Free Kill Zone: A Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller by CJ Lyons Page B

pop, pop —and be halfway home before their bodies hit the ground.
    Easier than taking out the trash.
    He actually considered it for a moment—a fleeting pleasure, a quiet fantasy. Most of his time at war was made up of so many moments like this: more about imagining what could be rather than actual doing. Because when the shit rained down, the doing was so automatic there was no thinking. No time for anything except remembering to breathe between the bullets and for doing whatever it took to keep his men safe.
    Seeing Mad Dog and the other Rippers, he was tempted. So damn tempted. What was the worst anyone could do to him? Lock him up? Solitary confinement? Hell, he was already there.
     No. He needed to keep the peace—couldn’t put Grams in the crossfire.
    “Where's Darius at?” No way was Andre getting into a vehicle with these punks.
    “Just across the way at Kujo’s.”  
    Kujo’s was an old three story house—once white, now painted Ripper red with that gingerbread trim the Doc was talking about—that the Rippers had taken over from an old man after his wife had died, literally forcing the poor guy out of his own home. Back when Andre had been with them it was a stash house, but Darius always talked about making it his own. His “HQ” he’d called it, like he was Ruby Avenue’s answer to Donald Trump.
    “Ten minutes,” Andre said as he slid his finger away from the Beretta’s trigger. “I’ll give Darius ten minutes.”
    The three men crowded and jostled against Andre as they pushed across the street. Like they were still on the school playground, vying for the title of King of the Hill. Andre just shrugged it off.  
    Darius had fortified Kujo's with metal shutters and two guards on the porch. Mad Dog nodded to them and they were granted entrance.
    The interior of the old Victorian style house had been redone in classic Ripper fashion: spray painted graffiti, disco ball spinning where the dining room chandelier used to hang, antique dining room table now serving as a catwalk where two naked women, one black, one white, danced as jeering men watched. The dining room chairs had been removed to make more room for men to stand.  
    Across the hall the front parlor was jammed with sofas and chairs of every design where Rippers relaxed, getting lap dances, blow jobs, cleaning their guns, smoking meth or crack with the women, or playing video games on the large plasma screen TV that blocked the front of the fireplace.
    Different music blared from each room, competing with the gunshots from the video game and making Andre’s teeth ache. All the women were naked, even the one who greeted them at the front door like a hostess at an upscale restaurant and ushered Andre and Mad Dog to the only interior room with a proper door still on it.  
    “Darius is waiting for you,” she said, eyeing Andre with open curiosity. She was gorgeous. Light skinned black or dark skinned Hispanic or some delicious mix of both. Generous breasts, thick lips and wide smile, black hair flowing down to her waist except where she had it pinned up in curls and braids and what-not to frame her face. “Can I get you gentlemen anything?”
    “Nah, Giselle, we good.” MD opened the door, motioned for Andre to go before him.
    Andre hesitated, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light and taking a look before committing. The room was a library—or had been in a past life. The floor to ceiling oak shelves were still filled with books, there was a large fireplace and elegant velvet drapes. The couch was squared-off and modern; black leather and chrome—Darius’ idea of style—and in the center of the room was a round glass-topped table with two black leather upholstered chairs. Darius waited in one chair, sipping champagne from a gold-rimmed flute. He nodded to the other chair for Andre.
    “He strapped,” MD told Darius. Andre wasn't surprised he knew; it wasn't like the M9 was small enough to conceal. Andre stood tall, daring Mad