CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SHORT
Iwake with a start, sure I’d heard something. Bron’s still fast asleep beside me, and I can hear her steady breathing. Reaching for my phone, I use the light to check Trip hasn’t fallen out of bed.
Unsure what had startled me, and unwilling to take any risks, I ease myself off the mattress and pull on my jeans, then bend and slide my bare feet into my boots. After putting on a t-shirt, I slide into my shoulder holster, then fix my cut over the top. Armed with three handguns – one at the side of my ribs, one in the back of my jeans, and the last slipped into my boot – I strap the sheath containing my Ka-bar at my hips, and another holding a well-weighted throwing knife around my ankle. Finally, I sling my rifle over my shoulder. I’m dressed and prepared for anything in under a minute.
I’d rather be ready than risk being caught on the wrong foot. The likelihood is I heard nothing at all, and I’d been dreaming. It’s surely too soon after our warning for the MDMC to launch an attack. While we’ve got a couple of men outside patrolling on rotation, it’s a formality as we didn’t expect them tonight.
I attempt to tiptoe in my steel-toe-capped boots, but unsuccessfully as I wake Bronwyn.
“Short?” she whispers. “Where are you going?” Her eyes widen as she sees the armoury I’m wearing. “Has something happened?” Even just by the light of my phone, I can see her face blanching.
“I thought I heard something. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m just going to check it out.” I huff a soft laugh. “Probably just the prospects changing shifts and assing around.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just stay here, and try to go back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll be back soon.” Or so I hope, but I don’t want her to worry.
I turn toward the door again, but hear the rustle of sheets. Bron launches herself at my back. I turn, take her in my arms, making sure the rifle doesn’t hit her. Her hand comes up and reaches around my neck. Guessing what she wants, I lower my head and, placing a supporting hand on her back, help her onto her toes so she can place her lips upon mine. I break the kiss before either of us has had enough.
She understands, lets me go, and stands back. “Be careful, Short.”
I give her a chin lift, a silent promise I’ll do all I can. “Lock up after me,” I instruct. “And stay inside.” Then, taking one last look at the woman I’ve claimed, I open the door, step through and close it, with a sinking feeling of finality I pray is wrong.
“You hear something?” Freak’s coming out of his door, too.
“Thought so.” I lower my voice to the same level as his. “Didn’t know whether I was dreaming, but thought I’d check it out.” I obviously wasn’t imagining things if Freak heard something too.
There’s no need for further conversation. He jerks his head toward the stairs, and I follow him down. We pick our way across the clubroom full of prone bodies, none of whom seem to havestirred. Alcohol had been the choice of a sleeping aid for many last night.
“It has to have come from outside,” I whisper, unwilling to unnecessarily wake anyone up unless there’s a clear and present danger.
Freak’s as cautious as I, as we peer out of the windows that face the front of the clubhouse, but there’s nothing to be seen. The enforcer, and my bedrooms, though, face out onto the back.
Exchanging a knowing look between us, we both head for the kitchen at once, and immediately, through that window, it’s no longer a mystery as to what it was we both heard.
“Fuckin’ assholes.” Freak is no longer trying to keep quiet. Instead, he retreats to the clubroom and rouses everybody with a shout. “Bunkhouse is on fire. Get your asses in gear. The fuckin’ MDMC just announced their presence.”
As men immediately waken around me, I hiss to Freak, “I’ll wake everyone upstairs.”
It’s at that moment that there are loud explosions out in front of the clubhouse. Followed by pops, which I can only think are exploding tanks, the sounds of shrapnel hitting the windows and shattering glass, make everyone move backward fast, and lets me know they’ve targeted our fucking bikes. There’s no need to wake anyone. You’d have to be dead to sleep through that.
“Motherfuckers!” I scream, and I’m not the only one shouting.
Bullseye, still fastening his pants and sliding one-handed into his cut, comes racing down the stairs. He takes out his phone, but before placing a call, starts calling out instructions. “Snipers, go to the upstairs rooms and start taking out whoever’s throwing bombs at us. Who the fuck was out on patrol?”
Winchester, rifle already in hand, pauses just as he’s about to take the stairs. “Heathen and Paint are outside.”
I swallow hard, but tamp down my fears for them. There will be time later to take stock of our wounded and dead. Now’s the time for me to slip into the persona of a cold-hearted foot soldier and put all emotion behind me.
Tempest starts barking orders, dividing the brothers into groups to exit the clubhouse and carefully ease their way around the outer walls to gauge how many there are and what exactly is happening.
It falls on me to give Prez the bad news. “They’ve set the barn on fire. It’s too far back from the fence for them to have thrown something in. They’re already inside the compound.”
“The fire will have to burn out,” he responds tightly, and loud enough to be heard. “We concentrate on protecting the clubhouse and taking the bastards out.”
“Everyone, take these!” Genie appears and starts handing something out. Coms. We’ve played with them before, but never used them for real. But at least we’ll be able to hear each other and talk.
