Page 96 of Knocked Up by my Best Friend's Brothers

Our Escalades are parked outside, closest to the main entrance. The weather is turning from bad to nasty, though, the winds intensifying as a heavy storm gathers on the horizon with rolling, charcoal clouds. It will make everything harder, but we might find an advantage in the tactical cover of rain.

“They’re expecting us to take Nathan’s car,” River says.

“We’ll take yours then,” I shoot back.

I’m just about to get in the passenger seat, but I stop and freeze at the sight of a blinking red light reflecting onto the pavement. It’s coming from somewhere under the vehicle.

“Stop,” I say, my heart already racing. “Move back.”

“What?” Nathan sounds confused.

“Back! NOW!” I shout and drag River away with me.

Nathan catches up. We’re running toward the front steps when the explosion tears through the entire east corner of the parking lot. People scream. Glass breaks. The ground shakes and shudders as burning car parts fly everywhere.

We make it out of the blast radius, but the heat still brushes over us.

My cheeks burn as I crouch and look back.

As soon as one of the car door locks was deactivated, the charges were set to detonate. They missed us by a handful of seconds, no more.

“Motherfuckers,” Nathan groans, blood trickling from a deep scratch on his cheek from a chunk of debris, but he’s still in one piece and clearly pissed off. “They rigged all three of our cars.”

“Didn’t matter which one we were going to take,” I mutter. “We weren’t getting out of here alive.”

“Is everyone okay?” River shouts at the other Hawthorne staff and visitors in the blast radius’s immediate proximity. “Call 911. Now!”

“We can’t be here when the cops come,” Nathan warns.

In the meantime, tongues of black and orange flames lick at the darkening skies above. I see people running away from the parking lot. I don’t see anyone down, but the smoke thickens as it burns through the fuel and the plastic within the blaze’s reach. We should stick around and help people, but our security personnel are already rushing to secure the area.

And Nathan is right.

We can’t be here when the police arrive. We’ll have to give statements and no time to give them. The Mancinis just tried to execute us.

“We’re taking the fight to them,” I growl. “That’s the fucking last straw.”

The apartment buildingin Sellwood-Moreland is part of a half block of buildings left derelict for over two years. It sits on a quiet street where only stragglers and dope runners hang out, running their businesses on the corner, squatting in any of the empty apartments, and likely using one or more of the basements as stash houses.

There are no working security cameras in the area either.

“The fellas at that barbershop are about to close for the day,” Nathan says.

Across the street from the Mancinis’ apartment building, a barbershop is still taking customers, by the looks of it.

We’re in one of our backup cars, geared up and ready to go as nightfall stretches over the city with a curtain of cold drizzle.It will turn into a heavy rain soon enough, but for now, the flickering streetlights give us a good cover as we park between two abandoned sedans.

“That leaves the diner,” I say. “It looks empty from here.”

“Just a couple of patrons at the counter,” River replies as he peers through his tactical binoculars. “I think we’re good to breach soon.”

I gaze up at the building. There’s a light on. “Sixth floor. Check it out.”

“I see it,” Nathan says, following my gaze, then pulls up the info sheet on his phone. “The entire building is about to be condemned. No active tenancies or subleases at present. The gas mains were shut down six months ago.”

“The power is still on,” River mutters.

“Might be a generator,” Nathan says. “The power company contract was closed around the same time. There should be no electricity going into the building.”

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