See ya!
He dropped to the floor, and we ran through the front door. The cocksucker would bleed out before we were finished.
Keep moving.
There was another Asian brother guarding the hallway. Poor bastard didn’t have a chance to reach for his gun because Pipe put a bullet in his head. His body didn’t even have time to hit the ground before we charged up the stairs. Bones blew the head off the one at the door, his brains splattered across the walls decorating the white paint in red.
We painted their walls with their own blood. Lucky for them red was their signature color.
Another one bites the dust.
I kicked open the door, and the mayhem continued. The naked women cutting the heroin screamed trying to take cover, and the two Dragons inside the apartment began to shoot.
“Go, I’ve got this,” shouted Wolf as he crossed his arms, a gun in each hand shooting at anything and everything, no regard for life.
Keep moving.
“Get down on your knees,” Jack hollered to the drug bitches. “NOW!”
I grabbed one broad looking to make a run for it, threw that bitch in a head lock and pressed the barrel of my gun into her head.
I don’t play bitch.
“Pack the motherfucking drugs in the bags,” I hissed against her ear.
She whimpered and I pressed the gun deeper against her flesh.
“NOW,” I shouted.
Wolf took a break from shooting shit and helped us shove the kilos into a duffel bag. That man was a monster with a gun, a goddamn killing machine.
“Close your fucking eyes or I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Jack hollered to one girl crying under the table.
We handed the stuffed bags to Bones who zipped them and dropped them into the hallway.
I glanced at my watch.
Ten minutes.
Exactly how long we took to kill eight people, grab all their fucking heroin and sign over our lives to Sun Wu.
“We gotta get the fuck out of here,” Bones shouted, grabbing a bag and heading for the stairs. I followed Jack and Pipe, tucking my gun away and grabbing two of the bags. We were half way out the door but Wolf was still upstairs playing God with the cutters.
“Wolf!” Jack called.
Strike Two.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Keep moving!” Pipe yelled.
“Not without Wolf,” Jack shouted back.
Wolf emerged from the top of the stairs, his face splattered with blood.
“Let’s go,” he ordered, bounding down the stairs.
“You killed them?” I asked him, pulling my mask off to stare at Wolf in shock.
Strike Three.
“No, I played fucking Chinese checkers with them,” he hissed, throwing the strap of one bag over his shoulder. I watched as he swiped his sleeve across his cheek, removing the drops of blood that painted his face.
We painted their walls and now our hands with the Dragons’ blood.
Three strikes.
Three mistakes.
But no time to dwell.
Keep moving.
We ran as fast as we could, away from the faint sounds of motorcycles and sirens, away from the Red Dragons’ territory and into Vic’s old stomping grounds. We loaded up the cage with the bags and Bones jumped into the back as the prospect took off and headed back to the clubhouse. The rest of us took to our bikes and peeled the fuck away from the war we had just created.
There was barely any time to unload the cage when the call came through that Bianci had set up a meet with Jimmy through some drug lord. I didn’t ask for details because anything that had to do with Bianci was like six degrees of separation. It was never an easy explanation with him. But that motherfucker always came through for our club.
We had an hour to do something with these fucking drugs before we hauled ass to Pier 33 to read Jimmy his last rights.
“What the fuck are we going to do with all these drugs?” Pipe asked, holding up the two suitcases.
“Oh we’re taking them with us,” Jack declared.
We all exchanged curious glances but none of us would question anything at this point. What was the use?
This was Jack’s show now.
The Bulldog showed his teeth.
The Knights were gunning for blood.
It would all be over soon.
Keep moving.
At the pier we spread out, taking cover behind shipping containers and waited for Jimmy Gold. Bianci had set up the crazy mobster by luring him to the docks to meet with a drug dealer. Some guy named, Sanchez. It was easy to spot him, Anthony and Mike had worked that fucker for hours. He was a bloody mess with a laser bullseye between his eyes. My eyes followed the laser beam across the docks to where Anthony and Mike stood with their guns cocked and ready.
The sun was rising.
Time was almost up.
I turned around, spitting the toothpick I was rolling around between my teeth onto the floor. I reached for my gun as the fog lights of Jimmy’s signature Escalade rolled into the shipping yard.
“We’ve got company, boss,” I alerted Jack.
He stared at the headlights, watching as they closed in before turning around.
“Stand down,” he ordered.