Filthy Daddy

But he doesn’t.

No one gets to say another word.

All hell breaks loose.

A single shot rings out in the warehouse, then a blast goes off nearby, and the men around the table are thrown out of their seats from the force of the explosion.

With all the precautions both sides took, it makes no sense that there'd be chaos this quickly.

I drop my cigarette, shoving my boot on it as I duck under the table for cover like most everyone in the room. What the hell? Fuck, I knew we should’ve kept our weapons. We’re all unarmed and useless, Satan’s Saints and Los Diablos alike. Neither clubs would attack now, with our presidents in here. A quick peek over the table edge, and I see the Los Diablos president in a bleeding heap on the floor. His guys drag him to safety on the other side of the warehouse behind a huge ass storage container. It looks like the fucker has been hit through the side of his neck.

Great. Fucking fantastic. We’ve been so careful to keep our meeting safe and secret that no one secured the building? This is why the Saints should’ve had a part in setting up our own perimeter security team. To round out this fuckery. I glance over at all my brothers. None of us is hit, but so far, there’s only been one shot fired. Someone wants to send a clear message. We just don’t know who the bullet was meant for.

Silas signals for us to start checking the area now. Cole, Axe and I go off to sweep the upper parts of the warehouse. We have nothing to defend ourselves.

We also find nothing, and return to the meeting room where we left Silas and the rest of the Los Diablos.

“You planned this, didn’t you,” Francisco Garcia, the Los Diablos’ VP thunders out and shoves Silas backward. “This was supposed to be a conversation about a fucking truce!”

“Back the fuck up! We had nothing to do with this. All of my guys are accounted for right here. You can stand here and wait for someone else to get shot or help weed out these fuckers. But we need to get your President some medical help in the meantime. Anytime now, before he bleeds out.”

Garcia gets the hint and takes a step back. “All right, fuckers.”

“We need our weapons back,” Silas demands and turns to us. “I need two of you to sweep the second floor again.”

“I’m in. I’ve got nothing to lose,” I say, and as soon as I do, Molly’s face flashes through my mind. She’s pregnant. Hell yes, I have shit to lose now.

“Okay everyone,” Silas booms out. “I’m the fucking alpha dog in here, and this is how it’s gonna go. Garcia, your men need to get Vasquez some medical care. Someone needs to check anyone who was hurt from whatever exploded outside. And I need a few of your men to team up with my men and check the place.”

Garcia nods to his men and everyone goes about their orders. I join the team that’ll check every inch of this sprawling warehouse. What I wouldn’t give for a fucking gun. It would be handy with unknown shooters on the loose. But we fucking agreed to show up for a sit-down with no weapons and became sitting ducks in the process. And now we’re moving through a warehouse with hiding places everywhere, looking for guys who are probably still aiming their sniper rifles at any fucking one of us.

Brilliant.

I ignore the boom sound in my ear from the crackling of all the shit that’s burning outside the warehouse due to the explosion. Adrenaline floods my veins as I try to make sense of the attack. From the neck wound on Antonio Vasquez, the sniper’s vantage point has to be on the main floor. I split off from everyone and go back there, confident that if it really did come from the main floor, the shooter will not have stuck around long enough to get discovered. Chances are we aren’t going to find the sniper, but maybe he left a trail behind.

I pivot around a corner and look around. There’s shuffling off to my right a few minutes later. A small ping from above. I glance up with my heart clogging my throat. No shadows. Not a damn thing. And there is no noise from the other guys either, all is quiet except for the tread of sneakers on concrete. I circle the suspected quadrant of the warehouse again, tracing and retracing my steps, looking for some kind of evidence the assassin has left behind.