Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
To a fault. And if I really think about it, I'm sure Piston, Beast and Zero are, too. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I'm just scared to commit? I let out another dramatic sigh. “Do you really think I should go for it?”
"Yes. Yes to all of it. Maybe you actually can buy out Travis. Maybe the guys are who you think they are and are actually kinda obsessed with you." He drains the last of his coffee. "Wait for this whole biker danger thing to blow over and then go grab the future you want with both hands, because it's not just going to sit around and wait for you."
"I knoooooow," I moan. "You were supposed to sit here and listen to me bitch, not give me actual actionable advice."
"I'll never be sorry for being a good friend."
I finally push myself back up to sit straight. "I know. And I love you for it."
“Good, because you’re stuck with me.”
“Forever?”
“Or until our free boxing trials are over.”
29
BEAST
It's hot. The air over the asphalt wavers like a mirage as we ride into the empty parking lot. Towering over us is an abandoned factory, the sun setting behind it, throwing light in our eyes and reflecting off the steel structure. Kozlov suggested it as neutral ground, away from both our territories. Fucking ballsy of him to call his side of things a territory, but no one disputes that South Side is our turf.
The faded sign high on the wall says Hellstrom Machining if you squint a little, but there's hardly anything left of the lettering. A couple of rusted conveyor belts extend from the upper floor, connected to truck loading stations, the asphalt discolored by years of oil leaks and who the fuck knows what else. Old containers are stacked on one side, almost like they were thrown aside by some kind of giant. Long shadows create enemies in every dark corner, but everything is quiet.
Too quiet.
"It's a trap. What the fuck else could it be?" I growl at Piston and Zero as we stop our bikes, but stay ready to move with our feet on the ground. We're not alone, of course. The Eagles have shown up strong, another twenty or so bikes line up with ours and another dozen have found positions at range to cover us if shit turns sour. We come prepared.
Nobody thinks Kozlov's proposal to discuss a compromise is legit. A guy like him doesn’t go from where we were to a cheery little truce overnight, but we’re here to see what his move is.
King looks my way. "Probably, but we know that going into it. I can't imagine this fucker has the power to rally enough goons to give us much contest."
"Suppose we'll see." Eagle-eye squints as he looks around suspiciously.
"I don't like it," Zero says with a grimace. "We're out in the fucking open, and there's too many places for fuckers to hide. They don't have to be many if they've got snipers."
King nods. "Agreed. They were supposed to be waiting for us." He speaks into a little mouthpiece, "Got us covered?"
Quickshot's voice responds, "Clear view. Nothing comes in or out without us getting a bead on it." If Quickshot can't hit something, then nothing can, but adrenaline's got my senses on high alert.
Eagle-eye takes a step forwards, drops his hand onto the gun at his waist and yells in his booming voice, "Come the fuck out and meet us like men. None of this hiding around bullshit!"
There's a moment of silence, and then it’s broken by the sound of metal screaming as it grinds against metal. The huge garage door at the front of the factory slowly opens, the rusty machinery protesting with every turn. I don't know what the fuck is up with all the drama, but Kozlov should be working in a fucking theater.
The inside of the factory is a black hole in the wall. With the sun on the other side and no lights on inside, it's impossible to fucking tell what's going on.
"At least five people moving around, and some kind of vehicle," Quickshot reports. His sniper scope has dark vision. Maybe we should get some of that for the rest of us, too.
"We know you're in there," Eagle-eye yells. "Enough with the bullshit."
Five shapes materialize, walking towards us with slow, measured steps. The only thing missing is whistling music and tumbleweeds rolling by. Sounds of spurs, maybe. Four of them are carrying assault rifles, but the guy in the middle looks unarmed. He steps out in front of the others. No idea who he is, but it sure as hell isn't Kozlov.
"What the fuck is this? Where is he? We got you fuckers covered from all angles. Make one wrong move, and this factory turns into a fucking morgue."
"Mr. Kozlov's busy." The guy's voice is raspy and ragged, like he got his throat cut once, and it didn't quite do the trick. "He sent me to negotiate in his place. I'm Dimitry, his first."