Chapter Seventeen
J immy Lincoln sat in his reserved booth on the upper floor of the nightclub.
From there, he had a bird’s eye view of Rebel dancing with a tall blond man. The way they danced had his blood boiling.
Was that where Rebel had been the past couple of days?
If so, then the blond man’s days were fucking numbered.
“Who’s that with your man?” Mitch said from his spot across the table, gazing down at the same scene.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you go down there and take care of it,” Jimmy said.
Far be it for him to get his hands dirty when he had people to do it for him.
“What? Why me?”
“I’ll let you fuck him,” Jimmy said.
Of course, he wouldn’t, but Mitch didn’t know that. The man’s eyes widened and a look of raw hunger crossed his face.
“You got a deal,” Mitch said and slid from the booth without another word.
“I have to piss.”
Crow barely heard the words over the thrumming beat and closed his hand on the back of Rebel’s sweaty neck.
Rebel took his hand and Crow pulled the man behind him toward the blue neon sign that said restroom.
Rebel wasn’t armed so if they got separated, Crow would worry. He was carrying a three-ounce Bastion carbon fiber knife.
“That’s freaking tight,” Rebel said, eyeing the knife.
If he had had a spare, Crow would have given it to Rebel.
“We will get you one,” he had promised the young assassin.
“Really?”
Crow smiled and nodded and earned another kiss. He wasn’t anywhere near figuring out where these kisses were headed, but he liked them a whole hell of a lot.
Stepping up to the restroom, they entered fairly quickly for a hopping Friday night. The place had a few men at the urinals and one stall seemed occupied.
Rebel did his business and Crow parked near the door.
When a man entered, he walked right over to Rebel, and that had Crow shoving away from the wall.
The guy was tall, but not so big. The thing that concerned Crow was he could tell the guy was packing. The man seemed to have connections to the staff or owner.
“What’s up, Mitch?”
Rebel zipped up and shot the question to the guy.
Crow paused, but his hand went into the pocket of his slacks and closed around the knife handle.
“Jimmy wants you upstairs after you ditch the pretty man,” Mitch said.
Crow took stock of the room. No cameras in here. The two men at the urinals washed their hands and split out of the room. Crow planted himself inside of the door, blocking it from opening and letting anyone inside.
“Screw you. I work for Jimmy, but he doesn’t dictate who I can hang with. Besides, this guy is a potential employee,” Rebel said.
“Him?” Mitch shot him a scathing look.
“Rebel, come here,” Crow said.
The slender assassin started toward him and almost didn’t make it, but the stall door opened and a man walked out.
Mitch pulled the gun he was packing with a silencer already twisted on the end.
“The fuck!” Stall guy pulled his own gun and before Mitch could fire, Crow knocked the guy up and out of the way. The bullet meant for the stall guy went high and wide.
Crow pulled his blade and let it fly.
The blade sank into Mitch’s throat.
“Shit!” Stall man leaped back and ducked out of the line of fire.
“Keep the door closed,” Crow told Rebel.
Crow picked up Mitch’s gun and dragged the guy to an empty stall, then pulled his knife free before he wiped it and closed the stall door.
The door behind Rebel banged, but Rebel held it from being pushed open.
The man from the stall aimed the gun at Crow.
“Step the fuck back,” the guy said.
“I just want to get me and my date out of here,” Crow said, easing back.
He could kill this man before him, but he really didn’t want to.
“Why’d you kill him?” the guy asked.
“He was going to kill me.”
Crow could see the information ticking away in the man’s head.
“You saved my life,” the guy said.
“I did.”
“My name is Jose Garcia.”
“I’m Crow and that’s Rebel.”
The guy held out his hand and Crow shook it, noticing a gang tattoo on the man’s arm.
“You need some help?” Garcia asked.
“I could use some.”
“How about I have some of my men get him out of here for you? That’s them at the door,” Garcia offered.
Crow could hear them calling through the wood.
Boss!
Boss, you okay?!
“Thank you,” Crow reached into his own pocket and took out several hundred-dollar bills and handed them over to Garcia. “For your trouble.”
Bang!
The door was shoved against hard.
“Hurry,” Rebel hissed, bracing his feet.
Crow stalked over and jerked open the door. Several men crowded in and went straight to Garcia. A few of them were packing. What the fuck? Did everyone carry in this place?
Not bothering to ask, Crow pulled Rebel along and stepped out into the hallway.
“We should probably call it a night,” Crow murmured next to Rebel’s ear.
“No way. I need to get Angel out of there.”
“Okay, then stay close.” Crow threaded their fingers. He felt better now that he had Mitch’s gun.
The bathroom door opened and two men along with Jose Garcia came out along with the guy, Mitch. The rest of Garcia’s gang were preventing anyone else from entering the restroom.
Garcia had wrapped a coat around Mitch’s throat, but it didn’t hide all the blood. Carrying Mitch toward the back of the hallway, the door to the alley was shoved open and all six men disappeared.
“That takes care of that asshole,” Rebel muttered.
Crow kept silent. He didn’t know if he could trust Garcia not to blab his mouth, so he might need to wrap back around in a few days and eliminate the threat. After all, the guy had seen their faces.
Typically, the assassins left the gangs alone, but there were always special circumstances.
What Crow could do was call in the cleaners, they sometimes took care of witnesses, but he didn’t want to do that. He wanted to take Garcia at his word. If the guy did rat him out, then there was always the SecDef. That office could make anyone disappear.