Unholy: The Unholys MC by Ellen Harper

capabilities that he’d never mentioned to me before.
     
    I shrugged my shoulders. Part of me—most of me—thought it was a good idea, but I also knew Stitches. He was a finicky bastard, and if he actually showed up tonight, casing the place would be taken as a pretty serious insult. Especially if we got caught doing it. And the other half of that was that there was a good chance they were already here, just as early as we were. If I were in their shoes, I would be.
     
    “Nah,” I finally said when it looked like Specter might take my silence as agreement. “Waste of time. They’re not worth the effort. ’Sides, I think they’re already here.”
     
    I gestured towards the door. The lock was missing. In all honesty, I didn’t know if that had anything to do with the Berserkers. Probably not since this place had been abandoned for a long time now and kids and the homeless had probably broken in a long time ago, but it sounded plausible and I could tell that Specter bought it.
     
    “Shit,” he muttered, and shoved his piece back into his waistband.
     
    This wasn’t where we usually had meetings, but then we didn’t usually have meetings with rival gangs either. Stitches and I agreed on this place because it was neutral territory and would remain that way after we split up the city. That way we’d be able to use it for meetings in the future without either side crying foul.
     
    Specter had wanted it on our turf; Stitches had wanted it on theirs. In the end, I told them both to stuff it, put on a brave face, and pretended I wasn’t scared of either of them.
     
    I was though. I most definitely was.
     
    “Let’s not keep them waiting,” I told him, though the sweat on my palms and the rapid fire beating of my heart told me that I’d just as soon keep them waiting for all eternity, politics be damned.
     
    We approached the door and as I looked around, I was thinking more and more that I was right. They were already here. The broken windows up above I’d originally thought were black because it was so dark inside, but I realized that someone had put something in them to black them out so that we couldn’t see inside. And the door was open just a crack, the chain hanging off to the side. Maybe they hadn’t broken it, but now I was starting to think that was the less likely scenario.
     
    Specter held back just a little, standing off to my right side and maybe a pace or two back. He was there as my back up, but in the end this meeting was about me and Stitches. We called the shots for our respective groups and whatever Specter or the Berserkers thought, in the end it was our call.
     
    I reached for the door, sweaty palms sliding along the handles, and took a deep breath so that I could pause just one last moment. I wasn’t supposed to be afraid, but I was. This wasn’t how I’d wanted my life would go all those years ago, but I had guessed that it would. It was pretty damn inevitable all things considered. Really, I should have been grateful I wasn’t just dead instead of constantly on the verge of it these days.
     
    After that second’s pause, I jerked the door open. I was right; they were already here. Light poured out, dim but noticeable. It was enough that I could see Stitches and two of his club members flanking either side of him. It was enough that I could see the warehouse was empty save the table with the map of the city laid out. It was enough that I could see the man, bloodied and hanging by a hook, right in front of me.
     
    “Jesus,” I muttered in a voice that was more like a breath. “What the hell is this?”
     
    Specter’s face was hard and flushed, his hand behind his back, definitely gripping the handle of his piece, ready for the trouble that was already brewing. It took everything I had not to do the same, but they were here first and there were at least three of them here—probably more since they’d had the time to case the place.
     
    A wicked, almost giddy grin spread