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Description : Riot
“How many?” Creed asked.

“There are a hundred in each crate, twelve crates in total.”

Creed nodded toward one of his men, who moved forward to open a crate.

There was a touch of unease he was feeling, bringing his instincts to alert. Ice sat, watching the deal go down between the two arms dealers while carefully surveying his surroundings. Something didn’t feel right. The building at the train depot was dark, which wasn’t what was grating on his nerves. Several of his men were spread out, hidden, making sure the transaction went down safely for both of the dealers.

He turned his head, seeing Jackal changing positions. His enforcer felt it, too. Ice’s hand went behind his back to where he kept his gun hidden by his leather vest, which bore the name of the motorcycle club he ruled with an iron fist.

The Predators owned Queen City. There wasn’t a deal that went down they didn’t okay and get their share of the profits from. Which was why he was sitting here instead of being back at his clubhouse in bed with a woman and a bottle of tequila.

A flicker of movement had him stiffening as he leaned against a large crate. Ice’s sharp gaze caught it again at the same time as one of Creed’s men looked nervously over his shoulder.

“Fuck!” Ice said under his breath. With a wave of his hand, Ice gave his order. The meet was over. “Creed, we’ve gotpany.”

The men scattered like rats when the police swarmed the large building. Ice didn’t try to run; he stepped forward when Creed ran by him, bringing his gun down on the shoulder of the cop chasing him, allowing Creed to escape into the darkness. The cop fell to his knees.

“Drop your weapon! Now!”

Ice dropped his gun. He hadn’t...