion, she silently obeys. Until she sees the small armory I keep stashed inside. Wide-eyed, she turns to me. “What is going on?”
“Hand me the shiny silver gun along with the smaller black one next to it.”
She tenses and simply stares at me. Like she’s seeing me clearly for the first time. Good, baby. Have a long, hard look. “I haven’t got all day. Do it.”
“What are you—?”
I climb over my seat and close the distance between us.
I pin her with my eyes, daring her to say another word before scooping up both weapons in one hand. The rest I lock securely within the glove box.
That’s when I feet it. Diego’s gun. The chill of the barrel is beneath my shirt and pressed up against my stomach. Great. Stomach wounds tend to bleed you out. A long, harsh way to go. Especially with her staring down at me.
“You have an entire arsenal of weapons. For what purpose?” she demands.
And fuck me, but don’t you know that five men dressed in black suits are now exiting the Pitt.
No sign of Kylie.
Five fuckers. I can easily take out two with one gun and another two with the other. The fifth is a problem. The fifth will have time to draw on me. Still I have the advantage in terminating them on the stairs . . .
“I trusted you.”
“Madelyn,” I warn.
“Those men at the truck stop. You killed them, didn’t you? When you said you had blood on your hands, you meant it.”
“Jesus, just do as I say and you won’t get hurt.”
“Why are we in Shelby?” Her words come out in a hoarse whisper.
Fuck. FUCK.
“Are you hunting . . . Kylie?”
“No,” I say. “So either shut up and shoot me or put the gun down.”
Her eyes widen, horrified. But I don’t wait around for her to regret the decision to let me go.
“If you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay put.” I click off the safety on the silver gun. The black one is cocked and ready. Calmly, I step out of the truck and casually stride out in front of the pickup. I assume the gait of a man with nothing but food on his mind, both guns tightly hidden against my sides.
They’re halfway down the steps when they finally notice me. Late. Ain’t life a bitch?
I neatly take out the first two assholes with a bullet from each gun. Before they can draw, I shoot another scumbag in the neck and the fourth guy in the forehead. Head wounds suck. Messy because they bleed like water fountains and cause too much drama afterward. Not my fault, the asshole moved into the shot. A newbie? Recruited to do what? Reestablish Novák’s business in Shelby? Reconnect with Franco’s men?
Except I guess wrong. Turns out, scumbag number five isn’t a newbie. He’s drawn his gun, and it’s aimed at me.