There were three Bandit bikes in the parking lot. Tara’s car was scratched, broke into, and deflated. The front door had broken shards of glass all around it, a lone brick just inside the entrance. I hurried inside and saw the backs of two of the Bandits at the far end of the hall, probably protecting the third.
I didn’t have time to think if it was too late. I lined up my gun and fired.
I hit one Bandit in the back. The other ducked into a room, revealing a third, who dived into the room near him.Probably where Tara is.
“The fucking surfer is here!” I heard one shout.
Behind me, I could hear one of the Black Reapers slashing the tires of the Bandits. I liked my odds going four on two now. But I also would have liked to get out of this alive and to make sure Tara was untouched.
One of the Bandits who had taken cover in a nearby office peered around and fired. He just barely missed, but when I heard Connor yell, “Shit!” behind me, I grimaced.
“You OK?”
“It’s fucking nothing,” Connor said.
They had shot him in the shoulder. He and Steele took cover behind the reception desk, while Cole took cover with me behind a nearby couch.
“You know anything about tactics?” I asked.
“I was friends with a few veterans in California,” he said. “Just cover and move. I’ll lay down cover fire, you move in closer. You get close enough that you can ambush the Bandit and take him out.”
“But won’t he be waiting—”
“He’s waiting for the fire to die down. You get an easy kill. Go!”
Cole turned the corner and laid down some fire.
I took his advice, standing and running about ten feet ahead behind another desk. I had closed about half the distance. Cole stopped, and sure enough, seconds later, the Bandit laid down fire.
“Brock!”
Tara.
The scream made me change my mind. I didn’t want to wait for Cole to lay down suppressive fire.
I charged ahead. The Bandit had pulled back to cover and found himself caught in no man’s land, unable to commit to either taking full cover or lining up another shot. The hesitation only lasted half a second, but it was enough. I shot him and he fell dead, blood splattering out of the back of his head.
“Brock!”
I hurried to the last door. There was a man standing over a desk, reaching down. It was the easiest shot I’d ever had in my life. I raised my gun.
And nothing.
“Fucking jammed,” I snarled.
The man looked up at me. He had a black bandana on.The same fucking guy that robbed my store. The same fucking guy that tried to fight me at Reapers. It’s all been the same fucking dude!
“Brock Noelle,” he said wickedly. “You piece of shit—”
I jumped through the cracked doorway, ignoring the scraping of splinters, and tackled the Bandit to the ground. I landed one good punch, but this Bandit had some strength and savvy to him. Without the element of surprise, he wasn’t the easiest fucking pushover in the world, not like the guy I’d knocked out who had tried to mug Elizabeth.
“It ain’t that easy, asshole,” he said.
We both rose to our feet. I could hear Cole, Steele, and Connor coming. But the Bandit did something smart.
He pulled me in for a headlock. He didn’t succeed, but the close distance between us made it all but impossible for any of my club allies to pull the trigger without hitting us. It became less of a fight and more of a scrum.
“You’ve been a fucking thorn in our side for quite some time,” he said. “You just don’t know your fucking place, do you!”
