Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Make the call,” I said.
Steven nodded, picked up his phone. He tapped the screen and the phone rang. Someone answered on the other side. “We’re going,” he said then hung up.
I watched out the window for a long moment until I saw a black truck parked at the far end of the block open up. Four men spilled out wearing dark jackets and hooded sweatshirts, their hoods pulled up. I looked at Steven and nodded.
“Come on,” I grunted, and opened the door.
The others followed. Steven first, then Ryan and Biagio. I took point, walking fast. I knew two more guys were in the alley behind the club, posted up there in case shit went bad.
I reached the bouncer first. He looked up and frowned. I caught blue eyes, blond hair, a square jaw and a nose that looked like it’d been broken and reset fifty times over his life. He grunted something and stood, but I slammed the butt of my pistol down against his shoulder. He growled in pain and Ryan shoved him down to the ground. I heard Ryan kick the man in the ribs, but I was already shoving in through the door, Steven and the others hot on my heels.
There was a short, dark hall, maybe five feet at most, that ended with a door on the left. I threw it open and music rolled out, heavy and thumping, more of a vague beat than an actual song. I stepped into the room and scanned it quickly, taking it all in like a sponge. Black lights lit a stage at the far end and a girl was dancing topless, her panties glowing that strange neon green. There was a bar on the right with some men sitting at it, and tables in the center of the room, most of which were empty. Girls lounged around, and one was giving a lap dance in a booth directly across from the door. The floor was sticky as I stepped further in, letting my crew fill up the room behind me, as every eye in the place turned to stare at us.
The bartender was a thin, older man with long graying hair, a plain black shirt, and plain black pants. He staggered backwards as I stalked over toward him, my gun out. “On the fucking floor,” I barked. “On the fucking floor now.”
One of the guys in a dark blue button-down shirt and light jeans stood up and reached behind him for something in his waistband, but I reached him before he could draw. I pounded my fist into his throat, grabbed his wrist, and spun him around. A gun clattered onto the floor and I kicked it away as I raised my weapon at the other men at the bar. One was short with a black t-shirt and khaki cargo pants, and the other had on a camo tank top and jeans. They were reaching for their own guns, but my guys were flooding into the space, kicking over chairs in a clatter.
“Don’t fucking move,” I growled at the guys and they paused as Steven appeared beside them. The camo tank top guy got cracked in the skull with Steven’s pistol, and the other got Biagio’s fist in his jaw hard enough to slam his head into the bar. Biagio kicked the guy as he slumped onto the floor, and Steven threw the camo guy over the bar. His body smashed into bottles and made the bartender stagger away.
I kicked my guy in the back of the knees then shoved his face toward the floor. He hit hard and I knelt down on his back, grabbed his hair, and slammed his face down once, twice. I stopped when I saw blood leaking from his mouth and nose, a groan escaping his lips.
The girl on the stage screamed as she tried to cover her chest. She moved away and ran backstage as my boys threw the rest of the men on the floor. The guy getting a lap dance tried to run, but Ryan caught him and punched him in the ribs.
“Cover them,” I said to Biagio and the others. Steven came with me as he stormed into the back. The bartender was huddled down behind the bar, hands over his head, not trying to move. I ignored him as I stomped down a back hall and kicked open a door. The first one was a bathroom, the second one was a dressing room for the girls. Three chicks were huddled in the corner, clearly terrified. “Don’t fucking move,” I said to them. “You’ll be fine.”
I ducked back out as Steven kicked open a door. He flipped on the light as I swept the room with my gun. “Nothing,” I grunted.
We cleared the rest of the bar. There was a kitchen with two guys that didn’t speak English cooking fried food, a store room, a walk-in refrigerator, and nothing else. No sign of Vlas, no sign of his other men.