Trey secured the loaded magazine into his second Glock. He then pulled the slide back and released, watching with some satisfaction as it slid into place and loaded a round into the chamber. After a beat, he tucked the Glock in the holster at the small of his back. It always gave him some form of comfort to feel the weight of a weapon against his body. Like a friend that never left his side when s**t hit the fan. And today he had more than one such friend.
The first Glock was in his shoulder holster. He had a smaller guy, but just as trustworthy, a colt, secured around his left ankle. Extra magazines occupied space in his extra cargo pant pockets and he had two wicked knives strapped on as well. One around his right thigh and the other over his left pec, close to the shoulder. It wasn’t
