Zack
Itook a deep breath.
Justine was almost certainly in the hands of the Bandits. There was no one else that would have taken her. I tried to calm my mind from rushing to conclusions too easily and too quickly, but this one felt certain. No one else in the greater Albuquerque region would have targeted her specifically like that.
But at the moment, she did not sound in danger. Her voice sounded stressed, but not like she was about to get stabbed. I didn’t need to rush anything, but I also couldn’t wait until tomorrow to help. So that at least meant we could move with purpose but not hastily.
Would the Bandits figure out that she had called me? That part seemed uncertain. The fact that Justine talked about not going into work suggested that she’d masked who she was calling from the Bandits—likely Eduardo—meaning she had hid us from them for now.
Although the situation was awful, I did not want to lose my self-control and turn this into a chaotic, mad rush to the Bandits’ lair. I did not want us to act impulsively like we had before. I needed to use my intellect and cool. We had to ambush them.
And right off the bat, ironically, I knew the easiest way to do this was to do what Justine had requested of me all this time.
Remove the Black Reapers from me.
* * *
“You’re fucking crazy.”
All of the officers sat in church, with Brock and me leading the conversation. I had just made my proposal, and it was of no surprise that Brock had rejected it. But I could see in everyone else’s eyes a sense of curiosity, perhaps a belief that this was, indeed, the best idea.
“You want us to take a van there, sneak around the back of the neighborhood, and take her? We’ll be so immobile without our bikes.”
“And that’s the point I’m trying to make,” I said. “We ride our bikes to make our presence known, to show we give no shits. But right now, we have an enormous opportunity to strike without being known. None of the Bandits, I would hope, know that Justine called me. They all probably think the next time we attack, it’ll just be more of the same. More gunfire, more taking cover, maybe more weapons. But they won’t anticipate an attack from the rear in complete silence.”
Brock grimaced. He was starting to get it, but the very idea of abandoning the foundation of the club—it wasn’t a car club, after all—seemed contrary to how he wanted to run things.
“Look, the Black Reapers are about brotherhood and a spirit, not if we have our bikes or not,” I said. “The bike is symbolic of what we do—”
“Save the smart talk,” Brock said. “I get it.”
He just didn’t like it.
“All in favor of driving a van instead of our bikes.”
It was of enormous relief that everyone else in the room raised their hands.
“I take it you want to do it now?” Brock said, allowing the request to proceed.
“Yes,” I said. “But we need to plan first. We can’t just rush in being all badass and shit because that will blow our cover. So, I propose that we take us and two other prospects. We will advance in ever-shrinking numbers. So two will remain at the van for cover, and six will go. Then two will provide cover outside the house, and four will enter. Two will go upstairs, and two will remain downstairs.”
“And how do we know what house she’s in?”
I bit my lip.
“We don’t,” I admitted. “But if I had to guess, King has sent his cronies to try and get Justine for some time. She’s clearly, as a doctor, someone of value. You don’t think Eduardo would want her?”
Brock pursed his lips and sighed.
“Don’t get too smart on us,” he said. “All right. We’ll figure out who will take what position as we move out. For now, gentlemen? Let’s get some prospects and let’s go rescue the good doctor.”
* * *
Garrett took the role of driver as a prospect sat next to him. In the back of the van, laid out like a delivery van with no seats and just benches on the side, the rest of us sat.
“I never fucking thought the Black Reapers would be driving mom vans,” Steele remarked.
“Doesn’t have the same fucking feel as a bike,” Connor added.
