“Too bad it took this long,” Connor said.
“Probably had good reason,” Zack added.
“Yes,” Butch said. “We need to see that you all could fight as one. Finally did.”
The only thing Butch saw was Mason and I exiting Brock’s apartment. I guess that’s what he meant. Not just being able to launch strikes on the enemy, but also keeping peace in-house.
Or, at least, not turning violent in-house for unnecessary reasons.
“And because we did, it is time,” Butch said.
And then, as if he expected everyone else to get it, he just walked out to his bike. He had no “rah-rah” moment, no “I believe in you” speech, nothing like that. Like I said, he was a biker’s biker; there was absolutely no fluff, no extra words needed.
“So…we’re going to strike now,” Zack said.
“Yes,” Brock said, standing up and taking the spot where Butch was. “And just to be clear, we’re all going to be in the line of fire. Myself included. And we are all fighting as one. If you have to take a bullet for someone, so be it. If there is anyone in this room you are not willing to do that for, then stay behind and don’t come back.”
I looked at Mason. I didn’t think he’d quit at this point, but Brock had never before staked out his position so boldly and with such authority. Nevertheless, Mason did not so much as flinch, let alone look like he was considering the choice.
“Good,” Brock said. “Let’s fucking go.”
The ten of us walked out to meet Butch, who already had his bike turned on and was just waiting for the rest of us to follow. I recalled our first strike like this, one in which we’d carried out quite possibly the most passive-aggressive violence ever in slashing the Bandits’ tires. I suppose it was just a test, but I hadn’t wanted to cut rubber; I’d wanted to cut throats.
Now, OK, maybe I wouldn’t literally cut throats, but I’d sure take the chance to drive some bullets through the fucking assholes that were the Bandits.
Butch slowly rolled to the front of the shop. Brock and Steele formed on his left and right, the three most prominent and important pieces of the Black Reapers MC taking the charge. If nothing else, you couldn’t say our leaders didn’t practice what they preached.
Behind them were Mason and Connor, the sergeant-at-arms and the enforcer. There was no one I would rather have putting ammo into the assholes’ chests. If anything, Connor’s thirst for blood and vengeance might have been too strong; I could easily see him defying common sense and rushing into the clubhouse, bullets be damned.
Behind those two were Professor Smartass and me. As the youngest, Zack probably showed the most nerves, but he was still there. The student could become the stone-cold killer; he just needed a little encouragement.
And behind him were the four prospects. They ranged in age from their mid-twenties to their late thirties, men who had felt purposeless in this town and helpless before finally getting a chance to join an outlaw group. We were no fucking heroes, but we didn’t want to be. We just wanted revenge, and that would be good enough to make this town a much safer place.
We felt like a goddamn military unit.Fighting and fucking. We’re going to kick some fucking ass, and then…
I’m going to go see Hannah.
I smiled.
Yes, even on my bike, with body armor on and a rifle slung over my shoulder, fully ready to rush into combat and risk getting shot in the fucking brain, I smiled. I could finally go see her.My girl.I could do so without too much worry about Mason.
And more than that, I wasn’t just fighting to go and fuck. I was fighting for my future. Forourfuture—the future of Hannah and the future of my child.
I wished I’d had the chance to call her just before we rolled out, but she was almost certainly at home, watching TV, counting down the days.
There it is.
We’d driven for about ten minutes, but it felt a lot shorter. The Bandits hadn’t always had a base like this, but recent intel had suggested that they’d become more organized, most likely in response to our own growth. Butch, Brock, and Steele readied their guns, swerved by, and laid down some fire.
And then the next wave.
And then Zack and me.
And then the prospects.
Over the noise of gunfire and motorcycles, it was difficult to hear much, but I could hear the shouting of men being shot and I could see bodies dropping down from inside the windows. Good. I had no fucking mercy for the Bandits. The more that perished, the better, most especially after the shit we’d gone through.
Butch, at the front, motioned for them to make a second pass. We followed their lead, but this time, Brock, Steele, and he stopped and took cover behind their bikes. We did the same, and next thing you knew, we were in a shootout.
