“What the hell, how’d they get here?” Axle yelled.
Someone told them we were planning something. Someone told them they had better hurry up whatever they were trying to do so they could get their attacks in because we had something planned.
And I’m pretty sure it’s not Butch or Axle. Those reactions are way too strong and way too real.
Could it really be...
Could it really be—
“Shit!”
I snapped out of my thoughts as I saw Axle take a bullet to the chest. No one else was near him. No one else could help him out. Only I was in a position to help.
I laid down some cover fire and sprinted at full speed toward Axle, sliding down behind cover.
“You alright?” I said as I looked at the wound, bleeding pretty profusely.
“What the fuck you think, Lane?”
I didn’t have time to discuss this. I didn’t have time to freeze up on the spot and question myself. I just hurried to remove my shirt before using it to apply pressure to the wound to slow the bleeding down. Axle groaned loudly in pain as the gunshots above continued.
“Fuck!”
I looked over and saw Butch hit as well. He tried to move, but it was clear he was struggling. We were getting our asses handed to us, and me trying to help Axle, unfortunately, was taking away from my ability to shoot at the enemy.
I would’ve liked to say that I had felt some heroic sense of duty at that moment that compelled me to act in such a magnificent way. I would’ve liked to say that I had some revelation that changed who I was and made me a stronger person. I would’ve liked to have said many things.
But really, at that moment, I wasn’t thinking. I was going purely off of instinct and drive— the instinct and the drive to kill the people trying to kill me.
When a lull in the battle came, I grabbed Axle’s rifle and my own and laid down fire upon the Saints. I managed to hit two targets immediately, including one in the head that dropped dead on the spot. A couple of bullets came dangerously close to hitting me, which dragged me back to reality, but I regained that focus and continued to make life hell for the Saints who had dared to attack us.
Slowly, it felt like we had returned the pressure to them. Their fire did not come as frequently, and cries from the other side continued as well. Eventually, I heard the revving of bikes as about nine of the dozen Saints who had shown up sped away, the rest of them killed or too injured to make it out alive.
As soon as the last of the Saints pulled off, I looked at Axle.
“Get us to a hospital,” he groaned, clenching and squinting his eyes in pain.
“Hey, everybody, listen up!” I shouted over the collective murmuring and groans. “Let’s get the wounded to a hospital now! If you can carry one and support one on your bike, you take them now, otherwise, let’s get them to the vans and head over!”
I immediately motioned for Patriot to grab Axle, knowing that he had the strength to handle Axle. Butch was going to be too big for the bike, so Father Marcellus and I threw his arms over our shoulders and carried him to a van. He grunted and squirmed in pain, but for the most part, he just gritted his teeth and didn’t cry out in pain.
Now that the adrenaline was starting to come down from the unexpected attack, my thinking was coming back, and I started to realize that this bullshit had to stop. Someone in the club had to have sold us out—it was too much of a coincidence that just when we were planning a surprise attack, we’d gotten attacked on club grounds. And for it to happen during church, when there was zero chance that the officers would be ready...
I looked at all of the officers as I moved around. Father Marcellus remained by Butch’s side, trying to help him with his wounds. Patriot had gotten Axle on the bike, and the two had already started making headway for the hospital. Red Raven was tending to an injured prospect. Nothing about any of them seemed out of the ordinary, and frankly, on an individual basis, I didn’t have anything to suspect about them.
But as a collective group, someone was selling us out.
Satisfied that we had mostly gotten things in order, I had Father Marcellus jump in the front seat with me, while two club members, Brick and Carl, got Butch into the back row. They also kept him awake and alert as I revved the engine and sped down the road toward the hospital.
It was a little past sunset, about half-past seven o’clock. Though some people going to dinner were still on the roads, for the most part, I had a clear path. I didn’t give two shits about the speed limit—whether I was a biker or a civilian, I had a man who needed medical care and needed it badly, and I had to do whatever it took to help him.
“Lane.”
“Hmm?” I said to Father Marcellus, still keeping my eyes on the road.
“I just want you to know that though what happened just now is tragic and must be met with retaliation,” he said. “I want you to know that what you’ve done today has proved that you are a worthy leader. Let that be the silver lining in everything that transpires from here on out—you have grown from a boy who was too afraid to get involved into a man willing to protect your allies at the risk of your own blood.”
I turned to Father Marcellus for just a second. He stared straight ahead as well, his hands folded, his eyes long. The attack, it seemed, had taken a toll on him as well. His facial expressions were well worn, and his hands were shaking.
