I mutter, “I don’t like being his errand boy.” Viking grunts his agreement but says nothing more as we mount our bikes and ride to the place near the tavern where this shithead is causing problems.
As soon as we arrive, something feels off. The property is dark, run-down, and appears as if no one lives here. Sharing a look with Viking, I can tell he shares the same feeling. Dismounting our bikes at the driveway, we slowly make our way to the house, hugging the dilapidated fence for some kind of cover.
Shadows shift at the back of the dwelling, so I point it out to Viking while retrieving my gun from my waistband. He follows suit, and we approach cautiously when I spot the flicker of a lighter seconds before a Molotov cocktail is tossed at the house, lighting it up so quickly there’s no doubt this was planned.
“A fucking ambush,” I mutter as I spot bodies popping up from covered areas with assault rifles in hand, seconds before bullets begin to fly.
Dropping to the ground, we share a glaring look before firing off a few shots for cover and making a run for the bikes. Bullets pepper the ground behind our feet, spattering debris into the backs of our legs.
“Fuck!” I shout when one shot grazes the side of my calf, but I keep moving. If I stop, I’m fucking dead.
“You good?” Viking hisses when he spots the wound that’s leaking down my leg.
“Have I got a choice?” I spin around, firing back a few times only to catch them climbing into trucks. “Fuck, we better hurry.”
Viking turns his head to see what’s grabbed my attention, and we start running faster. Hopping on our bikes, Viking follows me, anticipating that if I go down, he won’t have time to turn around and grab me before they’re on us.
Flying down the back roads, I lead Viking to the clubhouse, knowing he’s made contact with Brute about what’s gone down. Dick will get a fucking earful about this shit too.
Miami, Free, Demon, and Axl are waiting for us at the gates, each with shotguns in hand, and I spot Izzy, Swamp, and Easy across the road, hidden by the brush, rifles aimed and ready for action.
“Get inside!” Brute shouts as I stumble off my bike.
“Fuck that. I want a piece of these assholes.” It’s a superficial-enough wound that treatment can wait a few minutes.
Engine sounds echo through the area as we wait for these dickheads to pull up, likely expecting to find us outside and exposed. Their headlights are turned off, and they try to be quiet as we remain hidden. I wait until the first truck rolls up to the gate, pop out and fire a shot, hitting one of the guys in the box of the truck right between the eyes.
All hell breaks loose after that. Men in both trucks open fire, shooting up the front of the clubhouse, our bikes, and the ground surrounding it, until the guys across the road reveal themselves. Firing at the backs of the intruders and watching them crumble until all of them are dead or dying.
Blood, bodies, casings, and guns are strewn everywhere as we approach the vehicles, weapons still drawn in case someone plays possum.
“What the fuck, Dick!” Viking and I shout as he exits the main building. “Who the fuck were these guys? Because they were fucking ready for us. It was a goddamned ambush!” Adrenaline fuels my fury while my leaking leg begins to pool on the ground.
“Hey, I just wanted the pissants to fuck off. You did this.” Dick points from one truck to the other.
“The fuck we did!” Viking bellows. “You asked for help without looking into who was targeting you. They were fully prepared to fucking kill us!” He gets in the older man’s face now as I lean against the picnic table where Trista aimed a gun at Logan not so long ago.
“Pop, what the hell?” Brute’s pissed. “Fin and Brody are here. They could have been fucking killed!” Dick cowers back from his son.
“Don’t you forget who I am, boy.” The man tries for intimidating but fails.
“I haven’t. Which is why you aren’t fucking dead right now.” Viking’s threat hangs in the silence.
Dick looks to Brute, expecting his son to stand up for him. The problem is, Brute is in Prez mode right now, and the club comes first. “You fucked up, Dick. The time for asking the club for favors is over. Go home.” They engage in a glaring contest before Dick storms inside, grabs Candy, and peels off home.
“They were waiting for you?” Axl clarifies as he and the rest of the guys approach, ready to clean up the mess.
“Molotov cocktails in hand. They burned their fucking house down.” Not much scares me, but I avoid fire whenever possible.
“Fuck.” Brute scrubs a hand up and down his face. “Easy, Miami, I want you two to go scope out the property. Keep out of sight; I’m sure the fire department is there already. See if there’s anyone left who might know why these fuckers were targeting the club.” They nod and take off while he sends me inside to get patched up.
I don’t like being on the sidelines, but at the moment, I need a fucking drink. This was not how I saw the night going, and I’m pissed because if Logan had been here and gotten hurt, it would have gutted me.
Dropping onto one of the couches in the main room, I accept the beer Amber hands me as Neo nears with a first-aid kit. The kid was an army medic for a couple years, so his membership is an asset here.
Neo cuts away at my jeans, hissing as he assesses the gaping wound in my calf.
“Just fucking fix it,” I say as I drop my head back and close my eyes, ignoring the burn of antiseptic as he pours it over the wound.
