My lip curls. My fists ball at my sides. Everything in me wishes I were there right now, so I could race in and tear Hawke a new asshole for taking advantage of our agreement, of letting us believe we had an understanding.
This fucker thinks he can underhand us, he has another thing coming!
Hawke calls out to his Sergeant, Malik, to unload the next box. Malik lifts the box, then hands it off to two of his infantrymen. The picture goes blurry for a moment, and my muscles tense, a muffling noise echoes down the line, then the picture comes back into focus. Blake is aiming the camera for us, he’s angling it straight at the infantrymen with the box.
“In the box is the tracking signals. I think Blake reads that on his cell, too,” Neon clarifies.
The infantrymen pull out a brick of our product.
“Test it,” Hawke instructs.
The soldier slices open the packaging.
It’s hard to see from this distance and angle, but something falls onto the floor.
On Neon’s screen one of the trackers moves slightly.
“What the fuck is that?” Hawke blurts out loudly.
Suddenly, Blake turns and bolts.
Yeah, good idea kid.
Get the hell out of there.
Adrenaline surges through me as all our eyes stay transfixed to the screen in front of us.
Men rushing and car doors slamming behind him echo in the distance as Blake slides in behind some wooden crates, taking cover. He’s hiding. That little fucker better not get caught. It’s hard for us to see much as he crouches, trying to keep himself low, but with the audio, we can hear running footsteps and yelling men surrounding him.
I have no fucking clue what’s happening.
“If he gets found, they’ll think he’s involved with the trackers. That the club set them up. They’ll kill him,” I warn.
Texas rubs his chin. “Lucky the kid doesn’t know enough about the Militia to understand that just yet.”
“Hey, you! What are you doing here?” Hawke calls out.
I clench my eyes shut and screw up my face. “Sorry, kid,” I murmur.
“I heard all the commotion, I thought something was going down,” an unknown voice calls back.
Someone who is definitely not Blake.
“Well, some shit’s going down all right. That product had a tracker in it. We need to get the fuck out of here. So turn your pasty white ass around and go do the job I told you to, soldier.”
“Yes, captain.”
More running footsteps, doors slamming, and car tires screeching pierce down the line.
Blake finally starts breathing normally again after a few minutes, then the video begins to move. He cautiously edges out from behind the crates making his way to the warehouse, which now appears empty, barring the boxes that were there.
The camera starts lifting, and Blake’s face comes into view. “They’re gone. If you want me to leave now and come back, don’t say anything. If you have any instructions for me, call now, and I’ll do whatever you need me to.”
I glance around the room at my brothers. “We could get our packages back, but if we take them now and Hawke comes back to retrieve, he’ll clue in someone was there. Four packages, if they’re all there, they aren’t a big enough bank breaker to worry about compared to the time Blake would get if he’s caught with them in his possession on the way back here. We know Hawke took them. So, now we can go have a little chat with him about it.”
“Agreed,” Texas replies.
Chains nods.
Then all the brothers give me the go-ahead.
We watch, wait, then Blake spins, slowly walking toward the exit. “I’m heading back, taking the no call to mean we’re all good. Hope you saw all that well enough. See you soon.” Blake starts jogging and races off for his ride.
I move back over to my seat. Neon mutes Blake’s video, but keeps it on so we can witness his ride back to us. Make sure he’s okay. Last thing we need is for the Militia to get him on his ride back here to the clubhouse.
“Okay, so we have a couple of options. We either go in hot. Serve out justice for stealing from us when we had an agreement, or we go in civilly and find out why the fuck they think it’s okay to steal from us. I’m open for discussion.”
Fox lifts his chin. “Why don’t we do both?”
I narrow my eyes on him. “Explain?”
“Go in with a sign of force, but our aim is to talk. We don’t want a war if we can help it. We go in asserting ourselves, letting them know we’re pissed, but we can be reasonable, and talk to them when we have their attention. If they’re willing.”
It makes sense and is exactly what I was thinking.
But I want the guys to think I’m not going to come in here, make all the decisions without discussing it with them first. We’re a team. A brotherhood. A family. Sure, sometimes I’ll make a call for us all. But this, this affects all of us.
I want a consensus—all or nothing.
“Brothers, do we all agree?”
“Aye,” rings around the chapel, and I bang my gavel. “Good, ‘cause I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling stabby. I wanna go in and show them we mean business before I tear strips off Hawke verbally.”
“I’m looking forward to this. I’m in need of a good fight,” Ax grunts.
I snort. “Remember, I don’t want any deaths, accidental or otherwise if we can help it. We’ll cause noise, a little pain, but no body count, that’s not the aim of this. Got it?”
“Are we all going?” Neon asks.
“Anytime we head into Militia territory, we need safety in numbers. The more the better.”
“You want
