Chapter 36 #2
This wasn’t a setup; at least, I didn’t think it was, but Benedict had come prepared. He had brought enough men to handle things if this deal went south.
Smart. I would have done the same.
I glanced at Whisper. He noticed too. His jaw was tight, his eyes flicking briefly to the man on the catwalk before returning to Benedict. Blackjack was behind me, his footsteps steady, but I could feel his awareness—the way his body had shifted slightly, ready to move if needed.
We were outnumbered but we weren’t outmatched. Benedict led us to the center of the warehouse, where a long metal table had been set up.
And there it was. The inventory.
AR-15s laid out in neat rows, their black metal gleaming under the fluorescent lights.
Glocks stacked beside them, magazines lined up with military precision.
Shotguns—Remington 870s, Mossberg 500s—propped against the table’s edge.
And crates of ammunition stacked behind it all, enough to supply a small army.
My pulse quickened. This was exactly what we needed.
Benedict walked over to the table, his hands resting on his hips, his expression calm and confident. “This is what we’ve got,” he said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous space. “Everything you asked for. Fifteen grand worth of top-of-the-line destruction, like we discussed.”
I stepped forward, my boots echoing on the concrete. I didn’t rush. Didn’t let the urgency I felt show on my face. Instead, I moved slowly, deliberately, picking up the first AR-15.
The weight was perfect—solid but not too heavy. I turned it over in my hands, inspecting every inch. The barrel was clean, no scratches or dents. The stock was intact, no cracks or weak points. I checked where the serial number should have been.
Filed off. Smooth. Professional.
I set it down and picked up another.
Same quality.
Same attention to detail.
I moved to the Glocks next, picking up a 9mm and checking the slide, the trigger, the magazine well. Everything functioned smoothly. No sticking. No resistance. I ejected the magazine, checked the spring tension, then slid it back in with a satisfying click.
Clean.
Untraceable.
Exactly what we needed.
I glanced at Whisper again. He was watching me, his expression unreadable, but I saw the slight nod.
Blackjack stepped closer, picking up one of the shotguns and inspecting it with the same careful attention.
He pumped the action once. The sound was sharp and metallic in the quiet warehouse. Then he nodded at me.
I set the Glock back down on the table and turned to Benedict.
He was watching me with that same calm confidence, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t worried.
Wasn’t nervous. He knew his product was solid.
And he knew he had the upper hand here. His men positioned, his territory, his rules. But he also knew we weren’t amateurs.
We had come prepared, too. And if this went sideways, it would cost both sides more than either of us wanted to pay. “You do good work,” I said, my voice steady.
Benedict’s grin widened. “I don’t fuck around,” he said. “When I say something’s clean, it’s clean.”
I nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch for a moment. Then I glanced at Whisper one more time. He gave me a slight nod right before I turned back to Benedict and extended my hand. “We’ll take it,” I said.
Benedict’s grin didn’t falter. He stepped forward and clasped my hand in a firm, steady grip.
His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment, we just stood there, two men who understood exactly what this handshake meant.
This wasn’t just a transaction. This was a partnership. An alliance. A mutual agreement that we could do business together without bullshit, without games, without betrayal. “Pleasure doing business with you, Monk,” Benedict said, his voice low and serious now.
I held his gaze. “Likewise,” I said, and I meant it.
We loaded the crates into the truck Blackjack had driven separately.
Another precaution in case we got pulled over on the way back.
The last thing we needed was to be caught with a truck full of illegal hardware and no plausible explanation.
Splitting up the cargo and the drivers gave us options if things went sideways.
Benedict and his brothers helped, working quickly and efficiently.
They moved like a well-oiled machine, each man knowing exactly what to do without needing to be told.
Years of running their operation had taught them the value of speed and silence.
The less time we spent out in the open, the better.
When the last crate was secured and the truck bed covered with a tarp, Benedict walked over to me, his expression more serious than it had been all night. The easy smile he’d worn earlier was gone, replaced by something harder, more cautious.
“Monk, a word of advice,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear. He glanced around, making sure his brothers were out of earshot. “Watch your back. There’s a rumor going around that you got trouble. Federal trouble.”
I stiffened slightly, my jaw tightening. This wasn’t the kind of news I wanted to hear, especially not now.
“What have you heard?”
“Nothing specific,” Benedict said, shaking his head. “Just whispers. You know how it is. Word on the street is that some FED fucker is looking to make a score. Your name came up in a conversation I overheard at a bar last week.”
I nodded slowly, processing the information. It wasn’t surprising, really. I’d been operating long enough to know that eventually, someone always came sniffing around.
“Thanks for the info.”
Benedict’s gaze was steady, his eyes searching mine.
“Just watch your back,” he said again, more emphatic this time. “I’ve had my own problems with those fuckers before. They play dirty, and they don’t care who gets caught in the crossfire. They are worse than the fucking Biker Federation, and that’s saying something.”
“Noted,” I said, my mind already racing through possible scenarios and contingencies.
Benedict clapped me on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. “You need anything else; you know where to find me. I mean that. We take care of our own.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, meaning every word. In this business, reliable contacts were worth their weight in gold.