Page 76 of Callum

A soft choking sound breaks the charged silence, and Maddock releases his hold on the guy whose windpipe he’d been crushing. The man drops to a heap at Maddock’s feet, and I hear JJ let out an annoyed sigh behind his mask.

“One of you, explain this,” Grant demands, his eyes snapping between our brothers. It doesn’t escape my notice that he’s pretending to have only just realized this fight was happening when I know we both watched the whole thing unfold behind JJ.

Maddock steps over the body at his feet, not bothering to see if the man is still breathing. “These two,” Maddock points to the two men he’d been fighting, then stops with a frown. “Or maybe it was those two?” He gestures between the limp body and the man still lying on the ground in front of Merrick. After a long moment of silence, he turns back toward Grant with a shrug. “Either way, it was definitely this one.”

“That one did what, exactly?”

“He was arguing with one of the others about the crates. He said they needed to be opened before they were loaded, but the other one wanted to load them sealed. Something about it being better in transit? I don’t fucking know.”

“Speed this up, or I’ll let JJ shoot you.”

JJ’s hand twitches at his side, and Maddock holds his hands up to stop him. “They started arguing about who was in charge, and it got pretty heated. Then this one,” he kicks out behind him, the toe of his boot connecting with the side of the unconscious man’s head. “Said they had to open the crates because ‘the MacAlisters can’t be trusted’. At which point, I had to get involved.”

“You really didn’t.” Merrick’s mumbled response carries easily across the space, and JJ’s mask tips toward him briefly before returning his attention to Maddock.

“Yes, I did. They can’t disrespect us in our own house.”

“No, they cannot,” JJ agrees, and Maddock smugly smiles at Merrick. “I will deal with them. I can promise you that.” His face turns toward Grant as he says the last part, and Grant gives him an appreciative nod.

“Load the crates,” Grant barks at our brothers, and I move to help them. A hand grazes my elbow, but I don’t stop to see who it belongs to. I’d know those fingers anywhere, and I’m not dealing with her until we get home.

Stopping at the crate closest to me, I try to judge if I can lift it on my own without injuring myself or dropping the damn thing. “I’ll grab this end,” a deep voice mumbles from directly behind me, and I nearly jump. I’m not used to people being able to sneak up on me, but JJ moves with a surprising amount of stealth for such a large guy.

“Thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he snorts, grabbing the handle on his side of the box. “These men are still new. Growing pains, ya know?”

My eyes dart to Rosalind for a moment before I turn to face the van. “Too well.”

He laughs as we shuffle the crate over to the van, stopping at the doors to allow Merrick and Maddock to unload the massive box between them. It’s easily long enough to house a bazooka, and I realize I never asked what we are selling these days.

Four years ago, we primarily dealt in handguns. Glock-19s were our specialty, but we occasionally sold second-hand MAC-11s or Koch MP5s. The crate currently suspended between JJ and myself is large enough to house anything from AR-15s to military-grade rifles. The way it rattles when we lift it into the van tells me it likely houses parts rather than fully assembled weapons.

Three more trips and all the crates are loaded, along with the still-unconscious man. JJ stares at his limp body, where it rests on the floor of the van, his face unreadable behind the shining gold skull. Merrick seems to realize the problem before anyone else.

“I’ll drive the van.”

JJ’s head snaps in Merrick’s direction, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even move out of Merrick’s way when my idiot brother starts digging through the unconscious guy’s pockets. Merrick comes up with a set of keys that he tosses in the air before catching them again. He smirks at JJ before slamming the van door shut and moving around to the driver’s seat.

No one stops him from climbing behind the wheel, but JJ moves to stand in front of the van. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“Figured I follow the little bicycles.” Merrick waves his fingers at the motorcycles, and I swear I see the muscles bunch along JJ’s spine. I’m not sure what is happening between these two, but one of them is going to end up dead.

My money is on JJ beating Merrick’s face in with one of those “little bicycles”.

“Fine,” JJ growls, spinning to face the other two 714 members who are standing as far from him as they can get. “We’re leaving. Take Heartwood, and go slow enough the little shit can keep up through the underpasses. I’ll catch up.”

The men scramble to their bikes, the engines roaring to life before they’re even fully seated. Maddock rolls open the garage door, stopping Merrick halfway through backing the van into the parking lot. They exchange a few words before separating again.

Mads waits for the two motorcycles to clear the door before he turns toward us. “I’m following so I can bring Merrick back.”

It isn’t a question, but JJ gives an approving grunt anyway. He waits until the engine sounds die down before addressing Rosalind, where she’s standing at my side. She hasn’t moved from that spot since I loaded the last crate into the van. “Do you have any leads on the Grim Reaper?”

“No.”

“Yes.” Grant always looks like the devil himself, but something about the overhead lights is playing tricks with the shadows on his face. I swear there are tiny little Hellfires in his eyes when he turns toward JJ. “Grim was last spotted in Alma.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

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