The plane slows to a stop directly in front of the open hangar door, and I’m the first one down the stairs.
There’s a catering van parked just inside the building and a line of SUVs parked along the side.
The ache in my thigh makes my steps uneven as I cross the tarmac and enter the hangar. But the bullet only tore through muscle; it didn’t hit bone, and it exited out the back, so the quick shot of antibiotics and tightly wrapped gauze beneath my pant leg will do until I get Cassandra back.
Before I reach the van, the driver’s door opens. And a man as tall as me, built like a weight lifter, with hair graying from age and experience, steps out.
Without a greeting, I follow him around to the back of the van, where Cain opens the rear doors, revealing an arsenal.
Dom, King, and Nero step up beside me.
“All of it?” I ask.
Cain dips his chin. “All of it.”
King leans into the van. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Hans said there’s a helicopter pad at the target,” Cain replies as King drags the case closer to himself. “You might not need to use—”
“Oh, I’ll use it,” King cuts him off.
A feminine whistle sounds from behind us, and we all turn.
Karmine stands there, having entered on silent feet, her red hair twisted back into one long braid. “Hi, boys.”
Then the side door opens, and a dozen of her soldiers walk through.
Their steps are as quiet as Karmine’s were, and their presence is menacing.
They know who we’re going after tonight.
They know the history.
My history.
And they want to kill him just as badly as I do.
As the women approach, the men from our plane join them, gathering around in front of me.
A sense of gratitude fills me, so large it nearly blocks out my fear.
Before me are the men of The Alliance, men of the Chicago mafia, Karmine’s warriors, and Karmine herself, the only person I’ve called a friend in a long time.
I can’t say thank you.
Can’t bring myself to speak. So I just nod.
And they all nod back.
