****
I knew what had to happen tonight, long before Noah placed that phone call.
My ability to predict danger was the reason I had survived to this point in my life. It was also the reason I didn’t bat an eyelid when Mortico Gonzalez and five of his goons circled us.
I could count eight men lurking around the bonfire, watching our interaction, and made a mental note that there was at least another eight out of sight, watching this unfold, eyes trained on their prez, waiting in lay for the signal he would give them.
Dropping the body at his feet, Noah took a defensive stance, and offered a curt nod. "G," he acknowledged, voice low, eyes trained on the main man himself.
The long, greased up ponytail he was sporting was greying with age. The scars on his face, the ones his grizzly beard didn’t cover, were deep and weathered – similar to the leather cut he was sporting with the patch President sewn on the front.
Old school, I noted.
"I told you not to come back here, Messina," Gonzalez said in this thick Spanish accent. "I gave you and your pretty little wife a pass," he continued to say, tone light and almost playful. "And yet here you are, looking for yet another favor." Gonzalez shook his head and threw his hands up. "Aye, aye, aye, this is displeasing."
"You owe me, G," Noah shot back coolly. With a casual shrug, he kicked the body at our feet and said, "This is how you pay your debt."
Gonzalez's face broke out into a huge smile. "I owe you?" When Noah glared back, he threw his head back and laughed loudly. "You are mistaken, my old friend."
I felt Noah tense beside me, but he didn’t respond; he was too busy locked in a stare down with his former boss.
"Show me," Gonzalez finally broke the tension by saying. He nodded to the body wrapped in blankets and duct taped together. "Now."
I stepped forward to do it, but Noah stopped me with his hand. Wordlessly, he knelt in front of the corpse, pulled a knife from his boot and began to cut through the tape. When the blankets were gone, exposing the body, Noah returned to my side. "You gonna help me or not?" he demanded, tone cold, face set in a hard expression. "Either way, I'm getting this done, man. And we are both walking out of here tonight."
Gonzalez stared down at the body with a look of wry amusement etched on his face. "Help you? Yes," he mused, sparking up a cigarette. "Help him?" He took a drag of his cigarette. "Not so much." He exhaled a cloud of smoke and pointed at me. "This here aint your work," he said knowingly, gesturing to the bloodied corpse. "You've always been a clean fighter, Messina, and my generosity does not extend to your comrade."
"Don’t pull that shit with me, G," Noah bit out, jaw clenching. I could feel the heat radiating from his body as he slowly came to the realization of what was about to go down.
What would have to happen.
Meanwhile, I waited for the inevitable.
Noah had a good heart. He hid it well, but it was in there, beneath the muscles and tatts. He had that eternal optimism only a man with his soul intact could possess.
I, on the other hand, didn’t possess either.
"Respect is earned, Messina," Gonzalez rasped in his thick Spanish drawl. "And this bitch?" he gestured to me and sneered. "Pretty white boy with no patch. No honor," he spat on the ground, "has earned nothing."
"He's with me," Noah snarled, temper rising.
"I don’t give two fucks," Gonzalez sneered. "You know the rules around here, Messina. He earns it or he dies."
His words caused a slow smile to crawl across my face.
"You got nothing to say, Bolillo?" Gonzalez taunted, his attention fixed on me now.
I'd known exactly what would go down tonight.
I was well acquainted with the fucked-up side of humanity.
This wasn’t my first rodeo.
I arched a brow, taking his measure and said, "Plenty." Reaching behind my back, I yanked my hoodie off and rolled my arms out. "We can talk when this is done."
A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. "Aye," Gonzalez chucked darkly. "We can talk when it is done." With that, the old prez raised a hand. "If you survive it."
"The fuck you doing?" Noah growled. When I didn’t respond, he shoved me hard in the chest. "I was handling it, dammit!"
"And now I'm handling it," I replied, tone low enough so only he could hear me, while I kept my eyes locked on the three men stalking towards me. "This is what has to happen, man. Now walk away."
"Like hell," Noah grumbled, falling into stance beside me. "You've got a goddamn death wish, Luck."
"Trust me," I growled.
I saw the pain flash in his eyes, the defiance, as he tried to figure this out.
Tilting my head to the side, I stared hard at my best friend. "Trust me."
Finally, Noah shook his head and released a growl before slowly backing away, allowing Gonzalez's men to walk him back to the truck.
Turning my attention back to the three men flocking me, I reached into the pocket clip and pulled my blade.
Smirking, I said, "It's show time, boys."