Page 62 of Moros

“He isn’t one of—wait a second—” Boss scrolled his phone. “He isn’t one of Sloan’s thugs either. Apparently, he’s a part of a local gang. They’re up and coming, but still dangerous. I think he did this for the money—and has no idea what he stepped into.”

“That won’t save him.” Khadri stood.

“I’ll send you the location.” Boss promised.

“That’s not a good idea, is it?” I asked. “How is this going to end well?”

Boss ignored me.

I have to go back to the station.” Boss spoke. “Are you going to be good?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Moros—I’m serious.” I spoke up again.

The anger about the place burning was still fresh. It emanated off Khadri like a beacon in the night. I couldn’t blame him but even I knew going into something so dangerous just so angry was never a good course of action.

“He’ll be fine because I’m going with him.” I told Boss.

“No.” Khadri barked.

“Someone has to keep you in check.” I lifted my chin. “And I know the rule, stay close to you, let you do the talking. Does that cover it?”

Khadri sighed his frustration then turned to look at Boss who shrugged.

“Don’t look at me,” he said. “I got no say here.”

Khadri’s muscular shoulders rose and fell before he turned for the door.

I winked at Boss and jogged after Khadri.

Where we wound up was unexpected. It seemed like a nice part of town, with quaint little shops and diners. Health-conscious people jogged to and fro with their high breed dogs and others popped in and out of juice bars.

I leaned forward to get a better look then tilted my head.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

“We’re about to find out.” Khadri spoke.

The truck was barely off before he was climbing out and making his way to the back of the truck. I scrambled out just in time to see him pulling a shotgun from what looked like a toolbox strapped down into the bed of the truck.

“Whoa!” I exclaimed, holding up my palms. “No! Bad God of Doom! Bad!”

He frowned at me, stepped around my body and stormed off toward the one place on the entire street that looked like something out of the ghettos.

The building was strangely standing on its own with black walls covered in what looked to be professional graffiti.

It was the kind of graffiti someone had paid to have added to the wall.

But that didn’t stop Khadri.

“I’m looking for Anthony James.” Khadri shouted through the door.

No one spoke—I didn’t think anyone looked up.

This is one of those places, I see.

I shifted my frame behind Khadri as he lifted his arm, pumped the gun and I covered my ears. Still, I could hear the loud boom and the sharp shatter of glass.

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