Phoebe's POV
Several black-windowed SUVs roared past our position, but the lead vehicle suddenly hit the brakes hard, tires shrieking against asphalt.
The convoy behind screeched to a stop in formation.
The front passenger door swung wide, and a massive man built like a freight train climbed out, gripping an AK-47. That crude comment from moments ago had come from his mouth.
Door after door burst open across the other vehicles, disgorging armed men clutching rifles and handguns. Their stares held the cold calculation of killers who'd crossed that line before.
Johnson and our other two companions didn't waste a heartbeat.
The instant the big guy finished speaking, they'd already drawn and aimed. Barrel faced barrel in a deadly standoff that ignited the air between us.
Noah and Dion carried weight in these parts, so despite any inner tension, their faces stayed stone-cold steady.
