The blond man just grunts. A second later, the engine revs to life.
“Get in,” he says shortly, and we all do, getting in the car and then peeling out of the garage.
Priest drives like he’s got a purpose, taking us to another part of Detroit, and my stomach clenches with anticipation. The car slows down when we near our destination, and we all scan the street, looking for our marks.
There are a few people out tonight, walking along, making deals in dark corners or hurrying on their way to somewhere else. But we’re looking for someone specific, and we have to be sure.
“There,” Knox says after a few seconds. He jerks his chin up ahead. Two men are on the street, away from anyone one else. I’ve never seen them before, but Gage nods.
“Apollo, and I think his second in command. Perfect.”
“Perfect,” Knox echoes, grinning in his unhinged way. He pulls his gun and cracks the window enough to do what he needs to do.
We drive by the two men, and as we pass them, Knox shoots.
13
River
Apollo’s second in command goes down, crumpling to the pavement. I can’t see the spill of blood, but I can imagine it, standing out against the sidewalk even in the dark. Apollo reacts, yelling something we can’t make out and starting to run toward the car.
Knox fires off a couple shots at him, and then we peel out, driving away in a squeal of tires and the smoke of burning rubber.
Someone, probably Apollo, fires a few shots after us, but Priest expertly veers a little to one side, and the bullets graze against the back and side of the car, doing most of their damage to the car’s paint job.
“Did you miss Apollo?” Ash asks, twisting in his seat to try to look behind us and get a better view.
“Of course I fucking did,” Knox replies, rolling his eyes. “I know how to aim a gun. I hit what I want and miss what I want. He’s fine.”
Ash keeps looking, even as we get farther away. “And he definitely saw the car, right? Before we sped off like bats outta hell?”
“Yeah,” Gage says. “I saw him take a good look. He must’ve recognized it. He knows what Cyrus drives; I’d put money on it.”
“Good.” Ash nods, seemingly satisfied, and settles into his seat properly.
I can tell he’s nervous about all the moving parts of our plan coming together, and I don’t blame him. The last time we tried to pull off a plan on this scale, it blew up in our faces. Just thinking about it makes me swallow hard, and I push that thought away for now because we have bigger things to focus on.
I’m just as nervous as Ash is though, and it helps that Ash is right there, asking the questions that I want to.
“Back to the club,” Gage murmurs to Priest, and he nods, even though we all knew that part already. We all know the plan backward and forward at this point, but that doesn’t help soothe the growing feeling of nerves in the car.
We’re all tense and on alert, and it’s impossible to relax because we’ve only done the first part of the plan. It’s not over yet.
Priest drives the car back into the garage, parking it where it was in the special reserved spot. We all get out and strip out of our tactical gear, shoving it into the trunk of the car we first came in.
Now we all just look like regular club goers out for a night of enjoyment.
“Shame about the paint job getting all fucked up,” Ash says, giving Cyrus’s car a once over before we head out of the garage. “It’s a nice car.”
“Don’t sweat it,” Knox replies, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not like Cyrus will be alive much longer to have any feelings about it one way or the other.”
Gage contacts the hacker to tell him to turn the cameras back on, and we head through the garage and into the club, following the sounds of music and partying that lead us in.
My first glimpse of Cyrus’s club isn’t that different from the first time I was at Sin and Salvation, the club the guys own and run. I was on a mission then too, so there’s the same level of anticipation in the air. The music is loud with a thumping beat, the bass-line of the hip hop song echoing like a heartbeat through the whole club.
The lights are dim enough that it’s hard to make out individual faces, which I guess works in people’s favor if they don’t want people to know they’re visiting a sex club for whatever reasons. Along the walls, the lights are colored, changing from blue to pink to red to purple in time with the rhythm of the song.
People are dancing in the center, a mass of people grinding and gyrating against each other, and there are women in cages along the wall, dressed in barely anything and grinding along to the beat.
It’s clear this isn’t just a club you come to for drinks and dancing. The air of sex and other carnal things is thick, even though in this main part of the club it isn’t as overt.
I know from the research we did that there are private rooms in the back where things get a lot more x-rated, but it’s still sexier than your average club in this place.
Gage puts a hand on my shoulder to get my attention over the loud music and jerks his head toward the bar. We move as a unit, me and the guys, and we make our way over, scoping the place out as we go.
“Cyrus,” Priest says, and he’s close enough that even though his voice is soft, I can hear it. He nods ahead of us, and we all look up to see Cyrus behind a roped off area, sitting at a booth in the VIP section.
There are a few bodyguards near him, big guys who are clearly armed, and there’s a pretty blonde woman in a skimpy outfit in the booth with him. The way she’s bent over at the waist with her head in Cyrus’s lap, bobbing up and down, makes it pretty obvious she’s giving him a blowjob.
Perks of being the owner, I guess. Just getting his dick sucked right there in the open.
Cyrus doesn’t look like anything special from this distance. I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out of a line up if someone asked me who I thought was the one running the sex club and buying drugs from Julian Maduro. He’s got a buzzed head and is wearing a blazer and dark colored slacks. He could be anyone, and soon he’ll be dead.
The five of us settle at the bar, and when the bartender comes over, we order a round of drinks. They come out quickly, and then the man moves down to the next round of people, making drinks fast. People shuffle up alongside us, getting their drinks before heading back to the dancefloor or back to the back so they can do whatever they came here for.
Most of them barely spare us a glance, although a few pause to take us in. The guys get as many looks as I do, though no one really lingers to talk to them. If the guys checking me out want to talk to me, they don’t, probably because of the way the four of my guys are flanked around me. It just doesn’t seem smart.