“Yeah, you did better this time.” He points a thumb over his shoulder at Feral. “Although he would do anything for a bit of skin on skin. You never know what you might have learned.”
A shiver runs up my spine, and I shake my head. “He doesn’t know anything. He was only looking to get laid.”
“How did you know?”
“He’s one of you. He wears the cut. His loyalty isn’t in question.”
Winchester nods. “Yeah, but someone ratted us out.” I frown at him. “One of the men who was hit was standing in front of me. They were trying to take out the leadership.”
“And they nearly succeeded with Creed.”
“Yep.” Winchester picks up a beer bottle and takes a sip.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t one of the Royal Bastards… maybe someone within your circle but not one of you.”
Winchester looks thoughtful and taps his chin. “Yeah, I thought that too.”
Justice stands next to me. “What are you two up to?”
“Come on, let’s take a ride. See who’s getting a shipment down by the docks.” Winchester smiles. “You can ride with Highway.”
“He’s here?”
“Yeah, you didn’t check your surroundings.” Winchester nods to a lone figure in the corner of the bar.
Shit, I didn’t even look to see if there were any threats in the bar.
Some investigative journalist I am.
Highway stands and crosses the room. One side of his mouth kicks up, but he looks anything but pleased to see me.
“Gwen’s with you. We’re going to check out the docks. If this is what we think it is, maybe they’ll show their hand.”
“We’re supposed to have a pickup tonight?” asks Highway.
“Yeah, but with everything that’s happened, Creed had me move the pickup, but only he and I know that. If someone was after our shipment, maybe they thought taking us out would make it easy pickings.”
Highway crosses his arms across his chest. “And you’re only telling us this now?”
Winchester chuckles. “Need to know, and you didn’t need to know, but now you do.” He raises his chin at Justice. “You got the walkies and binoculars?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Let’s roll then.”
***
The darkness envelops us like a thick cloak as we hunker down outside the warehouse. I’m pressed against the cold, unforgiving metal of a shipping container, the stench of rust and decay thick in my nostrils. Highway crouches beside me, all coiled power and dark intensity. His presence is both a comfort and a spark in the tinderbox of my adrenaline.
“Movement,” Winchester murmurs into the comms, his voice a ghost in the static.
I peer through the binoculars, catching sight of shadowy figures moving crates with methodical haste. They’re oblivious to our watchful eyes, cockroaches scuttling in the open unaware.
“Got it,” Justice confirms from his perch high above on adecrepit fire escape. His silhouette merges with the darkness.
“Fuckers,” Feral spits beside me, his disdain palpable even in the scant light. “They think they can steal from us?”
“Focus,” I snap, my finger itching on my camera’s trigger. “Need clear shots.” Click after click, I document their sins.
