Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 92

It started to get dark outside when a single black Toyota Tacoma parked in front of the house ten minutes after the clock struck nine.

I had thought they were never going to arrive. Perhaps Jun and Alfie had released the horde too soon, causing the Alphas to muster up a response against a vector siege. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard their engines entered Driscoll Street, headlights penetrating through the dwindling darkness, the driver's face obscured in the shadows.

"Alright. In positions, everyone," I said.

Peter stopped me in my tracks. "Hold up. Something's wrong." He then pointed outside the barricaded window. "Well, isn't this just wonderful," he hissed.

I peered down below the bedroom where the Alpha had parked the truck in front of the garage door. At first, I didn't know what Peter talked about until I saw more movement inside the vehicle. There were four of them instead of one.

"Ah, hell. It's never fucking easy."

"You lied to us again," Peter seethed, turning around and taking a step toward Charlie, but Logan stopped him, arm pressed against Peter's chest.

"Now's not the time, Pete," Logan said.

Peter swatted Logan's arm away. "Oh, don't worry, princess. I'll make this one quick." He then took out his knife.

"Wait! We are not killing Charlie," I said, taking Peter's wrist and pushing it back to his side. "Let's deal with these men first before we do anything beyond stupid." I reckoned the Alphas must be by the gates now, entering by the side. They would reach the sliding doors in less than a minute. Our voices remained hushed, and I doubt they'd be able to hear us arguing about how we were going to kill them.

Peter huffed and put the blade back in his sheath. "Ah, fine. Whatever. But there's four of them now instead of one."

"Four against four. We had worse odds before," Logan said.

I looked back to Charlie, shaking. "Ah, let's be generous and say three against four."

"Still better odds."

"We're gonna have to take them out at the same time with no hesitations."

"Quietly," Peter said.

"Yes. Quietly."

"Same positions then?"

"With some slight adjustments," I said.

——

The sliding doors hissed open, followed by the four men's footsteps entering the house. I also heard the faint breeze of the wind outside, the rustle of the leaves, their boots crossing the threshold where they stepped onto the carpet from the patio's hardwood floor, succeeded by the sliding doors closing again with a slam. Though their footsteps might be muffled, I was relieved that they continued to blather on among themselves, making it easier to find their positions. Their voices grew louder as they approached the stairs.

I kept close in the shadows, hatchet in hand, hiding beside the landing of the staircase.

"Where the fuck is Abel?" One man asked.

"Nah, he's probably upstairs, jacking off. I gave him a good company with the ladies after my shift the other night, " another replied, which was followed by the other three's laughter.

"He better not ruin those pages."

"I can't believe we're getting assigned to this shit."

"That's what you get for skirting clean-up duty."