Page 19 of Broken Soul
“No one ever said Zeke was the sharpest tool in the shed,” Domino mutters.
“Which works to our advantage,” I add before going over the blueprints of the building and assigning each member to a different hiding spot with a unique vantage point for peak surprise and accuracy when it’s time to attack. “Between us and the Caparellis, Zeke and his men will be outnumbered and outgunned.”
“None of them are going to leave with their lives. We’ll be scrubbing their existence from the face of the earth for good, finally putting our demons to rest,” the Prez says. “Ready, men?” His question is met with nods and grunts of approval.
Twenty minutes later, everyone is in position. My heart is racing and my muscles twitch in anticipation for what’s to come. I’m not one for unnecessary bloodshed or extremevengeance. However, I’m willing to make an exception for the motherfucking ex-Prez and all the shit he’s put us through.
The sound of motorcycle engines echo in the distance, getting closer and closer with each passing second. I look down at Lorenzo from my spot on the balcony, catching his eye and tipping my chin down. He does the same, letting me know he hears it, too. It’s almost showtime.
A few short moments later, the front doors to the warehouse swing open, revealing Zeke and eight other men. He has a bigger group than I initially thought, but we still outnumber them. It just might be a closer fight than I was hoping for.
“You must be the infamous Zeke,” Lorenzo says, stepping out from the shadows to greet him.
“The one and only.”
Lorenzo holds out his hand to shake, and at first, Zeke stares at him blankly. His manors must eventually kick in and he shakes Lorenzo’s hand before clearing his throat.
“Thanks for contacting me,” Zeke continues. “I hope this is the beginning of a long and fruitful relationship.”
“Same,” comes Lorenzo’s controlled response.
He’s colder than I remember him, harsher and more detached. Then again his life took a completely different path than mine. We met when we were both living on the streets. I started running errands for some sketchy people that I knew were part of some organized crime syndicate, and Lorenzo followed in my footsteps soon after. I got out of that life when I was eighteen and joined the military. Lorenzo chose to stake his claim and build his life as a made man, and I don’t fault him for that. I may not understand, but I respect the choices he’s had to make to survive.
“So, ah, ready to view the merchandise?” Zeke asks.
“Of course. But first, you and your men need to surrender your weapons.”
“What?!” Zeke roars.
“It’s standard protocol. Just lay them on the ground and slide them to the side. I don’t need them, I just need to know you’re not going to use them against us.”
“We could say the same for you. Why don’tyousurrender your weapons?
“Because I’m the client paying you half a million dollars.”
Zeke looks over his shoulder at his men, who shrug and withdraw their guns, setting them on the ground.
“Good,” Lorenzo clips out. He looks up at me, giving me the signal to take aim and fire when I have a clear shot.
Zeke is pacing, which makes it difficult to get him in my sights. Domino catches my eye from where he’s squatting behind a stack of wooden pallets. He points at his eyes and then motions toward Zeke. He must have a better angle than I do. I nod, knowing our window of time to attack is closing.
Domino takes the shot, the sound tearing through the dank, silent air in the warehouse. Zeke wails and roars as he falls to the ground.
“What the fuck?!” one of his men shouts as he ducks for cover. I take aim and fire, hitting him in the leg. Lorenzo finishes him off with a bullet in the chest.
After that, all hell breaks loose. The Caparelli’s came prepared with a fucking machine gun, which mows down four men at once. I raise my gun, aiming for another one of my ex-brothers. He sees me, his eyes going wide and then narrowing into slits. He smirks at me, daring me to take my shot.
The next second, the man pulls out a pistol from his boot and starts to empty the clip in my general direction. I duck as bullets whiz past me. I count five, six, seven, eight bullets, which should be his entire clip for the kind of gun he’s carrying.
Springing up from my hiding spot, I get in position and aim, only to have the man fire at me again.Damn, I must have miscounted.
The bullet hits a metal pole, and I think I'm in the clear. That is until it bounces off the surface and lodges itself in my shoulder. I manage to squeeze the trigger on my own gun, satisfied when I hear a yelp and a body hitting the concrete floor.
“Diesel!” Domino shouts. “Shit, you’re bleeding.”
"Merely a flesh wound," I say, trying to go for a joke. Truthfully, my arm is on fire and the bullet must be scraping against my bone. The pain is excruciating, but I sit up, wanting to finish the job. I drag my ass up into a standing position, unsteady on my feet. My shirt is already soaked with blood from my wound, but I need to see how this ends.
Peering over the edge of the balcony, I’m greeted with the sight of all nine men strewn across the floor, either dead or on their way to dying. This piece of information must give my body permission to let go and succumb to the pain. Dots cloud my vision and I slump back to the ground, closing my eyes for a moment to regroup. The last thing I remember before passing out is Domino shouting my name.