Page 84 of Damascus & The Wildfire
Fourteen men kneeled facing the wall, their hands zip-tied behind their backs. I closed my eyes for a moment, imagining Kenna hiding in that goddamn construction site. If my brothers hadn’t been nearby, she’d be gone. And that was enough to justify what I was about to do.
“Turn around,” I ordered.
Archer, Reaper, and Thane began to jerk the men around to face me. I stalked from one end of the small living room to the other. Each step was a sticky fight with the linoleum, beer, piss, and filth gluing my boots down.
“Who’s in charge?” I demanded. “Which one of you is Jefe?”
Silence. I glanced down the line expectantly. “I said who the fuck here is in charge?” My thundering voice echoed through the room, the simmering anger in my chest boiling to the surface.
I watched their eyes dart toward the end of the line at the oldest man, who couldn’t be more than twenty-five. I grasped my hand around his throat and lifted him off the ground. His eyes bugged out as he gasped for air.
“I want every single one of you to remember my face. Because thelast thing you’ll see before you die tonight is how pissed off I am that you came after my woman. Again.”
I hurled the man to the ground and drew my blade from my hip.
“Hold him,” I ordered. Archer and Reaper pinned his arms as the man struggled, fear shining bright in his eyes.
I dragged my blade down his sternum, blood pouring from his chest.
One of the zip-tied men pissed himself. Another prayed quietly. The rest glared at me with hatred. I straightened and wiped the blade on the ripped sofa.
“No one hunts my woman and survives. As of tonight, the Jackals are extinct.”
One of the men—probably only seventeen or eighteen—began to beg and plead. I pulled my silenced Sig Sauer from my hip and shot him in the head in one clean, muffled shot. Blood and brains painted the peeling floral wallpaper behind him.
“Is the place wired?”
Fuse nodded. “Ready to blow when you make the call. Added some Tannerite for a bit of flare.”
I huffed a laugh. “Dramatic. Hatchet would appreciate that.”
I methodically stalked down the row of men, slitting every throat. “See you all in hell,” I growled.
We mounted our bikes and drove around the block, taking cover behind a sturdy brick church. Fuse hit the detonator, and the explosion rattled the stained-glass windows before us.
Smoke billowed into the sky as we closed a chapter for the city.
Chapter Thirty
Morning sunlight slanted through the hospital blinds. I lounged back, remote in hand, flipping through channels until the local news caught my eye.
The anchor’s voice was smooth, almost bored, as she reported an explosion that had flattened part of a block. The camera panned over charred wreckage, flashing to a shot of police tape and shell-shocked bystanders. No survivors. Gang-on-gang violence, the reporter explained. The house was a known hangout for the dangerous street gang called the Jackals that had plagued Houston over the past few months.
I smirked, muted the TV, and settled deeper into my pillow. Fuse worked fast.
The door swung open, and Merrick strode in, his expression unreadable as always. He glanced at the TV, then at me. I grinned. “Morning, boss. You catch the news?”
He nodded, pulling up a chair. “Looks like the problem took care of itself.”
“Miraculous,” I deadpanned.
Merrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Thank you. For saving Kenna.”
I waved him off. “She’s family. What else was I going to do? But you'd better make things official with her soon, before I try to win her over again.”
Merrick growled. “Like hell you will. She agreed to be my old lady. It’s official. I already moved her in with me. Her cut should be here soon.”
I chuckled. “You move fast.”
