But I’m not the one to put an end to this standoff, even if I could. I’m just here to finish it out if Anarchy gets Iron Jack, and he can’t retaliate. Or to cover his getaway.
They stop talking, and the wind goes still, as if it wants to watch what happens, too.
The only sounds are muffled shouts from inside the house, and the spray of water and cracking of blankets. The clubhouse fire is mostly out. It will be an expensive fix, but the place isn’t leveled other than the garage. And the bikes.
This plan to get them to move on better work, or there will be a war on our hands.
My ears tingle before I hear the next thing, like an early warning system that something’s wrong.
I hold my breath, listening. Cars. Lots of them, rolling through the soft dirt, their engines nearly silent, crunching branches on the road.
Those are not motorcycles. Nor Fancy’s truck.
It’s a fleet of new cars, electric or hybrid, made for stealth.
I peer into the dark and see the shapes, the faint glow of the interiors from screens or dash dials. A brief glint of an unused flasher atop a hood tells the tale.
Law enforcement.
I move away from the road, running along the treeline, keeping the two men in sight away from the oncoming fleet of cops.
I have no way to warn Iron Jack. Or does he know? Did he orchestrate this?
I’m guessing not because he says, “I’m going to assume the call to kill my parents came from you.” He shifts like he’s about to take the shot when the whole road lights up like someone turned on a disco.
An amplified voice orders, “Drop your weapons.”
Mayhem ensues. Lucifer’s Kin runs every direction. Anarchy stands his ground for a moment, but as the sheriff’s cars roll into the clearing, he takes off for the woods behind the house.
I shield my eyes to see what Iron Jack will do, but he’s disappeared in the glare of the lights.
That’s my cue to exit.
I run through the woods. Nobody has run from the club toward my direction, so the cars are all focused on the house and beyond it.
My boots crunch over broken limbs, but it’s only fifty yards before I realize the road is empty. They’ve all gone straight to the club.
I find my bike and jump on. Just before I fire it up, I spot Iron Jack on the opposite side. He’s made it, too.
I race onto the road, sensing when he comes up behind me.
We fly down the dirt, skidding occasionally in the soft spots until we make it to the asphalt.
By the time we arrive at the highway, we know we’re home free.
The two of us race side-by-side back to the clubhouse.
But now I need to know.
What the hell happened back there? Who called the damn police?
CHAPTER 37
MARIETTA
Idon’t care what Betz says, as the Wild Hair return to the club, I rush out into the night to find Merrick.
Fancy rolls up in his truck, and most of the members pull off their helmets.
