“Yeah, yours,” the skinny guy sneered.
“You miscalculated. You’re outnumbered.”
“Actually, they’re not.” Brandt stepped away from them and drew his gun, aiming it at Rogan.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rogan asked in a cold voice. “Have you lost your mind? You’re in bed with the Vipers?”
“Oh, I’m thinking very clearly. As soon as you’re gone I’ll be taking over. I’ll finally take us back to what we were meant to be. You’ve weakened us with all this legitimate shit, you’ve turned us into a laughing stock. Drop the guns.”
Brandt turned his gun from Rogan to Miller. Fuck. Dylan dropped his gun on the ground and kicked it away. Rogan did the same.
“I’ve weakened us? Do you know how much money we make from our legitimate business?” Rogan asked.
“We can earn more the old way, through drugs, guns, and pussy.”
Rogan just stared at him. “I don’t know you at all, do I?”
“You were too busy to notice I was plotting right under your nose.”
“The Seven Sinners were never a part of this, were they?” Rogan asked.
“Those idiots? No, I just used them to keep you busy while I prepared to get rid of you. Everyone knows how much you hate them for killing your friend. So I figured you wouldn’t question me if I turned the blame their way. You’d jump at any chance to get back at them.”
“What does Iker get out of this?” Rogan asked.
“You were refusing to take part in a good business opportunity. Fizz is going to be bigger than crystal meth. It just takes a visionary to see that.”
“You kill us and someone is going to work it out. Cillian knows you were with us,” Dylan said easily as he tried to figure out the best way of taking these guys. They might have the guns, but he’d been a Marine and he wasn’t going down without a fight.
Brandt snapped his fingers. “I knew I forgot something.” He moved around to the trunk of the car. He opened it then dragged out an unconscious Cillian and dropped him on the ground.
Or was he unconscious? Dylan narrowed his gaze. He could have sworn he saw him wince as he landed on the ground.
“What’s the plan?” Rogan asked. “You shoot us and frame the Seven Sinners?”
“Got it in one,” Brandt said almost gleefully. “No one knows I’m here. They’re all going to think that the Seven Sinners killed you when you tried to rescue Miller. I even sent Tilly a text from Dylan’s phone telling her what you were doing. I’m sorry it had to come to this, Rogan. I never wanted to kill you myself, but it seems you can’t rely on others to do the job for you.”
“The ambush two months ago,” Rogan guessed. “Jimmy’s info wasn’t wrong. You leaked information to the Seven Sinners. It’s your fault that bastard got away from me.”
“You shouldn’t have been involving us in your personal business. Who cares about some little nobody who shot your friend fifteen years ago?”
Rogan was trying to find Lucas’ killer?
Rage clear on his face, his hands curling into fists, Rogan took a step forward.
“You bastard, I’ll kill you!” Rogan leaped at a shocked Brandt, throwing him to the ground.
Dylan dove for his gun and rolled as bullets pinged around him, one coming dangerously close to his head. He returned fire as he jumped to his feet and ran. Standing still was only going to get him shot. A bullet struck his arm and he grunted with pain as fire engulfed him.
He dove behind the car and then rose, firing quickly, trying to take stock of his surroundings. Rogan and Brandt were fighting on the ground. Cillian was gone. Thank God. He didn’t need to worry about him getting in the line of fire.
But the girl was still there, bound and in shock.
Shit, shit, shit.
How many rounds did he have left? Not enough, that was for sure. He needed to make them count. He popped up again and aimed a
t the large man, firing off two rounds.