After it was over, he held her close to him, content that she’d fallen asleep. When his alarm went off, he gently slipped away from her and put on his clothes. He secured his Glock in his cut’s pocket and shoved the hunting knives down his boots.
“Are you leaving?” Her voice trembled.
“Yeah.” He came over and kissed her. “Be a good girl and don’t cry. Before you know it, I’ll be home.”
“Promise me?” she said in a low voice.
“I’ll see you. If you need anything, call Breanna or Raven.” He kissed her again and left the room. When he took off, he glanced up at the window and saw her standing there. He wanted nothing more than to go back up and be with her, but he turned away and drove to the clubhouse.
Everyone was ready when he arrived. Rushing up to his room, he retrieved his industrial flashlight and another 9mm, then joined the others as they piled into two SUVs. It’d take them less than two hours to arrive in Arizona, where Crow would guide them to the Satan’s Pistons clubhouse. They’d have it under surveillance for a couple of nights, then make their move.
The second night, Diablo texted Fallon, telling her he missed her.
Diablo:I miss u, woman.
The ping came in less than a second, and he smiled.
Fallon:I miss you too. I can’t wait for you to come home.
Diablo:U doing good?
Fallon:Other than missing you, yeah, I’m fine. You?
Diablo:Not bad. I gotta go. Nite.
Fallon:Goodnight. I’ll dream of you.♥♥
Diablo looked at the screen until it went dark, and then slipped his phone inside his pocket and pulled off his boots. In late September, nighttime in the desert could be cold. He pulled the sleeping bag over his shoulders and hunkered down for another long night without his woman.
By the time they’d figured out how lax the Pistons’ security was, they’d made a ton of Molotov cocktails from liquid laundry detergent and two parts diesel fuel. At two forty-five in the morning of the third day, the dark sky lit up with blasts of fireballs. Screams and yells from inside were music to the Night Rebels’ ears. A few flashes of gunfire came from the club, but the Satan’s Pistons were no match for the Night Rebels.
Not wanting the badges to get involved, they left the burning clubhouse behind and headed back to Alina. They were pretty sure several Pistons had been killed or seriously injured, but they were certain that the fuckers would think twice before they came back into Colorado. Diablo knew the next hit would be the warehouse; that was the last stronghold the Pistons had in their territory.
The group of outlaws drove back in the dead of night, congratulating each other on a job well done.
