Property of Drex (Book 1)(53)

“It’s Drake. Let me in.”

Drex’s eyebrows go up in surprise, and I quickly dress as he walks out of the bedroom, leaving the door open. I can see the front door from here as Drex rushes to it.

I don’t have time to get my bra on, so I just pull my shirt on seconds before Drex swings open the door.

“What the hell are you—”

Before he can finish that question, Drake barges in, shutting the door behind him. He glares at Drex before handing him his phone.

“My phone has been blowing up with threats all day. Hell Breathers got wind of your visit to me, probably think we’re playing them or some shit. Benny and his gang of douchebags just sent me that last message a few minutes ago.”

I don’t know what it says, but Drex’s nostrils flare as he reads it. I move into the room with them, adjusting my shorts and staying out of the way. It’s not like I can’t overhear everything from inside the other room anyway.

“I’ll call Pop. He should know they’re making threats. I’ll call Axle first and tell him to meet up with us at the warehouse.”

“I’m coming with. These fuckers are threatening me, so I’ll definitely have something to say when this is taken care of.”

Drex seems hesitant, but I’m so damn confused. What the hell is going on?

“Drex?” I prompt.

He walks over to me while pulling out his phone. His hand cups my chin, while his thumb slides up and down my jaw, stroking it as he starts talking to who I assume must be Axle.

“Yeah… Drake is sending you some stuff. We need to meet you at—”

His words are cut off by glass shattering and explosions thundering across the house. I hit the ground hard, the breath heaving from my lungs as black dots speckle my vision.

It takes me a second to realize Drex has just thrown me to the ground and that the explosions weren’t explosions at all—it’s gunfire. A lot of it.

Holes appear in the walls around us as Drex yells to Drake across the room. Drake slides a gun across the floor, and Drex grabs it, keeping me covered with his body as he lifts his head to see out the window, firing with Drake back at something.

In the movies, it all plays out so clearly. You see the bullets zipping by. People are screaming, and you can distinctly hear the loud sounds of rapid gunfire, isolating each bullet that slices through the air.

In real life, it’s all a blur of motion and noise, and seconds turn into hours, each ticking by so slowly that you can taste death on the tip of your tongue. And the gunfire is just loud noise that all muddles together to create the constant roar of a storm.

Right now, Drex is cold. The care and concern in his eyes from earlier is completely gone, and he fires back at whoever is unleashing hell on us right now.

Drake does the same, but suddenly more guns are shooting, because the noise drones on, getting louder and louder.

Drake curses when he grabs his arm, dropping his gun in the process. Drex ducks down and curls his body around mine, wrapping me up completely as someone tries to turn the house into a sponge.

He reaches over and grabs a small table leg, flipping it so that it crashes beside us, and I see two grenades taped underneath. With quick, jerky movements, he tosses one to Drake, who makes even quicker work with throwing it out into the madness.

Drex cover my ears just before I feel the ground jerk beneath us, the house vibrating viciously as something thunders through the air. Dirt blows inside, filling my lungs and forcing me to cough. It was already hard to breathe before the dirt assault.

Drex is suddenly off me, and I see him launch the second grenade. He dives, but the explosion kicks back sooner than it did earlier, and it rocks the house harder, letting me know it hit closer as well.

Drex crashes into the coffee table, and limply collapses to the ground. Drake is grabbing a gun, firing it with one hand while his left arm hangs at his side, blood slowly oozing from a bullet wound near his shoulder.

Drex is exposed, lying out in the open in front of the window, so I scramble up on my hands and knees, clumsily crawling to him as Drake takes on the army on his own.

His dead weight is too heavy to move, so I do the only thing I can and turn the coffee table on its side, blocking the easy view they have. If the walls won’t stop their bullets, I doubt this table will, but at least it hides him better.

I cover him with my body the way he did me, and I softly chant his name, begging him to wake up. But he’s out cold. His head is trickling blood from where he hit it too hard against the table when he was thrown back.

More gunfire from a different angle kicks in, and I shiver, worrying more have joined. But no new bullets breach the house.

“Fuck yes,” Drake breathes, belly-crawling toward us and wincing when he has to use his injured arm. “The Calvary has arrived.”