The Warrior (Mason Walker Book 2) by Alex Howell

Author:Alex Howell [Howell, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-12T16:00:00+00:00

12

August 18th, 2028

9:15 p.m. EST

Washington, D.C.

In the back of a pool hall called “Sharky’s,” a place so sketchy just by the outside appearances that not even the cops seemed interested in approaching, with dilapidating walls, smokers outside, and bouncers who seemed more interested in picking fights than in checking IDs, Case and Duke made their way through, ignoring the glares that resulted from the two well-put-together men had entered. It had taken enough effort to get past the bouncers—only twenty bucks each had let them enter, and Case knew that this wasn’t going to get him his money’s worth.

Case hated what they were doing already. This wasn’t just walking into enemy territory. This was walking into enemy territory with middle fingers held high, dropping slurs and taunts everywhere they went, and then laughing in the faces of said enemies. About the only reason no one had killed them yet, it seemed, was because they were so curious who the two men were that had the gall to enter into one of their hangouts.

And for what purpose? To get them to talk? These weren’t canaries in a coal mine. These were hardened Joras criminals who were notorious for frustrating local and federal officials alike. Ask a local cop about getting a Joras to talk, and they’d say they had better luck getting their rebellious teenagers to listen to them.

Duke, for his part, just didn’t seem to care either way. He was here to talk to members of the Joras, not to make appearances. If he seemed to be showing up the Joras, bully for them. He had a gun, he had training, and he had a partner. He didn’t care how this went down, especially when he could be on actual missions with actual international criminals, not some D.C. hood rats.

“These guys don’t like me,” Duke grumbled as both men noticed one of the Joras leaning into a fellow member, saying something, and drawing snickers, all the while both gangsters never let up staring at the two SEALs.

“You don’t say,” Case said, his voice less charismatic and cheerful and more accusatory and aggressive. “Do you think we should have rang the doorbell before we walked in? Maybe we should have asked the bouncers to give us a parade in?”

“That’s not how Joras operate, Case,” Duke said. “I arrested them back in the day for some stuff when I was in the police here. They haven’t forgotten it. They don’t forget anything.”

At that moment, as if to emphasize the point, about a half-dozen Joras surrounded them, guns raised, while another man walked up, clapping his hands. He bore several tattoos in Spanish, some of which Case recognized as meaning “Death in God’s Name” and one in “Chosen One.”

Suffice to say, Case was suddenly beginning to think that maybe ringing the doorbell actually would have been the smart move. At least if that had happened, they could have run away when the bullets rang out. Now it just took one trigger-happy Joras, looking to prove himself, to end both of their lives.

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