Page 67 of Disobedient Pawn

“Hammer, how stupid do you think I am,” I asked. “You never send me shit in advance, and…” I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and held up the glowing screen. “I have no notifications from the bank about a deposit.” I tapped the gun off my leg as I watched him closely.

Devin was quiet by my side with his arms crossed and Liam not far off, but even with the extra man, I could feel the tension rising like a hand pressing on my chest.

Hammer finally smiled and then laughed. “You’re right. I was just fucking with you.”

I didn’t smile. “So I’ll ask again. Where’s my money?”

“It’s in the back of the truck. I couldn’t do our norm, so I needed to bring cash. Feds sniffing around and shit.”

I bristled as little alarm bells began to scream in my head, and red flags were waving in front of my eyes.

“Then you’ll have to come back when you’re ready to do business properly. This was not what we agreed on, so get back in your truck and get the fuck out of here. The deal is off.”

“What the fuck, man? Is my money no good to you,” Hammer asked. His eyes snapped with anger, and the brief moment of calm that had settled was gone.

“Watch your fucking mouth, asshole,” Devin yelled, and I couldn’t help staring at him. What in the actual fuck? “Do you think you can come in here and order us around? Change shit whenever you feel like it?” Devin marched forward and got into Hammer’s face.

“Who the hell is this punk,” Hammer asked, and I felt like asking the same question.

“Yo, D. Back the fuck off of Hammer.” How the hell did I end up defending my lying ass purchaser?

“Why are you letting him walk all over you? I should put a bullet between his eyes right now,” Devin said, and all hell broke loose.

Devin reached for his gun while the guy Hammer worked with flicked the latch on the roll-up door on the truck.

The first thing I noticed was boots, and I knew we were fucked. “Look out!”

Just as the gunfire started, I jumped over the crates. We were sitting ducks, and there was nowhere to run or hide. Wood splinters exploded as the crates were hit, little pieces raining down on me. Arm over arm, I crawled to the side of the crate and saw one of the bikers shooting at Liam, who’d managed to get behind one of the large steel support beams. I didn’t see Devin anywhere.

Aiming, I pulled the trigger and watched the man collapse to the floor with a bullet in his back. The sound of boots on wood had me rolling over, and I caught a glimpse of another man I didn’t recognize. I didn’t hesitate and put two in his chest when he raised his gun.

He tumbled off the crates, his body landing on one of my legs.

“Fuck!”

“Get the closest crate,” Hammer yelled over the loud bangs echoing in the empty warehouse. The sound was so loud that it vibrated back at me and felt like an assault all on its own.

“Oh, no you fucking don’t,” I growled as the sound of scraping was added to the rest of the noise. Liam was firing at the truck, and there was a yell and a thud just as I got my leg out from under the asshole that fell on me. Popping up, I used the crate for cover and shot the guy closest to me. He dropped his side of the crate and grabbed at his bleeding neck wound.

I dropped behind the crates again just as bullets ripped more of the crappy plywood apart. Shuffling around, I moved as fast as I could to the other side and just caught sight of Hammer shooting Devin in the leg. Then he ran toward the front of the truck, yelling for his guys to leave the crates.

Devin yelled and rolled around on the ground as the truck started. I fired at the tires and saw Liam reloading his gun. Tires squealed as Hammer raced for the closed door, and even though one of the back ones popped, it wasn’t enough to stop the truck from crashing into the bay door and ripping it right off the hinges.

Jumping to my feet, I assessed the damage and realized that my heart was slamming against the inside of my ribcage. All the guys lying on the ground were dead—five in total.

“Liam, call the cleanup crew and Sheriff Morrison. Someone had to have heard all that gunfire,” I said and jogged over to Devin.

“On it.”

“Fuck, that hurts. I knew something was wrong,” Devin said, groaning. I was tempted to let Devin bleed out. He was fucking annoying, even with a bullet in his leg. Grabbing my knife, I flicked it open and cut through Devin’s jeans. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Do you want to bleed out before we get you to a doctor? If not, then shut the fuck up.” Taking the material, I tied it around the wound as tightly as possible, making a tourniquet like I’d been taught. Medical training in an emergency was one of the few classes my father forced on me that I thought was helpful.

“Ah, fuck!”

“There that should hold.”

“Five min out,” Liam said, walking over.