Page 96 of Debt of My Soul

As soon as the door shuts, I run to the clubhouse to get our pizza. It’s been a tradition for several years when we have large shipments ship out. The guys all order from the local Ruin pizza place and two guys make the trek to pick them all up, then toss them in the clubhouse for the rest of the compound to come get. Usually, it’s the new guys tasked with pickup, and I don’t miss my fair share of those days.

These past few days have been tormenting as I sleep in my bed. Haunted by none other than the woman in the other room, whose kiss has stolen my sanity. I’ve resorted to running in the mornings to burn off any steam, but it’s not helping. No matter how hard I push my physical limits, the need to drag Fleur from the couch and kiss her senseless is unrelenting.

I didn’t miss the way her hand, once again, drifted to those rubber bands on her wrist when I mentioned her taking my bed. Her eyes darkened and I fought every primal urge to throw her against the wall and take my sweet time with her. If it weren’t for the slight movement in her hand toward those two bands, I may have.

The night air is calm, and even though the cloudy sky blocks most of the stars, the moon is on full display.

In and out with the pizza, that’s the plan. I have specific intentions with Fleur tonight and I can’t be bogged down with Darrin’s overzealous inability to relax.

When I reach the clubhouse, several people exit with their pizzas in hand. Some sit around a small bonfire, nursing a beer and tipping their heads back to gravity-feed their slices.

Trip and Blitz beat me to the door.

“Eh, Liam. About time we saw your sorry ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, Trip,” I say as he holds the door open for me.

The smell of dough and spicy pepperoni smacks me in the nose as we enter, the pizza boxes neatly stacked by type and in rows on the tables. The guys are huddled around, laughing and chatting, which is different from the typical Friday night party scene.

Darrin rounds the corner, his phone to his ear. A chill spreads up my spine when his eyes meet mine. There could be thousands of reasons for the fury reflected there, but I only care about one. If Darrin ever found out about me, who I am or the information I’ve passed along, I’d be dead. Or at least I think so. Darrin respects me, despite his beef with my brother. He values me as a loyal member of his crew, so if he’s found out I’m undercover—the betrayal will cut him.

Blitz must also read Darrin because he rounds the table and slides his phone into his pocket. Both eyes pin me where I stand, and I note the optional exits to the building.

“What’s up, D?” Blitz asks.

“Raven’s guys are moving radically. Just had a tip from Fish at his spot and he said none of Raven’s dealers are there. Word on the street is they’re planning something.”

I snort, partly from relief this isn’t about me, and second because Raven planning something is almost humorous. “Whatare they going to do?” I add. “They don’t have any information about our location.”

Darrin runs a hand through his tight curls and blows out a sigh. “This world is crumbling into shit. The Cartel is getting more impatient, Raven too bold, and rumor has it the DEA is sniffing around Ruin.”

My body tenses, and I reach over to snag my pizza to appear nonchalant. My mind churns through the possible rumors and where they could’ve come from. I’ve done everything to keep from compromising this mission.

My behavior isn’t the focus right now, though. Darrin’s downcast eyes, the way he’s pacing back and forth between Blitz and Trip—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this caged. It’s then I notice the black circles highlighting his tired eyes.

Concerned, I back away, trying to make my exit so I can return to Fleur and also check in with my handler. If things are getting hot, I need an extraction plan. Not necessarily for me, but for Fleur.

Spinning around, I make for the door, only to be yanked back by Blitz, who slaps me on the shoulder. “Here, take an extra pizza, man,” he says, sliding another box on top of the one in my hands. He offers me a toothy grin, the rot disgusting.

“Thank—”

Glass shatters behind me, and I turn in time to see three men, dressed in all black, clear the remaining glass from the clubhouse windows with the butt of their weapons.

It takes a moment to register the words coming from Darrin’s mouth.

“Down!”

I drop to the floor, shuffling behind a table as gunfire erupts throughout the room. Naturally, my instinct is to reach behind me for the handgun I no longer carry. In its place is a militarygrade knife and I pull it out, turning it over in my palm. This will do nothing against the hardware these guys sport.

Three of our guards burst through the back door, drilling the other three men down before they make it farther into the clubhouse. I scurry to one of the men and rip his gun away from his lifeless body.

More shots are fired around the compound and hair-raising screams come to life in a chilling chorus. I stare down at the man dead at my feet, blood seeping from the four shots in his heart to under my boot where I stand.

So young. He looks so young. A baby smooth face with eager blue eyes permanently opened make me wonder if this kid knew what he was getting into.

A black bandana wraps around his neck, where it was pulled up over his nose and mouth, and I lean down to snatch the cloth.

“Liam.” Darrin’s voice interrupts my inspection of the man and I jump up to see him being escorted into the back saferooms.

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