Page 94 of The Games We Play
Vex turns his laptop around. “They bought this lot. Easy to secure and already fenced around the perimeter. Plenty of space to build if they want, but it has a large warehouse and an office building that’s more of a cabin.”
Saint taps the table with his fingertips. “How do we know for sure it’s the Brotherhood’s?”
“Shell companies,” Vex explains. “I’ve been trying to track as many of theirs as I can. Keeping an eye on real estate sales, anything with their name connected. This one’s allegedly an auto supply importer. Anyone with half a brain would realize an importer of cars wouldn’t set up a warehouse so far away from either import location, like ports or actual users of the products.”
Switch looks at me. “What do you think?”
“I think we give them notice that they won’t get a minute’s peace in our state. We go destroy the warehouse. Raze it to the ground. They got no building, they can’t move any of their shit here until they build a new one.”
King nods. “Agreed. Can we make it look like an accident?”
“Fuck,” Bates said. “Was looking forward to a face-to-face meet and greet.”
I shake my head. More to clear thoughts of the way Iris looked at me as I left, than of what’s going on here. “Knives in case of emergencies only.”
“Bastard,” he mutters.
“Think we’ll see when we get there,” I continue. “If we can save anyone, we will. Otherwise, if it’s empty, maybe a start a gas leak. Fuel explosion. Depends on what raw materials they’ve got in there.”
“Let’s do it,” King says.
I go to my room to grab my leather jacket. It smells like Iris, and my gut flips. It’s comforting and arousing, but I still can’t shake the sense of betrayal. Beneath those emotions is the realization that I hate the way I feel. Conversations about mental health make me itch. Make me feel weak. And I am not fucking weak.
Something happened to her while she was at Cillian’s. I think back to her face when I gave her that alarm. She was surprised, happy, relieved. She was worried about me. Didn’t want me to get hurt.
And when she came out, she was distant.
I should have pushed harder to get her to tell me what happened. I should have trusted my senses that she needed my help with her words, that she needed reassurance it would be okay.
Instead, I let her pull back, gave her space.
And before I can get my jacket over my shoulders, I realize it is me who fucked up.
The stuff I’ve been refusing to address is getting in the way of my life with Iris.
The idea that the distance between us could become a permanent situation, where I can’t repair things with her, burns a hell of a lot worse than the idea of fronting to the VA and getting some help to get past it. What Iris said was true. She isn’t trained to help me. I just need her with me while I help myself.
As soon as we’re done here, I’ll go see her, make it right.
I’ll give her what she needs. I’ll restrain her. Take her to a place that helps her see things clearly in her own mind. So she can tell me, and we can fix it together.
We drive up the trail to the site, and I see the corrugated metal siding. The outbuilding we heard they’d been using was far enough away from the warehouse to not be a concern. Plus, the lights were off.
“Like taking candy from a baby,” Bates says as we park the bikes. King, Niro, and Clutch are taking the rear. Saint, Switch, and Halo are approaching from the west side. Bates and I are taking the east.
Saint, more than any of us, seems personally invested in this. Something about the state of the girl we rescued got to him.
“Maybe,” I say, scouting the area. “Don’t see cameras yet, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have them. Or proximity sensors. For all we know, an alert just went off in some command center. We need to move fast.”
I take the explosives and fuses from my saddle bag with care. I’m not sure if we’re going to need them, but better than having to trek back to the bikes. Bates clips his way through the link fence using wire cutters until there is a space big enough for us to creep through.
We flatten ourselves against the side of the building and listen, but I hear nothing beyond the chirp of insects and the odd drone of a car down the road. It takes a minute for me to break in since the lock’s fiddly, and I’m relieved when I finally hear the click.
But I don’t open the door yet. Not until I get word the others are in position. From our new spot, we can see an outbuilding with the shadows of a few guys inside.
“Seems like there are four guys, two outside, two inside,” I whisper through our comms to Saint.
“Got them,” he says.
