Thank God I wore pants with useful pockets today. I yank out my phone and send a quick message to the group chat before tapping Zero’s contact.
It rings, and rings.
Come on, pick up!
"What the fuck is going on, Sandra?"
19
ZERO
I throwmy leg over my bike, the phone still in my hand. "Hang on, baby girl, we're coming. Gonna start the bike now, so I can't hear you, but I'm leaving the call open, got it? Shove it down your fucking pants if you have to, but you do the same."
My bike roars to life, just as Beast and Piston start theirs. Badass, Animal, Preacher, Tank and Mack are with us, too. Everyone who was in the common room when the call came in. You don't fuck with the Screaming Eagles and expect to get away with it. I'm sure Badass and Animal, as two of Natalie's guys, are gonna wanna have words after, but that's then. This is now.
Getting Sandra is the first priority.
Our tires squeal as we peel through the gate before straightening out and gunning it towards the location Sandra sent. How the fuck has she managed to get herself into so much trouble so quickly? Stupid fucking murder house.
Jesus Christ. If she comes outta this alive, I'm gonna kiss her stupid and then give her the spanking of her fucking life.
The light ahead is red, but we all lay on our horns. Combined with the echoing rumble of eight bikes roaring down the street like the Devil's on our fucking heels, all traffic stands still and we blow through it uncontested. The GPS said ten minutes. The door won’t last that long.
I crank the throttle, pulling away from the rest for just long enough for them to realize I sped up, and then we're barreling down the street like a fucking army. It bothers me to run in blind, but this isn’t a precision strike. Sometimes the best strategy is to hit hard and fast, overpower the enemy before they have a chance to get ready.
My bike skips when I hit a turn, going too fast for the tires to hang on.
Fuck.
I manage to get a grip again just before I slam into the curb. With a squeal I correct, sliding back into the center of the lane before twisting the throttle. Houses blur into a streak as we zoom past, praying that she's fucking okay. Whoever's in the house with her better hope they haven’t touched a hair on her fucking head, because if she's not okay, shit's about to get real ugly. Torture was never my area of expertise, but my time as a merc taught me a lot of neat tricks, and for a special occasion like this, I'd be happy to demonstrate.
We’re almost there. Just one more corner and then… There! There's a van with the dog shelter logo on the side. At least we're in the right place. I skid to a stop and jump off the bike, running for the door and trusting that the others are on my heels. A dog lunges towards us, barking and snapping. Lucky for us, it’s chained to a stake and forced to watch us invade its home.
"Sandra, are you there?" I yell at my phone. The call is still active, but I'm not getting an answer. Fuck. I try the door, but it's locked.
"Step back." Piston is there, his piece out. As soon as I'm out of the way, he pulls the trigger twice and blows the lock to pieces, leaving a splintered hole in the door. The shots are still echoing through the neighborhood when we slam through the door.
The house looks empty. I don't believe it for a fucking second. She said she was in the upstairs bathroom. "Animal, Badass, take the kitchen." I point at the room at the end of the hall. "Mack, Preacher and Tank, secure the first floor. Piston and Beast, with me." Then I thunder up the stairs, with the two of them right behind. Yelling and the sounds of a fight drift up from downstairs.
The door to the bathroom at the top of the stairs has been pulled straight off the hinges. No one's in sight, but there's a phone on the floor with a cracked screen. Fuck. Just to be sure, I pick it up. Still in a conversation with me. I hang up on both of them. "She can't be far. We weren't that long, and they hadn't broken through yet."
Beast nods, already heading for the closest door with his gun out. One solid kick, and the door slams open to reveal a bedroom. No one. "Check under the bed," he growls, aiming his gun to cover, while Piston drops to look.
"Clear."
They might be gone, but my instinct tells me no. If they'd fucked off, then whoever was downstairs wouldn't have been caught out by the others. "They're still here. I can feel it in my fucking bones."
Piston nods. "If I've learned anything since we started working together, it's to trust your hunches. We'll find her."
Beast pounds the door frame loud enough that I think he just shook the whole fucking house, then yells, "Whoever the fuck you are, and wherever the fuck you are, for every hair on her fucking head that you’ve touched, we’re going to peel off a strip of your motherfucking skin!"
“Damn, son,” I say with a low whistle. “That’s rough.”
There's a thump behind one of the other doors, followed by a hissed, "Fuck!" A man's voice.
We don't even think about it. Beast kicks the door open, and I'm the first one through, rolling in, with my gun tucked until I stop at the other side of the room. There's a bed in here, and Sandra is hunched down behind it along with the guy we kicked the ass of for pushing Sandra around at work. The same asshole we saw at the scrapyard.
He jumps, giving Sandra a moment to sink her teeth into his forearm. The guy howls and tries to shake her off but she’s dug in like a badger with something to prove. He's got a gun to her head, but we all know that if he fires now, he's a dead man. I aim mine right at his fucking forehead.
