Drake had just come back from scouting the area. Every single one of the windows was boarded up or had what looked like navy blue sheets covering them. They were flying blind.
Drake told Mason and Aiden what he had found.
“The way I figure it, we have to assume there are at least three of them inside and, armed and drunk.”
“Why drunk and not high?” Aiden asked.
“It’s cold out, I’m betting Harmon’s got them drinking Everclear to keep them warm.”
“It just keeps getting better and better,” Aiden said as he checked his weapon again.
“I have a plan.”
“Okay, let’s hear it,” Mason said.
“I knock on the door.”
“I don’t like your plan,” Mason said immediately.
“You agreed to follow my lead,” Drake reminded him.
Drake watched as he clenched his jaw. “Look, Mase, this is the way to handle Harmon, trust me.”
“You just broke his hand and said he was armed and drunk. How the fuck do you think knocking on his door is a good idea?”
“He’s family,” Drake said simply.
“And if one of the other guys answers and decides to shoot first, and ask questions later?”
“I’m wearing body armor, thank you very much, Darius Stanton.”
“Which you should have been wearing the entire time,” Mason ground out.
“Yeah well when I came out to get Piper, it wasn’t on my packing list,” Drake said dryly.
“I like my team better,” Aiden said. “There’s not as much estrogen.”
“Yeah, well you might want to stop thinking of yourself as Black Dawn. I talked to Gray yesterday. You’re assigned to Midnight Delta for the next three missions,” Mason threw over his shoulder.
Aiden’s head jerked up. Drake laughed. “I think there’s some Estrogen cream we can get you, so you can fit in.”
“Fuck you guys,” Aiden said.
“That’s no way to talk to your lieutenant,” said Drake seriously.
“Sorry, Sir,” Aiden said to Mason.
“You’re actually listening to Avery? My God, you need to lighten up, O’Malley.” Mason grinned. “Okay, Drake. You’re going to knock on the door. Then what?”
“Wait for my signal.”
Drake saw their dubious glances.
“Trust me. What could go wrong?”
***
The bruised and naked woman, who opened the door, had a gun.
Drake lost a precious milisecond assimilating the fact that she was scared before he reacted, and it cost him.
“Get in here, Cuz.” Harmon shoved the woman onto the dirty linoleum, and she cried out, her gun skittering across the floor toward the couch. The worst thing in the world for Drake to do was to go into the trailer. He wanted his cousin and the three men on the couch to come out. But he couldn’t ignore the woman whimpering on the floor.
“I’ll shoot the bitch if you don’t get in here. She ain’t family.” His cousin was holding a piece of shit gun in his left hand. Drake had been wrong about a lot of things. Harmon was drunk and high. He assessed the situation. Two of the men were so stoned that they weren’t going to be a problem, but the third guy, he was the one with the tattoos, and he, he was going to be all sorts of wrong.
“Harmon, this is just a social call,” Drake said as he put one foot over the threshold.
“Come all the way in. It’s freezing,” Harmon shouted, holding his gun awkwardly.
“Can’t do that, Cuz. Don’t trust you enough to come all the way inside.”
“Drake, I told you I wouldn’t kill family.”
“He would.” Drake nodded at the man on the couch.
Harmon laughed. “Yeah, you’re right. But I don’t want a mess in my trailer. He’d have to take you outside anyway.”
Drake surveyed the dim interior of the trailer. One of the stoned men pulled his jacket tighter around himself, then promptly fell sideways against the arm of the blue couch, saliva running out of his mouth. The other man had an open pizza box resting on his lap. In one hand was a slice of pepperoni, in another was a small caliber gun like Harmon’s. It was clear that he was better suited to care for the pizza.
“You’re right, Harmon, you wouldn’t want anything to mess up your place.”
The woman on the floor threw up.
“Goddamn, bitch.” Harmon drew back his leg to kick her. Drake grabbed his leg and upended him so that he landed on his ass.
“You don’t kill family, and I don’t let women be beat.”
Harmon laughed, and so did the tattooed man.
A slurred, “what” came from the man who had been passed out. He slid to the floor.