Page 98 of Filthy Liar

They can do that later. Right now, we have to keep an eye on what’s happening with the gun shipments. “Has the warehouse been secured?” I ask, turning my head to Fate.

He jerks his chin. “It’s in Shreveport, rented under the name Conrad. Demon Guns will know exactly who the fuck that is. And they don’t know he’s dead yet. This is going to be the biggest scheme I’ve ever been part of,” Fate mutters.

“Not our normal MO, but I’m fucking thrilled to watch it play out,” I say.

The trucks are all scheduled to deliver the arms to that warehouse in Shreveport. Which means we will have complete possession of them. The Demon Guns will get zero money, and the Southern Mafia will look like they received the shipment yet didn’t pay.

They’ll be at war with one another. Meanwhile, we’ll have their weapons and attack them from behind. And attack them, we will. Because fuck both of their groups. Fuck them all.

King walks out of Atomic’s office and makes his way toward our small group. “Nash is back in Corpus. He’s got James and said she’s safe. Also said she didn’t seem as on board with the whole thing as Vixen claimed she was, so I don’t know what the fuck that is about.”

“The gun shipments are moving in the right direction. Everyone has confirmed the drop-off location change. We should be watching a full-blown war erupt in a few days.”

“I’m fucking here for it,” King growls. “I’m ready for these clubs to be goddamn extinct.”

I feel the same fucking way. “Ready to have the whole fucking thing done and breathe for five fucking minutes.”

“Have a feeling that’s about all the time we’ll have, too,” King says with a chuckle.

“It begins,” Piston calls out.

Looking at him, I jerk my chin. He grins. “First shipment has been delivered.”

“What time do we go and move everything out?” Atomic asks as he walks out of the hallway from his office.

Fate clears his throat and answers for me. “The first group of men already left with the truck. Nobody is flying colors. This operation needs to be as nondescript as possible. And when that truck comes back here, we’ll unload before we send it back to Shreveport.”

“How long will this last?” he asks.

It’s my turn to answer. “Tomorrow, ten in the morning, will be the last one. We should be fully equipped by then with the Southern Mafia and Demon Guns being none the wiser… until the Demons don’t get paid.”

“Good,” Atomic grunts.

Clearing my throat, I decide to ask about Dillion. She’s been cooped up here, imprisoned for days, and I know she wants to get out. I don’t blame her. I recognize the feeling more than most, and the fact that she’s been so fucking understanding about it makes me want to get her out of here even sooner.

“Any news on Dillion and her shit?” I ask.

Atomic rocks back on his heels, and his eyes find mine. “The contract is out. Someone has it, and they’re looking for her. Beyond that, it’s all kept hush-hush.”

“She can’t live here forever. I won’t make her a prisoner.”

He clears his throat before he speaks again. “I think that once we get these clubs taken down, it’ll be a moot point. There won’t be anyone to pay this person, so they’ll move along.”

I don’t like the fact that there isn’t a clear answer here. And that we won’t know if someone is after my woman. How do you constantly live life looking over your shoulder, watching your back forever? Because that’s exactly what that would be. And that sounds goddamn miserable.

I suck in a breath and hold it for a moment before I let it out slowly. I don’t like his answer. But I’m not sure there is another one out there.

So, at this point, we have to wait and see what the fuck is going to happen. “I’ll keep her here until this shit has calmed down, but when it’s done, we have to live our lives. Dillion deserves at least that,” I murmur, more talking to myself than Atomic.

“She does,” he murmurs. “She’s fuckin’ been through it, and both of you deserve to start your lives.”

Jerking my chin toward him, I almost jump out of my skin when my phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text message, and that message makes me smile. It’s Wackie. He’s helping out today, and he’s sent the confirmation that they are on their way back with the first full load of weapons.

“Piston?” I call out.

His head swings to me. “Where is the second delivery?”

I watch as he looks down on his phone. Every single person turned on their tracking notifications, which is goddamn mind-boggling that they would do that. But I guess that’s what they’d been doing with these.

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