Page 148 of Hurt

Jamie sucked his teeth and looked down at the duffel bag before returning his attention to Catacombs. “Get in, kick some bad guy ass, toss the rope, climb the three-story building, set up my gun, tweak the sights…adding in time for a selfie or two, maybe ten minutes?”

Elijah crossed his arms. “That long?”

“You think you can do it faster? Be my guest,” Jamie snapped. “Even up there it won’t matter. One gun covering you isn’t going to be enough.”

He was right. They were launching a full-frontal assault on a compound with almost no information on numbers or weaponry. After the attack on the Weaver Estate, they only had about thirty capable men. Once they got deep into the compound, fighting would be close quarters and their numbers wouldn’t matter as much. Narrow hallways would significantly reduce the efficacy of their greater numbers. But getting there was the issue.

There was almost half a mile of empty space between the front gate and the first building. If Jamie’s timeline was correct, they would be picked off before the second selfie.

“Is there anyone else? What about Abrams?”

“Abrams graduated from the Storm Trooper school of accuracy. Pass,” Jamie scoffed.

Grant looked back to the compound. They were hoping to get in and spread through the compound before the Vegas could sound the alarm. It was entirely likely they had larger assault weaponry on hand.

If that happened, it would be another massacre.

A car door slammed, and Wallace stepped out of his boxy Cadillac. He drew deferential stares as he made his way to their small war meeting. Looking remarkably calm for someone who hadn’t been this close to action in ten years, his hands were folded behind his back and his crisp white suit looked impeccable.

Only his grandsons knew that Wallace’s arms were covered in thick tattoos he got during his time spent in Japan. The man had forgotten more about fighting than anyone here would ever know.

Jackson bowed his head respectfully at the Elder Weaver.

“Grant, may I speak with you?”

That he didn’t ask for Roland meant that Grant was about to receive a dressing down.

Dutifully following his grandfather back to his spotless car, he crossed his arms and looked down at the old man’s goatee.

“You are making a mistake.”

“Should I continue to allow the Vega Cabal to run rampant on Weaver Syndicate territory?” Grant asked.

“You and I both know this has nothing to do with the Weaver Syndicate,” Wallace said tersely. That was as close to yelling as the man ever came.

Grant stared back into those disciplinarian eyes. The same eyes that had followed him his entire life. How often had he acquiesced to this man? Bowed his head an accepted his thoughts without a single shred of doubt? There had never been a time when Grant was at odds with his grandfather.

“I cannot allow this to stand.”

“You do not have enough intel to carry this out!” Wallace slammed his hand down on the hood of his car. “This is foolishness. You are making the same mistake your father did.”

Grant felt nothing when his parents were mentioned. As far as he was concerned, they were simply the biological functions needed to bring him to life. Even now, when compared to his father, he still felt nothing.

Wallace thought he reached Grant with his last statement, but he was shocked to see the unwavering look on his normally reasonable grandsons face.

“I am not making the same mistake he made,” Grant said icily. “He allowed his wife to be taken from him. He failed.”

Grant bent down so that he could lower his voice. “I will not lose Kurt. Not to the Vega Cabal, not to you, and not to anyone else.”

“I raised you better than this,” Wallace protested.

A cruel smile split Grant’s features. Something dangerous glittered in his hazel eyes.

“You raised me to have teeth.” He pressed his grandson toward the driver’s side door. Reaching behind him, he pulled the door open. “Now, get out of my way so I can use them.”

Elijah chewed his thumbnail. Crouched out of earshot, he watched the interaction between Grant and Wallace. He had never seen Grant like this before. There was something predatory about the way he was acting. Like those big cats at the zoo, pacing the bars of their cage just waiting for you to get within striking range.

Roland was always quiet. His anger radiated out of those eyes, but for the most part he kept it to himself. Only when he was finally able to vent his anger would anyone be able to see just how much of it he was bottling up. There would be no holding back.