The chain-link gate swung open, letting Dare, eight other Ravens on bikes, and a truck full of product into the gravel lot behind the building. The moment gave him a whole lot of déjà vu.
But it couldn’t be helped. Phoenix’s call with the Iron Cross had gone about as well as they could’ve expected. Dominic had pushed back against their demands but finally acceded to their ultimatum on their betting activities and a competitive price on the guns. They’d thrown in more ammo than they’d planned, in order to maintain the appearance that they were meeting them halfway. And both parties wanted it done quickly—the deal was going down at nine o’clock tonight. In just three hours. All that remained was letting the Iron Cross know where the exchange would take place, which was part of why they’d come to Baltimore, and to Hard Ink, early.
As they parked and dismounted their bikes, men spilled out the back door of the building. Dare gave a wave as he hooked his helmet on the handlebars, and then he and his guys closed the distance to where their new allies and friends stood to greet them.
“Welcome back,” Nick said, extending a hand to Dare.
“Just wish it was purely a social call,” Dare said, shaking the other man’s hand. Tall with dark hair and pale green eyes, Nick was the team’s leader and the guy Dare had gotten to know the best when they’d been here a few weeks before.
One by one, Dare shook hands with Nick’s teammates, his guys following suit. There was Shane McCallan, with his Southern accent and pretty-boy good looks; Edward Cantrell, who went by the nickname Easy, a tall, built African-American man who was probably the guy Dare knew least of all; Derek “Marz” DiMarzio, their tech guy, who had provided them with all kinds of useful information about the Iron Cross and Haven’s father’s organization today; Beckett Murda, a big mountain of a guy with a badly scarred eye and an always-serious expression. Nick’s brother, Jeremy, and Jeremy’s boyfriend, Charlie, hung back from the group. They weren’t part of Nick’s Special Forces team, but from everything Dare could tell, they’d been integral to the fight the vets had waged. Jeremy gave Dare a wave.
“Good to see you doing better, Jeremy,” Dare said. The guy had been through brain surgery a few weeks before when he was injured during a fight with the team’s enemies—an injury that was still apparent in the form of a scar visible through his recently shaved brown hair.
“Thanks,” Jeremy said, his expression reserved. Dare knew Jeremy felt some responsibility for the deaths of Harvey and Creed when the building collapsed, but Dare had put that blame where it belonged—on the lowlifes who bombed the building in the first place. And that score had been settled as far as Dare and the Ravens were concerned.
Ike stepped through the crowd and held out his hand. “Didn’t think I’d get to see your ugly mug again so soon,” he said.
Dare clasped his hand. “Shut up, ya bald motherfucker.” A rumble of laughter went through the group.
“Come on in,” Nick said. “We’ve been working on a plan for tonight.”
“Lead the way,” Dare said, even though he and his guys knew the building like the backs of their hands after having helped protect it. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the industrial metal-and-cement stairwell, and then they poured into a huge room on the second level. With cement floors, exposed beams, and brick walls, the big rectangular space looked like the warehouse it had probably once been, though now it was filled with exercise equipment, a giant makeshift table around which Dare and his guys had eaten numerous meals, and a big computer setup in the back corner—the team’s nerve center, where Marz could usually be found clacking away.
They formed a big circle around Marz’s desk, some guys sitting on metal folding chairs and others standing. Who’d have thought that the Ravens would find themselves standing side by side with a bunch of highly decorated Army vets once, let alone twice? But Nick and his men were good guys—guys who understood the values that the Ravens prized. And that was more than enough for Dare.
Nick pointed to an enlarged map tacked to the wall. “We’re advocating using the same garage location where the original deal went down. We know it and have planned ops in that location before. Your men know it. And as usefully, it’s in territory that the Iron Cross doesn’t control right now, which means they’re not going to want to spend any more time there than they have to and are going to want to keep a low profile.”
“Whose territory is it?” Dare asked.