Page 12 of King of Obsession

I zipped up my trousers and reached for the Sig Sauer revolver in its holster at my hip.

My senses were ratcheting, and instinct told me I was not alone.

I scanned the area, my hand clenched around the butt of the Sig at my waist.

A rustling sounded, and four men emerged from the brush.

Their faces masked behind printed kerchiefs, their matted hair under greasy caps, and their weapons glinted in the sunlight.

‘Damn,’ I muttered to myself.

‘Hands where we can see them,’ the lead man growled.

I made a quick threat assessment and sighed, annoyed at not being more cautious.

I was outnumbered.

Resigning myself to fate, I stepped forward, raising my arms, my left holding onto my Sig Sauer.

‘Stay the fuck where you are,’ another snarled.

‘I don’t want any trouble,’ I stated, keeping calm, assessing the situation, and taking my time. The jokers exchanged glances, their body language tense and coiled for action.

The kerchiefs around their lower faces announced their affiliation—a bold logo of a cross with a skull over it.

Just my fuckin’ luck. It appeared I’d stumbled across a trio of country mafioso fucks in the wild.

One of the masked men advanced, his eyes glinting with malice behind the mask’s cover. ‘You’re in our territory, mate,’ his local Aussie-fied Italian accent thick, his tone laced with menace. ‘No one enters here without our say-so.’

I kept my gaze steady, attempting to diffuse the tension. ‘Didn’t see any boundary lines or fences.’

The group exchanged wary glances. The leader took a step closer, his firearm still trained on me. ‘Really with that shit? Then why the weapon?’ he declared.

I weighed my choices, aware that a misstep could edge to a dangerous confrontation. ‘Purely precautionary.’

‘Bullshit.’

Just then, a rock fell at the feet of the lead gangster.

My new acquaintances flinched and whipped around.

I did, too, brows flying at the unbelievable sight of a lithe figure with short dark hair on top of a nearby hilltop, a rifle in their hands.

Even from this far, I tagged their stance and multi-calibre long gun. Fuck, they weren’t here to play.

Unlike the clowns with me who demonstrated piss-poor gunmanship and shitty weapons discipline, pawing over their triggers like this was some paintball game zone.

They’d lots to learn from the unexpected late entrant to our gathering. Whose index finger was placed along the frame of their firearm, still as a rock in the wind.

Silence fell as we all took stock of the unusual standoff.

‘Back off, or we shoot him, and you,’ one of the jokers shouted out.

The sniper aimed.

Seconds later, the ground spat at the foot of the lead gunman.

A warning, a freakin’ well-targeted one.

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