We all just stood there, staring at our prospect with a mix of relief and concern. He’d had a hard time recovering from his injuries, and for a moment there, we all thought we might lose him. But the little asshole had too much fight in him for that.
I walked over to him and slung my arm over his shoulder. “Glad you decided to get back to the land of the living.”
“You missed me, didn’t ya?”
Smitty reached over to the bar and grabbed a beer, chugging it like it was just another Saturday. Seeing him standing upright and smiling hit me harder than I expected. As happy as I was that he’d come to give a hand, I didn’t want him to jeopardize his recovery. “Blade know you here?”
“Hell, no. But he cleared me for light activity.”
“Perfect,” Seven chuckled as he motioned his head toward the back. “Get after it.”
Smitty nodded and made his way over to his post near the back bar, and one by one, we each took a moment to welcome him back. For some, it was a pat on the shoulder. For others, it was a knuckle scrub on top of the head or shared beer.
It was clear from the big smile plastered on his face that he was pleased to be back in the fold. Unfortunately, the smile wouldn’t last long. In fact, all the good vibes we were all feeling went flying out the window when we heard a loud bang coming from the back.
It sounded like metal on metal, and it was loud enough to rattle the walls. Before any of us could process what was happening, the front door blew open and four men filed in. Four more came in through the back.
“Nobody move!” one of the men shouted. “And that includes you Fury boys. You even think of doing something stupid, and I’ll end every fucking one of ya.”
I would’ve given anything to know who these assholes were, but they were masked and wearing all black, making it impossible to get a good look at them. We’d faced a lot over the years. Rival clubs looking to make a statement. Gangs thinking they were tougher than they were. Even a brush with the Russian mafia.
War was something I understood.
Eye for eye. Blood for blood.
Masked men with guns threatening our girls and our customers were more than your typical altercation. This was a threat on a whole new level. I shot a look over at Memphis, and he nodded, confirming that he’d triggered the silent alarm that would signal to everyone at the clubhouse that there was trouble.
There was no doubt that they would come, armed and ready.
But it would take time—time I wasn’t sure we had.
The front pair moved fast. They had their weapons drawn and were sweeping the room with precision. The others circled the perimeter, securing all the exits.
Tight formation.
No wasted motion. This shit was rehearsed.
This was a hit. I just had no idea who was running the show.
My pulse steadied, but my brain was busy running every angle, every exit, and noting every face in the crowd. There was panic in everyone’s eyes. One wrong move, and this thing would turn into a massacre.
One of the men stepped on the stage. All eyes were on him as he aimed his weapon toward the ceiling and fired a single shot. Screams and shrills filled the room but quickly died when he fired a second shot and shouted, “Everyone on the floor. Keep your heads down, and nobody gets hurt.”
And just like that, the room folded in on itself.
Men slid out of their chairs and hit the floor, covering their heads with their arms and hands as they whispered pleading prayers. While some tried to put on a brave front, I could feel their fear radiating through the room.
The dancers clustered together near the corner of the stage. They’d abandoned their high heels and tassels, and they clung to each other as tears streamed down their faces.
I didn’t move.
None of the brothers did.
The asshole with the gun didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all, so he aimed his gun at Memphis and shot three rounds at his feet. “I said on the fucking ground!”
Pissed, Memphis glanced over at me and Seven, and we gave him the nod, signaling to do what he said. It was degrading and angered me beyond anything I could imagine, but we had no choice.
So, we dropped to the floor with the others, kept our hands visible, and our mouths shut. Someone killed the music, and the silence that followed was deafening.
