Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
We rolled up easy, engines dropping to a low rumble as we coasted the last fifty yards. Parked off the shoulder ahead, half-hidden by palmetto scrub and poison oak, sat a battered box truck with the grill punched in and the headlights taped over. Behind it, a black Yukon with no plates and the rear windows blacked out idled softly.
“Griffin, take the left flank,” Knuckles instructed. “Tiny, you and me go up the middle. Inferno, hit the cab of that truck. Rest of you hold back until we’re sure it’s not an ambush. Gunnar,” Knuckles addressed his vice president. “You’re responsible to get the holdouts so they don’t get the jump on us.”
“Got your six, Knuckles.” Gunnar wasn’t as seasoned as some of the guys, but he grew up in the life. Not only that, his dad owned one of the largest paramilitary organizations in the country. Gunnar knew what he was doing.
The drivers in both vehicles must’ve spotted us coming because the box truck’s brake lights flared and the Yukon dropped into drive. There was a flurry of movement inside the cab.
“Go!” Knuckles hissed his command.
Chains shot forward with a roar, his engine screaming as he fishtailed onto the dirt and up alongside the box truck. Knuckles peeled off to circle the back. I brought my bike up the right cut in front of the Yukon. The driver instinctively jerked the wheel to avoid me.
Inferno moved up the middle, gun already drawn, two shots through the Yukon’s windshield before the driver could even react. The bullet spiderwebbed a hole and plowed through to ping off the metal of the vehicle. From inside, someone screamed. The driver’s door opened, and a big man tumbled out, shotgun raised.
I fired three times. Two hit the door, one hit the guy in the thigh. He crumpled, dropping the shotgun, then scrambled for the ditch, howling in pain.
Behind me, the rest of the crew pulled up. I sprinted to the rear of the box truck where Tiny already had the pry bar out, wedging it under the lock housing and ratcheting it back with his massive strength.
“Cover me,” he grunted, putting his whole weight into it. Knuckles swept the tree line, keeping an eye out for anyone we hadn’t seen as well as any indication from Gunnar we had company. “Here we go.” Tiny heaved the crowbar. The lock snapped clean. He tossed the bar aside and wrenched the double doors open.
Inside, it was pitch dark. I switched on a pocket flashlight, sweeping the interior. Rows of empty dog crates and a few loose packing blankets littered the floor. But bolted to the front wall of the truck, two welded metal cages stood side by side. One was empty, the bedding inside torn to shreds. In the other, two women crouched side by side, knees drawn to their chests, their faces slack and gray under the light as they flinched back and cried out.
Knuckles holstered his weapon and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck.” He heaved a long breath. “It’s times like this I really wish Hannah was here.” Like the other man would let his wife go into a firefight. “She’s much better suited to this than me.”
The women didn’t move at first. The one closest to the door, who looked to be maybe in her mid-twenties, had dark hair chopped short and uneven. She pressed herself deeper into the corner, eyes wide and flat. The other, a blonde with blood at the edge of her mouth, raised her chin and locked eyes with me. Her hands gripped the bars so hard her knuckles had gone white.
“Nobody’s going to touch you,” I said, and even though my voice sounded rough. She looked wary but let go of the bars and backed away, putting herself between us and the other woman.
Tiny clipped the chain securing the cage with a bolt cutter Gunnar brought after Tiny got the back of the Yukon open. The hasp popped off, and he opened the door, letting Gunnar move in first. He offered a hand. The dark-haired woman ignored it, but the blonde reached for him, and Gunnar eased her out, careful not to touch her more than he had to.
As soon as her feet hit the truck bed, she jerked away from Gunnar and scanned the faces outside. “Who are you?” she demanded, her voice raw but angry.
“Friends,” Knuckles said. “Can you walk?”
She nodded, shaky, stumbled from the truck to the ground along with the other woman. Inferno appeared with a couple of blankets. He tossed one to Gunnar to wrap it around one of the women while Inferno helped the other.
Knight’s voice crackled to life in my ear as he spoke to us through the radio connection we shared. “Clean it up and get the fuck out. We were careful, but if anyone heard the gunshots the cops’ll be here soon.”