Licensed to Kill

Chapter 27

The next morning began with the roar of a loud engine right outside our door. The three of us had barely gotten any rest and we were all jolted wide awake by the noise.

"It's just some asshole trying to look cool while he pisses everyone off," Matt mumbled sleepily from his cozy spot in bed and pulled the covers over his face.

I sat up in bed and looked at the clock. 5:14AM. Oh, joy.

I fought the urge to go back to sleep and slid out of bed, shivering when the warmth of the blankets left my body. I started pulling on my jeans and then I went to work on replacing the bandage on my arm. The painkillers Alana had given me were a godsend since I didn't have alcohol to numb the wound's throbbing pain. I made a mental note to dress Matt's shoulder wound for him once he got his lazy ass out of bed.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and I almost didn't recognize the woman staring back at me. Disheveled, exhausted, bruised and injured. I didn't look at all like myself. Then again, I hadn't really been able to recognize myself since I'd lost Dallas anyway. I was starting to wonder if I'd ever look like my old self again.

I shrugged off the unpleasant thoughts and tried to turn my focus back to getting ready. Dallas's friend was supposed to call with where to meet him any minute now, and both Dallas and Matt were fast asleep again. I briefly entertained thoughts of blasting an air horn at them.

I'd just finished washing my face and double checking my sidearm when I heard the rumble of a second engine outside. I could hear the muffled voices of men talking and at least one man laughing obnoxiously. There was the shuffle of heavy boots against concrete, too. I paused to listen more carefully.

Something didn't feel right. Something was off.

I scurried across the room to shake Matt and Dallas awake, both of them grumbling about how displeased they were at my sudden rude awakening.

"Guys, I think something's wrong," I said in a calm voice, though I knew they could see the concern in my eyes.

Dallas hopped out of bed first, quickly slipping his jeans and vest back on. He holstered his pistol and wandered over to the window while Matt got dressed. I followed Dallas and we huddled up against the wall in the corner of the room, hidden from outside view but able to peek through the curtains.

Two jet black SUV's that looked more like Secret Service vehicles than regular SUV's were idling in the parking lot, their engines still humming an angry rumble. At least six tall, broad-shouldered men were standing between the vehicles, talking. They all wore black leather and had muscles the size of small watermelons. It was almost like Hell's Angels had suddenly made a detour to Germany.

"You think they're here for us?" I asked Dallas, keeping a close eye on their every move.

Matt walked over and gazed out the window, his head just above mine as we all crowded in the corner.

"Well, don't that look fishy," he commented in an unamused tone, and I could hear him tap his pistol, checking to make sure the safety was off.

I squinted, studying each man and counting at least four who had pistols at their side. I knew the German authorities wouldn't send people who looked like that, so I was confident these men were in cahoots with Santiago. I couldn't think of anyone else who would send their minions after us. It had to be him.

"I think we've got company," Dallas groaned. "We need to get out of here now."

Matt cocked a brow at him and crossed his arms. "And how do you propose we do that when our only exit is thirty feet from the Sons of Anarchy?"