Chapter Twenty Blaze #2
Another guy walks over to me and swings his gun at my jaw. White-hot pain explodes down the side of my face. “That was for what you did to Ryder six years ago. You shoulda stayed gone, soldier boy.”
Someone else checks out the crates on the flatbed. “Looks like a good take. We should load it all up.”
“And what about him?” the first guy asks, walking over to me. “We still need to settle old scores. That shit is just money. But this guy . . . he took more than our money. You remember, Hartman?”
I swallow hard as he brings the gun to the side of my face.
“Nah, this guy needs to pay, with his life,” he says through clenched teeth.
“It was an accident,” I say, my pulse throbbing at the memory.
Wilkerson had sent me to do a transport of smuggled goods. But instead of collecting the cash and taking off, things went sideways when a group of Wilkerson’s rivals showed up. His enemies always became my enemies.
I shot a kid when he reached into his jacket during the firefight. I thought he was pulling out a gun. But he was just grabbing his phone.
“The fuck it was,” he yells, cracking me with the gun. Again.
Then he turns and waves his hand at the other guys watching. “What the hell are you lookin’ at? Get the crates into the truck. Now!”
Big fucking mistake, asshole.
I pull out my gun and loop an arm around his throat. Then I point the barrel at his temple. “Back the fuck away from my truck now, or else I’ll put a hole in his brain.”
The guy’s hands fly up to my arm. He sputters as I tighten my grip. “Stay back,” he manages to choke out.
“Get in your trucks,” I say. “Now.”
They back up slowly, guns still on me.
“Stay the hell away from me,” I hiss into the guy’s ear.
“You should be more worried about your little girlfriend,” he says, struggling in my grip. “We don’t forget shit, Hartman. And we want payback.”
I flip him around and smash his hand against the side of my truck.
His gun clatters on the pavement, and I kick it under the truck.
“Don’t you dare fucking threaten her, you understand?
Because what happened six years ago is nothing compared to what I’ll do if I find out you went anywhere near her. ”
With one final jerk of my arm, I crack his head against the truck, and he drops on the ground like a bag of cement.
But without my human shield, I’m exposed. And before I can jump into the truck to get the hell away from here, a flurry of bullets explodes into the air, pelting the metal surrounding me. Glass splits and shatters, shards flying into the air, puncturing my skin.
I duck behind the door, using it as cover as I fire off shots. Christ, it feels like the same ambush from six years ago all over again, where I was lucky to escape with my life. Hopefully this time I’ll be just as lucky.
I peek around the side of the door and line up a few more shots. I pick them off, one by one, my door taking the brunt of the hits. The guy on the ground moans.
“Hartman, you fucking asshole. You’re never gonna get away—”
Two more shots fire. I fall back against the side of my truck and clutch my right arm.
“Fuck,” I mutter, flames roaring down my side from the bullet that tore through my flesh.
More gunfire follows. I kick the guy on the ground out of my way before climbing back into my truck. Then I blindly fire my gun a few more times before flooring the gas. I jerk the truck around the roadblock and speed away from the ambush site.
My entire right side feels like it’s been roasting on a spit.
At least I can move it. Once I’m far enough away, I pull over and examine the wound.
It’s superficial, thank fuck. Easy enough to take care of when I get home.
I wrap my shirt tight around the wound to stop the blood flow, pain finally giving way to numbness.
How the hell did those assholes find me? Fury scalds my throat. Someone tipped them off, someone who knew where I’d be. Someone who was watching me.
Watching me watching Savvie . . .
“Son of a bitch,” I yell. Wilkerson knew where I’d be tonight. And he knew the exact route I’d be on. But why the hell would he play me against those guys when he wants to destroy them? Could there be someone else watching and double-crossing him? He’s got even more enemies than I do.
When I pull up to my house hours later, the sun is just starting to peek above the mountains. I trudge into the house, careful not to make any noise since I’m covered in blood and stinging with regret and rage.
My phone buzzes. I pull it out and resist the urge to hurl it at a wall.
Wilkerson.
How’d it go? Did you get everything?
I stab a response into the keyboard.
Guys from a rival crew ambushed me on the way back.
Narrowing my eyes, I watch the three gray dots blink on the screen. Waiting.
Shit. Word’s gotten out that you’re back. Lay low for now. Too much risk. I’ll send you instructions tomorrow for the drop.
The gray dots appear again.
And stay away from RR.
Panic curdles in my gut. Stay away from RR.
Red Rock.
Those guys hate me, but they hate Wilkerson more, and they know we work together. Do they know he’s got his sights set on Red Rock? What if they do something to fuck up his plans of taking it over?
Or worse, they destroy it before he can steal it out from under Savvie?
I jump at the sound of footsteps behind me.
“Blaze, what the hell happened to your arm?” Wyatt asks, his eyes widening. “Jesus, you need to get to a hospital.”
I push past him. “I’m fine.”
But he’s a persistent fucker. He edges in front of me, blocking my path. “Stop being such a stubborn ass. I can help you—”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “You can’t. I did this. I need to fix it.”
“Look, I don’t get why you’re keeping all these secrets and shit.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t have to handle everything on your own, B. You never let anyone in. It’s okay to ask for help when you need it.”
“It’s fucking not okay. Not for me.” I lean in close, my voice low. “Just forget you ever saw this, you got it?”
I reach the hallway at the top of the stairs and head into my room, locking the door behind me. Collapsing into my desk chair, I let out a low groan.
My real phone, not the burner, buzzes this time. I grab it out of my pocket and stare at the notification on the screen. I open the text from an unknown number.
It’s another picture of Savannah. Tonight, from the time stamp. Blood rushes between my ears, a flood of red coating my vision as I read the accompanying message.
Revenge knows no limits.
Who the hell is fucking with me now?