Page 186 of The Sinner's Bargain

The kind of men Brixton brought with him were messy. Disorganized. They had no strategy. No unity. They fired at will. Spraying the yard with bullets. Hitting air and night because my men were shadows. They made no sound and left no trace. I watched from the front porch, hands in my pockets as his men peppered the silence with rapid and wasteful fire.

This couldn’t be right.

With all that money at his disposal, this was the best he could do? This was what he hired?

I searched the dirt road beyond the gates, hoping this was just a diversion to distract us.

“Are there more coming?” I asked Cyrus who stood mutely at my side.

The man shrugged. “No. Guards have gone all the way up to the main road. Nothing.”

So, this was it.

I was insulted.

You don’t ambush the home of a ruthless arms dealer with a handful of men and no fucking backup plan.

I was actually angry. I could feel the heat sticking my clothes to my spine. I could have stayed in bed with Naya. That pissed me off most.

“Kill them,” I muttered, disgusted. “Except Brixton. Take him to the empty factory. It’s still mine for another month. No one will question a little more blood after the accident.”

I would move him later, but the factory was abandoned. The investigations and legal process complete. No one was going in until I sold it.

I wanted privacy and silence.

Cyrus started to incline his head only to stop. It cocked to one side as he listened to his earpiece. His expression morphed from alert, to confused, but still alert.

“There’s a car coming this way. Fast.”

I paused to look back towards the road. “How many?”

Cyrus met my gaze. “One.”

Intrigued, I stopped and waited for the newcomer. Did someone accidentally sleep in? Maybe it was Brixton himself charging in to see how his failed attack was going. Well, he was about to waltz into a massacre because only three trucks remained and only because they’d been smart enough to bullet proof their glass.

“Wrap this up,” I said to Cyrus. “Tell the men to stop playing with their food. It’s late.”

Cyrus pulled up his walkie and ordered the 30-60 rifle.

The glass splintered with the first shot. Shattered with the second in the same spot. The driver tried to put the truck into reverse, but he’d been blocked in. His rear end crunched into a Hummer, filling the air with the grind of metal and glass.

I almost face palmed.

What the fuck was this? I was beginning to feel bad. Like shooting ducks in a barrel. It wasn’t even a fair fight anymore.

The sniper took out the driver. Then the idiot who jumped out of the backseat, wildly firing his gun. A last-ditch effort to hit something.

The sniper got him between the eyes. His brain splattered across the open door, and he slumped to the ground.

He went for the next truck. The first bullet hit the glass.

“Cease fire!” someone yelled. The passenger side door creaked open. “Cease fire!” he yelled again.

I sighed. “I guess that’s my cue.” I took a single step off the porch. “Come out, Brixton.”

The door was nudged wider, and the mother fucker crept along the side of the hood.

“Lacroix, I think you know why I’m here,” he shouted from across the field. “If you give her to me, I will leave peacefully.”

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