CHAPTER FORTY
Cold sickness clawed at Stella's throat. She stared out the window toward the bakery where the shipment was due to arrive. And arrive it did. The white delivery truck trundled happily into the parking lot, backing up to the door to unload its goods.
Followed by a herd of bikers.
Through her binoculars, Stella caught the sight of the all-too-familiar tattoo-etched skull accompanied by a flaming seven. Her stomach lurched unhappily, and fire erupted in her chest. Betrayal, denial, rage, sadness, and bewilderment stampeded through her thoughts.
“You gonna be OK?” To Stella's left, manning her own window and binoculars, Agent Grant cast her a worried glance.
Stella didn't answer her. She merely glared through her binoculars at the scene that unfolded.
Four unfamiliar men swung off their choppers and sauntered their way to the truck. The drivers tensed, their body language screaming stranger danger. Before any words could be exchanged, a short but muffled scuffle went down. It ended with the two drivers knocked flat on the ground, presumably unconscious.
Stella's fingers tightened around her binoculars, using spying equipment to see Bishop. He nodded his head to the four strangers, and they continued their way toward the rear of the delivery truck. Even from across the street and three floors up, Stella could hear the rattle of the door sliding open.
Then, something in the air shifted. Her stomach pitched forward, and the hair on her arms stood on end. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Stella couldn't put her finger on it though. The feeling intensified, a tense moment later, as the four strangers swaggered out from behind the truck. The closer the men approached the Tribesmen, the worse her intuition screamed at her. The binoculars creaked under her tightened grasp.
The strangers and Bishop exchanged words.
“Down!”
The one word echoed up to Stella's ears. She swung back to the truck where ten or more leather-clad men spewed from the back. They leveled handguns, just as the four strangers lunged for four Tribesmen. Gunshots shrieked through the air. The Tribesmen scrambled for cover, save for those few who were on the ground and struggling with combatants.
Stella's heart froze. Blood spattered on the pavement while snarls and obscenities thrust through the air. Bishop and two other Tribesmen hunkered down behind a dumpster. For a brief breath, the gunshots ceased.
Her throat became dry and itchy. She couldn't pick up the words exchanged, but whatever transpired made Bishop's face pinch painfully. He glanced to the other Tribesmen. They shared similar strained expressions of worry and uncertainty.
Bishop stood up and stepped out from behind the dumpster. He bent down briefly, setting his gun on the ground before raising to his full height with his hands up. Stella's mind couldn't make sense of Bishop's surrender. As the other two Tribesmen behind the dumpster followed suit, the illness in her gut swirled painfully.
The men swarmed forward, dragging the Tribesmen into the bakery. Stella stared, her thoughts numb and her heart throbbing in her chest. She vaguely noted patches with 'Grave Demons' slashed across them; however, her conscious thought sat in a corner, stunned and uncertain over what had just happened.
“Agent Holmes?” someone in the room murmured.
Stella blinked rapidly, consciousness and awareness flooding back to her senses. Around her, officers stared at her in concern. Slowly, her wits came back to her. They had rented out a room across the street from the bakery. The FBI had to get their hands on the cocaine, and she had to connect the Grave Demons to the cartel. Her fingers shook as she placed the binoculars carefully down on a table.
With the Seven Tribesmen taken hostage, the Demons had bargaining chips. If they rushed in now, the Tribesmen would be dead. Cold claws of anxiety laced through her guts.
From somewhere far away, Agent Grant said, “Agent Holmes, I think we should proceed with our plan.”
Numbly, Stella fixed her gaze on Agent Grant. The woman leaned across the distance, placing a hand heavily on Stella's shoulder, her eyes softened with kindness and understanding. Sudden embarrassment licked across Stella's thoughts. She dipped her gaze to the floor, concern knotting her brow as she blankly nodded. Heat burned at the back of her eyes as she muttered, “Yeah, we should.”
No matter how much Stella told herself she had to prioritize, that she had a job to do, her fingers continued to quiver. In her mind, the worst-case scenarios played over and over, taunting her with painful images.