In movies and books, full moons turn men into werewolves, but tonight, it’s turning us into assassins, and despite my past, I don't know if I'm ready for this.

So, I’m sitting on my stoop, waiting for Jackson to pull up to the apartment, and scrolling through social media to distract myself. Every once in a while I'll look up Celia to spy on her latest posts. I'm surprised she hasn't blocked me yet. Then again, she probably wants me to see her bullshit life. The photos are always the same of her and Ramona doing couples' stuff like posing at a restaurant all snuggled up, but the latest pisses me off. The caption says, Happy Anniversary, baby. I can't believe it's been twenty years.

Twenty fucking years.

Celia has no shame flaunting the fact they were in a relationship during our marriage.

And the comments are even worse.

It's filled with congratulations, and someone even hashtags, couple-goals.  Stomach acid coats my tongue, so I swallow a few times to prevent the puke from rising, but when I look away from the screen, I see Evan.

"What the fuck..." I say under my breath.

This is unexpected, but perhaps the distraction I need to stop doom scrolling through Celia's posts like a pathetic loser. His jacket collar is turned up, and he approaches like a married man about to proposition a hooker on Eddy Street. 

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I came to drop off what’s left of the flyers…” he says. “Why are you sitting out here?”

“Waiting for Jackson.”

“Oh…” he rubs the back of his neck. “Where ya going?”

If I tell him we’re going for drinks, he’ll want to tag along, and if I tell the truth, he might be crazy enough to join that too. The guy is like a lone wolf looking to rejoin the pack, but I still don’t know if we can trust him.

So, I lie.

 “To the police station. To see it they have an update on Alma.”

“Kinda late, isn’t it?”

“Well, when Jackson gets a wild hair up his ass, I don’t question it.” 

“Right…” Evan shoves his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground. 

Aside from the sound of the city coming to life with honks, and a distant siren, we share an awkward silence. He should just walk away, but I doubt the flyers are the real reason he’s here.

“What are you really doing here, Ev?”

“I’m sorry,” he pipes up, then clears his throat. “I’m sorry about how I acted that night at Chloe’s. You guys went into fight-or-flight mode and did what you thought was best to protect her. I get it now. After all, don’t people say that if you’re a good friend, you bury the body and ask questions later?”

 “Sure.” I shrug.

“I overreacted.”

“Or you reacted like any rational person would.” I shrug again. “Most people would call the cops, so you weren’t wrong for freaking out.”

“Maybe.” Evan nods, his gaze still at his feet. “But, Chloe is one of my best female friends, and I was ready to get the cops involved, which means she would be in jail right now. So, you and Jackson did the right thing. We protect each other, right?”

“We try.”

“I know it’s been a while since we’ve hung out, so… feel like grabbing a beer, and being like old times?” 

“Can’t. I’m waiting for Jackson. Remember?”

“Right.” He nods. “Can I go with you guys to the police station then? We can get beers after. I’ll buy.”

And fuck. He’s like a booger I can’t shake loose. 

“Uh…”

Thankfully, Jackson pulls up to the curb, so I skyrocket from the stoop, and scurry to the truck, but Evan is a wounded puppy standing there with his sad blue eyes looking at us.

“Sup, Ev,” Jackson says through the rolled-down window. 

“Hey, Jacks.”

“Let’s roll.” I hop into the truck and whisper, “He’s trying to tag along.” 

“Shit.”

“Exactly.”

Jackson shifts the gear into drive, and shouts, “We’ll catch you later, man!” 

And then we’re off like a bullet. My back slams into the seat as I struggle to put on my seatbelt, and Evan is probably still standing there, scratching his head, but we don’t have time to waste tonight, so I get it.

Traffic is clear, so we make it across town in under thirty minutes, and pull into the dilapidated building, like we did earlier. Everyone is already here, but there’s a new face amongst the sea of cartel men. 

And it’s not just any face. 

There, wearing a black tank top tucked into camouflage cargo pants, and combat boots, looking sexy as fuck, is Reina the arms dealer. The last time I saw her was when she spoke on our behalf the day I met the Sisters. She stands behind a foldout table, with two men on each side handing out weapons while she accounts for them on an iPad. Lucas approaches the table, and he’s given a sniping rifle, but before he walks away, he and Reina banter. In fact, he makes her laugh, and she smacks his arm like they’re old friends. 

Of course, he knows her...

He said he works contracts, so perhaps she lends him weapons? But my theorizing is cut short by Kay's glare burning the side of my skull. He’s standing across the room with arms folded, and it must be eating him alive that he can't beat my ass in front of the cartel. Lucas hands him a spare sniping rifle, and it's as if he's offered my head on a platter because Kay grins a grin so evil that my balls crawl back inside me.

Fuck. 

They expect this Neanderthal to have my back as a sharpshooter? He’ll probably have a laser pointed at my noggin the whole time. 

Fuck.

“Alright, listen up everyone!” Gustavo shouts, and the susurrus of cartel chatter halts. “Remember, the weapons Reina has lent us are secondary. Our priority is to go in quietly and use our knives. We’ll have sharpshooters watching from the rooftops…” He points at the group where Lucas and Kay are standing, and they give everyone a little ‘sup’. “If things go sideways, they'll have our backs. Now, does anyone have questions?” 

Oh, I definitely have a question. Like, is Kay going to blast a bullet through my watermelon? 

“I have one,” a guy says. “When does the party start? Because I’m ready to fuck up some Hellions!”

Everyone in the warehouse hoots and hollers like a damn cartel frat party high-fiving each other and slapping butts. However, Jackson remains silent. This isn’t a game to him. This is Alma’s life, and judging by the way he’s standing, his ass is eating his underwear. A vein pulses at his temple as sweat drips down, and he chews gum nervously. No one is more ready for this than him. 

Gustavo claps his hands, then blows an eardrum-rupturing whistle that makes everyone shut their yaps.

“As soon as we’re all strapped down we can leave,” he says. “So if you haven’t received a weapon or bulletproof vest from Reina yet, then I suggest you visit her. Lastly, once you have what you need, get into your groups. After that, we move!” 

“Guess we better talk to Reina,” I say to Jackson, so we get in line.

About five minutes later, we’re standing in front of the beautiful arms dealer. She smirks at me, and runs her fingers through her dark tresses, causing her left boob to slightly bulge from her tank top as she tosses her hair over one shoulder. It's sexy. But she probably already knows that.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” she says.

“Why is that?”

“I figured the Sisters would eat you up and spit you out.” 

“Well… they’ve done something.”

“Is that so?” Reina laughs but scrutinizes me with her gaze. “You do look a little spent since the last time I saw you.”

“You can only imagine.”

“Well, if it brought you here to a warehouse with a bunch of cartel who plan to kill human traffickers tonight, then I don’t think I can imagine worse.”

Her men slide weapons across the table, but before Jackson and I grab them, Reina places her hand over mine. Our gazes meet, and she stares directly into my eyes as if it were possible to telepathically send me a message. It’s almost too intense, but I don’t look away. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing with these people,” she whispers.

“You seem to be doing ok.”

“Yes, but I’m not just anyone. I belong in this world. You don’t. So when this is over, I suggest laying low or maybe even starting a life somewhere else.”

She releases my hand, then taps her fingers across the iPad, dismissing us. We slide on the bulletproof vests while walking away, and Reina is already busying herself with the next guy like she didn’t just give us ominous advice. Jackson doesn’t say a word about it. Instead, he scans the room, searching for the team we’re supposed to join.

“There.” He points.

Bravo is spelled out in blue tape on the ground, so we join, and our team leader, Carlos, gives the rundown on how we’ll enter the Hellion’s warehouse. He’s dressed in military fatigues, and a bulletproof vest, so I’m guessing he’s a professional who has served his country. Yet he’s here with the cartel, and judging by some of the other men standing around, they must be military too. Carlos passes out earpieces so we can communicate with each other, and proceeds with giving us straightforward instructions on how to use them. As I slip it into my ear, nerves kick in, and it coats the tips of my fingers in sweat. 

Before I know it, everyone is jumping into the black SUVs. So, we hop into Jackson’s truck, and off we go.

∆∆∆

The city whips by, with lights becoming a blur while heading for the Hellion’s warehouse. Jackson’s knuckles are practically white as he grips the steering wheel, and makes turn after turn, following the caravan of cartel. We’re both laser focussed, but I’m also texting back and forth with Sammy. Angie is being Angie and insisted she ride along with him because according to her, he's old and will need help carrying Richie’s body. 

“I noticed Emilio wasn’t there,” Jackson says, breaking the silence.

“I guess since he’s the big boss, he doesn’t need to be. He just needs to know his men are getting shit done.”

“Right,” Jackson grunts. “What was all that talk with that Reina woman? Why would she suggest laying low after this?”

“I don’t know. But if she’s saying it’s a good idea, then she must have a reason. I’ve only met her once before, and she’s never come across as a bullshitter. So, it might not be a bad idea to stay in the shadows until the Abramovitz annual gala.”

“Is Mindy safe?” Jackson asks.

“I don’t know…” 

Because fuck. I truly don’t know. Augusta has never given the impression that she wants to harm her. Then again, I can’t trust a single thing she says anymore, and I can’t tell Jackson about the blackmail. He needs to remain focused on Alma, and not that snake of a woman. 

The trail of black SUVs slows as we near the warehouse, and park a block away. Against the darkness of night, the Hellion’s warehouse looks like a mountain against the sky. Alpha team jogs toward the building, and my spine shivers as their boots splash in the puddles on the street, disturbing the moon’s reflection in the water. As much as I’m pumped to save Alma, I’m also quivering like a dandelion in the wind. 

We wait for our signal as they disappear through one of the access points in the back, and I should have peed before we left. My bladder is so full I could fill a bathtub with my urine.

The walkie-talkie on the dashboard crackles, and Carlos's voice comes in, “Bravo team, go!” 

“This is it…” I open the truck door, but Jackson has already jumped out. 

Bravo team forms a tight line, so we get in behind them, and follow the same path Alpha team took. Our group curls around the building and Carlos gives hand signals, ordering us to enter the back entrance slowly, and my heart thumps with each step that we get closer. Neither of the men is phased by the handful of dead Hellions already bleeding out on the ground with slit necks. Instead, they step over them and push forward. So, Jackson and I do the same.

The inside of the warehouse is dim, with just enough light to see the silhouette of tall stacks of crates that form a maze-like path. With each turn, we step over another body, and another, like breadcrumbs left behind from the Alpha team, and this almost feels like a piece of cake.

Almost.

My earpiece crackles with multiple voices shouting at once, followed by gunfire.

“Move! Move!” Carlos yells, and Bravo team charges forward.

Adrenaline spikes aren’t new to me, but this is different. I’ve never gone into battle, and I’m not built for war, yet when Jackson takes off running, I chase after him without a second thought. The stacks of crates blur as he disappears turn after turn, and I try to keep up. We spill into an open space with flashes of gunfire zipping past us, forcing him to skid to a halt. Two men from Bravo team go down in front of us, so I yank Jackson behind some wooden pallets with me. Bullets ricochet off the cement floor, and it sounds like a thousand bags of popcorn popping in the microwave as the teams exchange fire with the Hellions.

“Fuck!” I shout, my chest heaving as I catch my breath. “How do we get to Alma?”

“We stick to the plan," Jackson says. "Team Charlie is supposed to enter through the front where the women will be. So we gotta keep moving towards it.”

“Yeah, but how?”

"Gimme a sec..." Jackson glances around, and his firefighter gears turn as he concocts a plan on the fly.

If anyone knows how to get out of a sticky situation, it's him.

 “We gotta get to those stairs.” Jackson points to one a few feet away, where Carlos and two others are climbing. “If we can go up, then we can sneak across the catwalk bordering the inside of the building with them.”

“We’ll be completely exposed. The Hellions will see us up there.” I shake my head.

“Team Delta is supposed to come in through the skylights at any minute, and we still have the sharpshooters watching us with infrared. So, we’re not alone. Now stay behind me, but keep your hand on my shoulder so I know you’re there.”

Taking a hard swallow, I nod.  “Alright.”

Because it’s on like Donkey Kong. 

Springing to my feet, I don’t even think. I just move. Clouds slither through the air from the gunfire exchange and sparks fly as bullets hit iron support beams and bounce off the cement floor. We run sideways, our heads ducking as bullets shrill past us. I keep my weapon aimed, and the sensation of the trigger doesn’t register against my finger as I press it each time a Hellion’s face appears through the smoke. 

One goes down.

Then another, and another.

It's like when I killed those pedophiles. I don't think. I just do.

But somewhere in the haze, I can no longer feel Jackson's shoulder, and with all the smoke, I can't even see him.

My blood turns cold.

Has he been shot?