Page 90 of Sparrow

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask sharply.

Dutch answers me in the same tone. “Saints. Showed up two minutes ago and started getting handsy with Rooks. Me and Whiskey went out there to get him and they pulled guns on us and shoved us back in here. Then they called reinforcements.”

“Shit,” I mutter.

The Oaks have had arguments with the Saints before, and even a couple of fights, but they’ve been small skirmishes between several men. But I count twenty in front of me, and that’s more than a couple guys.

And if they’ve brought guns, that’s a whole lot more than just a skirmish.

I also recognize the move. They got here and closed off our only exit, and now they’re trying to push us back. Several of their men are moving toward us, their guns up and their eyes on me like they think I’m the leader here. They’re trying to trap us. Trying to pen us in.

Maybe they don’t realize that we have several other ways to get out of here. Doesn’t matter, really; the fact is that they’re trying to trap us in here, and there’s no mistake about their end plan.

They’ve got guns, not clubs and brass knuckles. They’re trying to kill us. And when I turn my head, I see that they’ve got us surrounded. There are Saints in the openings between the new frame, on both the side and back of the garage.

It’s wildly unlike Wood to see something like that, but I’ve seen it in the city before, and it always works.

And with that thought, I start to see the Saints in a whole new light. They’re not from Wood and moved in without telling anyone why, and I’ve seen them transporting goods in the middle of the night. They don’t try to get along with anyone in town and, if Bear is to be believed, took a contract to try to kidnap Sammy for her real dad.

They had Arden on their property, and I know from asking her that she’d been held prisoner for months before we got her out.

I don’t know if the Saints were the ones holding her prisoner, but they were sure as hell hosting her when we found her, and that makes them complicit.

Which has always meant that they’re no ordinary motorcycle club. They’re into something much bigger than running drugs, and now they’re trying to pen us into our own garage, when we’ve never had trouble with them before.

Except we have stolen something from them.

My eyes shoot to the side, where Mars has suddenly appeared, and he looks both furious and resigned at the same time. First his garage, and now this, and I don’t think either one of us has any doubt now about who set that fire.

I’m only surprised they didn’t come after us when we were in the driveway watching it burn. It would have been the perfect opportunity.

I turn my eyes back to the crowd, taking them in and trying to figure out how we get out of this. We have all the weapons we need in here, courtesy of the tools, and I have my gun strapped to the small of my back. I know Mars has weapons on him–he always does–and I know we can break out of here if we need to. But there are more of them than there are of us.

This is going to be messy.

At that moment, I realize that the men in front of us aren’t the only ones in the driveway. There’s a group moving along behind them, their eyes intent and their hands clenched at their sides.

One of them is carrying a rope.

And they’re heading right for our house.

“Shit,” I murmur.

“What?” Mars snap.

I pause, but there’s no way to sugarcoat this. “The men behind, do you see them? They’re heading for the house. They’re not here for us. They’re just keeping us busy while they get into our place.”

His jaw clenches. “They’ve come for her.”

“And they think they’re going to keep us penned in here when they take her.”

It’s not a surprise. We’ve always thought they would show up at some point, and they’ve been watching her for days.

I just got too comfortable to plan for it.

We both did.

“Well, they’ve got another thing coming if they think they’re going to take her,” he mutters. He turns and heads for the door that connects the garage to the house, and turns the knob.