Page 59 of Manic

Aiden was holed up in one of our vans, checking the monitors and cracking into the port cameras. After going over the details, Grave and I went to track them down.

The Irish had crates from our weapons shipment, along with a slew of trafficked women. We were going to be stealing them back and letting the women go. We might be a couple of sociopaths, but we weren’t total assholes.

Well… that and because women brought attention, which was why ours worked at the club under a non-disclosure agreement. Willingly, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them took a job offer tonight.

But I’d be lying if I said taking these dicks out wasn’t entirely because of Sutton. That pressure in my chest wasn’t letting up, and I needed an outlet. Fast.

Not even the torture I’d doled out made it subside, and for the first time in a long while, it freaked me out. It should have gone away, yet the muscle beneath my ribs still constricted, growing tighter by the day. My nerves burned along my sternum, eager for release.

I swiftly met Grave by his side again, and slowed my breathing. Cold air bit at my face, carrying the sharp scent of iron and salt from the docks. That familiar sense of calm washed over me, because we were about to wreck their shit.

Grave looked at me, spewing our first line of code. “Protect our family.”

“Take what’s ours.”

“Mercy is expensive.” He grinned. “You ready?”

I gave a cruel smile. “Light em’ up.”

“Five Crowes coming in right behind you,” Aiden said.

Within a single breath, we turned the corner. Side by side, with our guns raised, we steadily walked toward the cracked container door. Our boots thudded in unison as we scanned the area.

They were about to be taken out like monkeys in a barrel.

The scuffing of boots and vests brushed my ears after a moment, our team quietly falling into step behind us.

A few more feet and two armed Irishmen came into view, silhouetted by the container’s light ahead. Before they had a chance to hear our approach, Grave shot both without an ounce of hesitation. It was muffled thanks to his suppressor, but they dropped with a couple of heavy thuds, and the echo of confusion rang within the container.

We slowed our ascent as two Crowes ran toward the double doors, each one gripping its handles. I expected shouts of warning from inside, and yet it was eerily quiet. They either knew we were here and were silently preparing, or they were simply just that stupid.

The door’s metal shrieked as our team opened them.

With a quick scan of the interior, I gauged roughly twenty men spread throughout. Some were chatting and playing cards while the others had their weapons thrown on nearby wooden crates. In a split moment, multiple eyes widened, and I knew we had about five seconds before shit hit the fan.

Yep, they were definitely stupid.

I didn’t hesitate.

My first shot cracked through the air as I lifted my weapon and aimed, downing the one closest to me. A sure shot right between his eyes. His blood struck the steel wall behind him, his head thrown back so quickly I was positive he didn’t feel it.

The sound of our guns exploded like loud cracks of thunder, almost deafening in the enclosed space.

Grave and the Crowes behind us followed, each one downing a few more before the Irish had even realized what happened. Shouts and bullets pinged off metal, and more men sprang up from behind crates, their guns popping off.

We dove for cover.

Grave and I rolled in opposite directions, each of us coupled with two other Crowe members. We were missing one. I looked behind me, eyeing one of our men splayed in his own blood by the entrance. Shit.

As I attempted to peer around my crate, bullets hit the edge of the wood, hissing past my ear and splintering in every direction. I ground my teeth. Fuck that.

“Stay here,” I ordered the two beside me and slipped off.

I rounded the other side, immediately spotting a crouched Irishman frantically trying to reload.

I fired another shot, and he hit the ground before he even had a chance to get his clip secured. Blood pooled beneath him, but I stepped over his body and took his place behind his crate.

The Irish popped up like groundhogs, too focused on Grave and the others to notice me. And each time someone sprung up, I put a bullet in their skull. One after the other, they dropped like flies.