Storm: (Blood Legion MC) (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 3) by Rie Warren Page B

answered.
    The room was clean enough to eat off the friggin’ floor, though. And she’d unpacked our bags.
    The bathroom when I tipped the door open? Goddamn gleaming.
    She hadn’t left me a note or a voice message.
    I had no clue as to her whereabouts.
    And I didn’t like it. Not one bit. My woman needed to check in.
    She’d be hearing about it later.
    Meanwhile . . .
    “You wanna check out the area before they arrive?” Slade glanced at me.
    Unlike many of the Legion members, the man showed absolutely no signs of having a drug habit. He didn’t continuously swipe at his nose. His eyes weren’t bleary. His hands weren’t shaky.
    He looked like a real cool motherfucker, but maybe he just had orders to plant a bullet in the back of my brain when I wasn’t watching.
    I wouldn’t put it above Venom to have me taken out quietly, quickly, off-premises, given how he hadn’t exactly rolled out the welcome wagon for me last night.
    My jaw twitched as I answered Slade, “Yeah I wanna check it out first. What d’you take me for? A fuckin’ debutante?”
    Angel wisely held his tongue, but I bet he was snickering inside.
    I didn’t know who this Slade asshole thought he was, but I’d done my time with the Blood Legion—and done my time inside because of ’em.
    He wasn’t in charge.
    I was.
    “Keep my six,” I muttered. “You know what that means?”
    “I’m a vet.” You dick was what he didn’t add. “Got your six.”
    “Angel. You’re on protection detail,” I ordered.
    He lifted his hand, huddled beside the crates of AK-47s and FN 5.7 semi-auto pistols. “Got it, cous .”
    I led the way around the vast vacated area where onshore cranes hung over the docks like extinct dinosaurs. Giant cargo crates in blue, red, orange, and green piggybacked one another as far as the eye could see in long lanes with narrow tarmac aisles in between.
    It was dark in our area although live action and longshoremen were still on the job in the busy port terminal on the Mississippi River.
    The two of us carried the same caliber pistols awaiting delivery. What better way to sell the goods than to use them yourself? Venom was nothing if not a marketing genius.
    Perma-dark settled over Slade and me as we snaked through the cargo shipments.
    I detected nothing wrong. No bombs. No booby-traps. No ATF trying to bring Legion down on RICO charges. They’d done that once.
    Failed.
    “Clean and clear. Let’s get back with the kid.” I lifted my fist in the air, motioning Slade back to the rendezvous point.
    “The kid? Angel? I can see that.” Slade fell in beside me. “Cherubic.”
    “You swing that way?” I wouldn’t have pegged the dude as gay, but what did I know?
    “ Nah. Even if I did, he’s too clean for my liking.”
    “You do it dirty and gritty?” I couldn’t get over the feeling this Slade character was hiding something—from me or from Venom, from everyone—I didn’t know.
    “Not that you’ll ever find out.” His teeth flashed white from behind his black beard.
    A few minutes after we rejoined Angel, a line of black SUVs pulled into the dockyard. They bypassed security without stopping. Four Tahoes. Almost looked government-issued.
    “Feebs been checkin’ in on the Legion lately?” I asked.
    “Not after last time.” Angel handed a pair of binocs to me. “Just the usual.”
    Last time , when my first mission had been completely derailed.
    The trucks stopped in our eyeline, and I locked targets as soon as the first door opened.
    Slade hunkered beside me. “Something smells wrong.”
    “Yeah. Where’d you say you came from again?”
    “Didn’t.”
    Har har .
    Airtight asswipe.
    “They look like el capitan gangbangers to you?” Slade aimed his gun.
    “ Nah ,” I murmured through tight lips.
    He wasn’t the only one who knew how to keep a lid on it.
    “ Hex bollah?” he asked.
    “In Nawleans?”
    “Smells like haji to me.” Squinting down his firing sights, Slade gave a disgusted grunt.