“Fuck, yeah. She’s got everyone’s written down.” He grimaces, jerking his chin to look away. “We found their VP. Diesel knocked him out. God, there were so many of them. Ripper—”
“Saved your ass. You’re welcome.” He pulls out his phone, already typing away a message back to the clubhouse. “Diesel’s arms are bleeding, but he’s still going.”
“Smoke did his disappearing act and Kansas—” He groans and pinches his eyes shut, the blood loss getting to him. “I don’t think anyone is dead. The prospects deserve a patch after this.”
Grabbing Warden, he curses as I drag him into the room. Settling him against the wall, I check him for his gun. It’s empty.
“Don’t pass out or die.” Handing him my gun, I jerk my chin toward Hex. “If she does anything suspicious, shoot her.”
Her squeak alone tells me that she’ll behave.
“What about you?” He grimaces as he shifts.
“I’ll be fine.” Turning toward Trouble, I shove the lie to the back of my mind. “You see any of ours?”
He stares at the feeds before shrugging. “Seems like it.. Even better, they’ve captured a handful of them. Some of them follow orders.”
“And Blaze? Tell me he didn’t run.”
Warden lets out a laugh that turns into a groan. “Kansas took out their bikes. They’re not running anywhere unless it’s on foot.”
Trouble frowns at the screens. “There are rooms missing. Where are the cameras?”
Hex jerks her chin. “You know him as well as I do. You think he’d let me put surveillance where he sleeps?”
“Meaning he’s hiding, and we don’t know what to expect.” Shaking my head, I jerk my chin. “Take me there. We can take advantage of these grenades.”
Trouble hesitates, but he nods, following after me.
“Find Diesel and help him.” Meeting Ripper’s frown with one of my own, he doesn’t budge. “I’ll be fine. We’ve got people to return to. Don’t die.”
He hesitates before taking a step back. He frowns at Trouble but grits his jaw. Turning, he disappears in the direction of the chaos.
Relieved that he’s actually listening to me this time, I give Warden one last look before letting Trouble lead.
* * *
The Crimson Road clubhouse is too fucking big. Makes mine feel laughable. The vaulted ceilings and polished concrete floors echo with every step, a monument to a king’s ego. When I take over, this place is going to be wonderful.
It’s a shame how much work it’s going to need before we can call it ours. Right now, it just feels like a tomb.
Trouble pulls the pin on the grenade in his grip and rolls it toward a door he says we don’t want to open ourselves. “From the man himself,” he mutters.
The explosion is a contained, brutal whump that shakes the very foundations of the room. Plaster dust snows from the ceiling. For ten seconds, possibly twenty, all I can hear are my very thoughts and the pounding of my heart. A familiar, unwelcome tinnitus.
Before the debris can even settle, a shower of bullets comes flying out from the opening. Something automatic. The blast of the weapon is deafening, chewing up the wall where we could’ve been standing. Can’t be too surprised that he’s got illegal weapons. Yeah, definitely not a door we wanted to open.
“You’re a fucking coward, Blaze.” Calling out toward the opening once silence fills the air, I can’t help but let out a laugh. It’s a dry, harsh sound. “Guess that hasn’t changed in the eight years since our last conversation.”
A part of me hopes his pride consumes him, dragging him out of his hiding spot. I need to see his face. I need to look the bastard in the eye.
“I don’t have a gun on me, Blaze. Let’s chat. Man to man. If not, I’m happy to return these grenades to you in person. We can end this conversation with a bang.”
Silence. Then, a shuffling sound. A figure emerges from the smoke-hazed doorway, and for a moment, my brain refuses to reconcile the image.
This is not the man from my nightmares.
The Blaze I remember was a titan. Broad-shouldered, with a cold, commanding presence and eyes that held the promise of violence. This man is… shrunken. His skin has a sallow, greasy sheen, and his eyes are wide, darting things, swimming in a sea of paranoid white.
