Page 13 of Tiny's Testament
The man’s eyes flicker between us. “This ain’t your business, brother.”
“Everything in this city is my business,” I say, voice low. “Now, where’s the third truck?”
No answer. Just the metallic click of a safety. That’s all I need.
The shot tears through the air, and the man’s shoulder bursts red as the force spins him sideways into the scorched metal. Before he can hit the ground, Dagger moves in a blur, blade flashing once in the morning light, and the second guy drops hard, clutching his arm and howling into the empty yard.
“Talk,” I growl, grabbing the wounded one by his cut. The heat from the wreck still clings to the leather, the smell of charred oil rising with each breath. “Where’s the load?”
He spits blood. “Gone. Already north.”
“Who’s running it?”
He grins, teeth pink. “Your old friends.”
My grip tightens. The Hellhounds. My past. My failure. It hits all at once.
I slam him into the truck. ‘If you’re lying…’”.
“I ain’t!” he yells, eyes wide now. “They’re working for Lattimer. Got paid in cash and powder. Said they’d deliver to his warehouse before nightfall.”
Dagger curses under his breath. “Motherfucker.”
The guy wheezes out a laugh. “Too late to stop ’em, boys. They’ve already.” The bullet hits him clean and fast. I don’t even realize I’ve fired until the echo fades.
Dagger stares, jaw tight. “He could’ve told us more.”
“He told us enough.” My voice comes out rough. “And if he was right, we’ve got a problem bigger than missing trucks.”
He wipes blood off his cheek, nods slowly. “Then we tell Capone before this turns biblical.”
I look back at the burned trucks. The heat, the smoke, the scars. My mark once.
Every instinct demands revenge. But beneath it all, fear waits. Not for myself, but for the people connected to this place.
For her.
The ride back is quieter. No jokes this time. Just wind, engine noise, and the sound of my pulse trying to burst out of my chest.
When the compound finally comes into view, the weight on my shoulders feels ten times heavier. Capone’s waiting by the garage, cigarette hanging from his lips. Red and Trigger stand nearby, tense.
“What’d you find?” Capone asks as we kill the engines.
“Two trucks burned,” I say. “Third gone. Hellhound insignia at the scene. Lattimer’s ‘L’ branded into the asphalt.”
Capone’s face hardens. “You sure?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
Dagger adds, “They’re working together. Old Hellhound cells. The kind that don’t follow rules anymore.”
Trigger lets out a sharp whistle. “Christ. That’s a nightmare cocktail.”
Red shakes his head. “You think they’re rebuilding under Lattimer’s money?”
“Yeah,” I say. “And it’s personal.”
Capone grinds his cigarette under his boot. “No retaliation yet. We find out what they want first.”
