Page 87 of Diesel
“We’ve lost too many already,” Blade says. “Chloe and King… It’s enough.”
This time it’s my eyes narrowing. “King isn’t dead.”
The silence that follows is sharp, like the edge of a knife. The air thickens as the tension swirls.
Blade slices a look at me, his expression unchanging. “Let’s hope it stays that way, but he’s been unconscious since we found him. Doesn’t look good.”
“We’re here,” Nic says, bringing the van to a stop.
A prickle runs up my spine. Everything about this feels wrong. Blade’s too calm. Riot’s too quiet, and Nic’s wrapped up in his grief. I don’t like it. I feel the tension like a breath across my nape. All I want to do is get back to Makenna.
“Showtime,” Blade says. “Or maybe the final curtain call. Either way, someone’s bleeding before we leave.”
We climb out of the van, and Nic closes the door quietly, walking around the back. “Everyone ready?”
Unease prickles the back of my neck. I’ve learned over the years to trust my intuition and right now it’s flashing warning lights. “Are the others joining us?”
Nic shakes his head. “Too much noise with the whole crew. Figured we could get in faster with just the four of us.”
Again, that strange constriction through my chest hits. Four men. Walking into a building with no backup. This has ambush written all over it.
The building in front of us is derelict, half the windows put through, the red brick smothered by foliage. In the distance there are the husks of old train carriages, thepaintwork flaking, tagged with graffiti that might be the only thing holding the structure together. It’s the kind of place where no one comes looking.
We move together, low, careful but fast.
The light changes as we get inside the building, slipping through a broken door. It’s cold, the air damp and musty. Blade keeps close to Nic’s back, and I stay behind him and Riot.
I am not taking a bullet to the back, not when I still have something worth living for.
Nic signals for us to split off. I don’t like the idea, but I follow Riot. We move through the maze of corridors and rooms with slow purposeful steps. I listen and I watch for any movement that might be Crank and whatever men he still has loyal to him.
But I can already sense the building is empty. It’s too still, like a mausoleum.
“If they were here,” Riot says, lowering his gun, “they’re gone now.”
We step onto a walkway overlooking a large space beneath and my heart stops. Riot’s arm flies up to stop me, but it’s too late. My stomach’s already bottomed out.
All I see is one brother on his knees, another behind him with a gun pressed to the back of his skull.
“Fucker,” Riot breathes the word.
We move in tandem, quick steps as silent as we can. I can hear Blade’s voice reverberating around the high ceilings. I can also hear my pulse thumping in my ears.
We take the steps down a floor, trying not to make a sound. Riot carefully eases the door open at the bottom, and we slip out and into cover.
“… Really are a stupid bastard,” Blade says to Nic, pressing the gun harder against the back of his head. “You honestly believe I’d back you? You think legacy makes you fit to lead?”
Nic snarls. “You backstabbing fucker.”
“Is it really backstabbing,” Blade asks, “if it’s for the good of the club?”
He says it like he thinks he’s being reasonable. Like this is just business, not betrayal.
“You being in charge of anything ain’t good for anyone,” Riot says, stepping out from behind our hiding place.
His gun is levelled at Blade, his finger hovering over the trigger. He doesn’t shoot. He can’t. With that gun so close to Nic’s head there’s every chance we lose both of them.
I move up beside him, my weapon drawn too. There’s a roaring in my head. Nic vouched for him. Nic trusted him, despite everyone telling him Blade was dirty.
