"They're secure," I assure her, already swinging my leg over the bike. "Luna's there too, treating the injured. Just some minor wounds."
Jenny nods, quickly securing the helmet and climbing on behind me. This time when her arms wrap around my waist, there's nothing sexual about it. Her body is tense with worry.
"Hold tight," I instruct, starting the engine. "I'm taking the back roads. If you see anything suspicious, tap my right shoulder twice."
I feel her nod against my back as I pull away from the curb. Despite the seriousness of the situation, part of my brain still registers the feel of her pressed against me, her thighs gripping mine. My cock, which had started to soften with the news of the attack, responds right away.
I push the physical distraction aside, focusing on scanning our surroundings as I navigate the dark streets of Blackwater Falls. The back roads are emptier, with more cover from trees and buildings, but also more places for ambush. I keep my speed high but controlled, one hand ready to reach for the gun holstered under my cut if needed.
My mother will be safe, I tell myself. No one outside the club knows about her connection to me. I've been careful about that from day one, always keeping my visits discreet. The Iron Eagles have no reason to target her. Still, I make a mental note to have Shadow drive past her place tonight, just to be sure.
We make it to the clubhouse in seven minutes, pulling into the lot to find it eerily quiet. The exterior lights are off. Tactical decision, harder to target what you can't see clearly. I spot two bikes missing from their usual spots: Shadow's and Steel's. Already out for recon or retaliation, most likely.
I kill the engine and help Jenny off, noting the tenseness in her shoulders, the worry in her eyes as she removes the helmet.
"Stay close," I murmur, placing a hand at the small of her back as I guide her toward the entrance.
The clubhouse door opens before we reach it, Tank's massive silhouette appearing in the doorway. He ushers us inside quickly, locking the reinforced door behind us.
The main room is a mess. Shattered glass from the windows and bar mirrors litters the floor. Bullet holes pepper the walls and furniture. The smell of gunpowder and spilled liquor hangs in the air.
"Jenny," Tank says, pulling his sister into a brief, tight hug before holding her at arm's length to check her for injuries. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she assures him. "What about Amelia and Anna?"
"Safe room, like I told Beast. Anna's scared but unharmed. Amelia's with her." Tank's eyes shift to me, and I brace for the interrogation about why I was out with his sister, but he simply says, "King wants you in the chapel. We're planning the response."
I nod, glancing at Jenny. "You good here?"
She nods back, still clutching the helmet to her chest like a shield. "Go. Do what you need to do."
I hesitate, not wanting to leave her, which is fucking ridiculous because she's safer here with Tank than anywhere else.
"I'll check on Amelia and Anna," she says, already moving toward the hallway that leads to the secure room.
Tank watches her go, then turns to me. "We'll talk about where you two were later. Right now, we've got Eagles to hunt."
"Understood," I tell him.
I'm in deep shit with Tank. I'm lying to my mother. We're in the middle of a gang war. And yet all I can think about is getting Jenny naked and buried balls-deep inside her.
Fuck my life.
I follow Tank down the narrow hallway toward the chapel, passing the common room where Luna is picking glass outof Rookie's cheek with tweezers, her nurse's focus unwavering despite the chaos around her. Chaos sits nearby, arm freshly bandaged, knocking back whiskey straight from a bottle that somehow survived the shooting.
The scene brings back memories of two weeks ago when Luna patched up King after the Iron Eagles ambushed him and Luna at her grandmother's house. This war's been brewing ever since Vulture lost his brother to King's hand five years ago, but the attacks have escalated rapidly in the past weeks.
Tank pushes open the heavy wooden door to the chapel, revealing the club's inner sanctum. Unlike the rest of the clubhouse, this room remains undamaged. No bullets penetrated its reinforced walls. The large, scarred wooden table dominates the center, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs bearing the patches of each officer.
King stands at the head of the table, both palms flat against the wood. Torch is to his right, cigarette dangling from his lips despite the no-smoking rule inside the chapel. Rage is still absent, likely rushing back with his kid.
"Beast," King acknowledges me with a nod as I take my seat. "Now that you're here, we can start."
"Shadow and Steel?" I ask.
"Already out," King confirms, his voice dangerously quiet. "Shadow's tracking the vehicles. Two SUVs, black Ford Explorers, tinted windows. Steel's checking with our street contacts, seeing if anyone noticed them before the hit."
"Tactical approach," Tank says, taking his VP chair. "Four shooters minimum. Semi-automatic weapons, looked like AR-15s from the casings. They knew when to hit. Friday night when the common area would be full but most of us were out."
