Page 65 of Branded Betrayal

They back up slowly, guns still on me.

“Stay the hell away from me,” I hiss into the guy’s ear.

“You should be more worried about your little girlfriend,” he says, struggling in my grip. “We don’t forget shit, Hartman. And we want payback.”

I flip him around and smash his hand against the side of my truck. His gun clatters on the pavement, and I kick it under the truck. “Don’t you dare fucking threaten her, you understand? Because what happened six years ago is nothing compared to what I’ll do if I find out you went anywhere near her.”

With one final jerk of my arm, I crack his head against the truck, and he drops on the ground like a bag of cement.

But without my human shield, I’m exposed. And before I can jump into the truck to get the hell away from here, a flurry of bullets explodes into the air, pelting the metal surrounding me. Glass splits and shatters, shards flying into the air, puncturing my skin.

I duck behind the door, using it as cover as I fire off shots. Christ, it feels like the same ambush from six years ago all over again, where I was lucky to escape with my life. Hopefully this time I’ll be just as lucky.

I peek around the side of the door and line up a few more shots. I pick them off, one by one, my door taking the brunt of the hits. The guy on the ground moans.

“Hartman, you fucking asshole. You’re never gonna get away—”

Two more shots fire. I fall back against the side of my truck and clutch my right arm.

“Fuck,” I mutter, flames roaring down my side from the bullet that tore through my flesh.

More gunfire follows. I kick the guy on the ground out of my way before climbing back into my truck. Then I blindly fire my gun a few more times before flooring the gas. I jerk the truck around the roadblock and speed away from the ambush site.

My entire right side feels like it’s been roasting on a spit. At least I can move it. Once I’m far enough away, I pull over and examine the wound. It’s superficial, thank fuck. Easy enough to take care of when I get home. I wrap my shirt tight around the wound to stop the blood flow, pain finally giving way to numbness.

How the hell did those assholes find me? Fury scalds my throat. Someone tipped them off, someone who knew where I’d be. Someone who was watching me.

Watching me watching Savvie . . .

“Son of a bitch,” I yell. Wilkerson knew where I’d be tonight. And he knew the exact route I’d be on. But why the hell would he play me against those guys when he wants to destroy them? Could there be someone else watching and double-crossing him? He’s got even more enemies than I do.

When I pull up to my house hours later, the sun is just starting to peek above the mountains. I trudge into the house, careful not to make any noise since I’m covered in blood and stinging with regret and rage.

My phone buzzes. I pull it out and resist the urge to hurl it at a wall.

Wilkerson.

How’d it go? Did you get everything?

I stab a response into the keyboard.

Guys from a rival crew ambushed me on the way back.

Narrowing my eyes, I watch the three gray dots blink on the screen. Waiting.

Shit. Word’s gotten out that you’re back. Lay low for now. Too much risk. I’ll send you instructions tomorrow for the drop.

The gray dots appear again.

And stay away from RR.

Panic curdles in my gut. Stay away from RR.

Red Rock.

Those guys hate me, but they hate Wilkerson more, and they know we work together. Do they know he’s got his sights set on Red Rock? What if they do something to fuck up his plans of taking it over?

Or worse, they destroy it before he can steal it out from under Savvie?