His face loses that easygoing attitude. Apparently, there’s more to that story than I thought.
“That was a mistake,” mutters Diesel, “though I have Ryan. So I don’t regret it. His mother, though? Pure bitch.”
“Ever hear from her?”
“Only when she wants money. I don’t think she’s seen Ryan more than twice since he was born.”
“Fuck,” Sabre says, his voice full of disgust.
“It doesn’t matter. Ryan is worth everything to me. You will see. You too, Skull. Don’t tell me you aren’t trying to knock up Beth every chance you get.”
I flip him off with a grin, not bothering to deny it.
The waitress comes back and puts our coffees down, again ignoring Diesel. I can’t help but laugh. Diesel looks at me and shrugs it off. “Fuck you, Skull.”
We’re just about to dive into the particulars when gunfire breaks out. Outside the window, I see my men with Diesel’s pulling out their weapons and running for cover. The window shatters as a bullet drives through it and hits perilously close to our seats.
“Motherfucker!” Diesel yells out, and my grunt can’t be heard, but it’s right there with him.
We all move away from the booth and grab our weapons, but not before more bullets shower in. I feel a sting hit my shoulder and I know I’ve taken a hit. I glance down at it and notice it’s a through-and-through, which is good. I’ve had a sawbones dig around inside of me for a fucking bullet before and that’s not something I’d like to revisit.
I hear a loud grunt of pain, then clanging of the metal table. My attention jerks up to see Bell’s taken a hit. He’s not as lucky as I am. Blood blooms from his chest, the crimson color overtaking the pale gray t-shirt he’s wearing.
I help Diesel drag him to the ground. Sabre is in position and fires back. The few occupants in the diner are screaming and crying, hiding under their tables. The waitress that Diesel has his eye on is huddled to the side of the bar looking panicked. We drag Bell over to her. Diesel grabs her apron roughly, ripping it from her body. She screams. He ignores it.
“Hold this to his chest to stop the bleeding,” he commands. “Do you have a fucking cellphone?”
“W-What? Yes,” she answers, instantly pressing the wadded fabric to Bell’s chest.
“Call 9-1-1. Tell the dispatcher to tell a Detective Grady that Diesel said he’s going to want to be here.”
“What? Why wouldn’t—”
“Just fucking do it!” Diesel yells as a bullet wizzes by his head and he pulls away from the woman and his buddy.
I’m shooting now too, but we’re basically shooting blind because I can’t tell where the fucking bullets are coming from. There are a few close up, but the ones hitting in here are snipers.
Sirens ring in the distance. I doubt it has anything to do with the waitress’s call; there’s not been enough time. I watch as I see two more of my men fall down. I scream. I can’t tell who they are—there’s just dust and chaos out there. I see their jackets as they fall. I’m going to kill the fucking Donahues. There’s not a doubt in my mind that this is their doing. This is their strike back. Fuck. I should have had more men watching the mountains. This is on me. Why didn’t I even think about snipers?
Fucking hell.
I rake my hand down the side of my face. Carnage. It’s everywhere. There’s no other word for it. Fifteen dead in total. Three of my own. Prospects with the exception of K-Rex. He was a good man. A man who had barely begun to live… and he’s gone. Diesel lost his Vice President Bell and five other men. I feel the weight of their deaths, too. The rest of the casualties were civilians. Innocent bystanders who walked into the diner for lunch and will never leave. Their blood is on my hands, too.
“Boss?” Torch asks, worried. I pull my eyes away from the county coroners and paramedics who are covering bodies with sheets while the cops interview witnesses.
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice hoarse. I’m feeling fucking old.
“You going to let them look at your arm?”
I glance at my shoulder, the white cloth tied around it soaked in blood. I had forgotten it. It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing compared to what my men took, compared to the lives lost.
“Nah. I’ll get our man to stitch it up when we get back home,” I tell him, clearing my throat. My eyes can’t stop going back to all of the chaos in front of me.
“We’re coming with you,” Diesel growls. I turn to look at him. I can see the fury in him. He’s normally easygoing, reminding me more of Torch. Now he looks ready to kill everyone in his sight.
“I think this war has cost you enough, brother. I didn’t mean for—”
“Fuck that shit. You know what it means when we go to war. We live this fucking life for a reason. We’re the men our forefathers envisioned for this country. Not the watered-down bureaucrats who run it now.”