And given them time to kill my girls.
My legs pump as I run through the gate and into the yard. Familiar smells of motor oil, rusted metal and dirt assault my nostrils. Ahead, the old man is on the ground, motionless. Striker’s got another man with a badly scarred face by the throat against a rusted-out Ford pickup, punching him in the face as blood runs down the man’s neck. Ghost is starting toward a low, flat cement building, his Glock drawn.
“Ghost!” I yell as I run toward him. “What —”
But the boom of a long gun cuts off my words. I drop to the ground and roll behind a barrel.
“Ghost!” I shout again, now alarmed he’s been hit but unable to see him.
“Here!” he calls back. “She’s in there! She broke a window or something — I heard her yelling!”
Holy fuck! I peer around the barrel toward the building. Ghost isn’t in sight, but Beast and Angel are moving around the side toward the front, guns out and at the ready.
I give the barrel a slight tap, and realize it’s empty. Pushing it forward a foot or so, I start to move slowly toward the front entrance. Just as I expected, another shot rings out, hitting the barrel solidly and ringing it like a fucked-up church bell. I move it again, and brace for the impact of the next shot.
That’s when I hear it. The weak, but unmistakable sound of Cady’s voice, calling for help.
The next shot of the long gun is a square enough hit that it blasts the barrel back into me. Brown, oily water hits me in the face as I try to push the barrel upright and keep it between me and the shooter. A third blast hits me full-force, knocking me to the ground, barrel on top of me. Exposed, I shove it away and pull out my gun as I scramble for the nearest cover of a rusted forklift.
The next blast comes. But it’s not from a long gun.
And it’s not at me.
“Got him!” Angel shouts. “Goin’ in!”
Still crouching low, I shift course and run toward the entrance. Their footfalls tell me Ghost and Striker are right behind me. Inside, a small business office, what looks like a Smith and Wesson AR-10 is lying on the ground, beside the body of a man whose chest is an open lake of blood, bone, and organs.
It’s Demon. I know it. He’s staring up at me, not dead yet, but not far off. His face is contorted with pain, his throat gurgling with something that might be a scream if he could manage it. When he locks eyes with me, his lips start to move. Bizarrely, his shaking right hand starts to claw convulsively at the front pocket of his jeans. For a moment, I’m so consumed with loathing that it paralyzes me.
A thump and a high-pitched shout from somewhere below us snaps me back to attention.
“Cady!” I yell.
“There’s a basement,” Beast calls from somewhere deeper inside the building. “Sounds like they’re down there!”
I head toward his voice. Beast is in the next room, pointing his gun at another man who’s kneeling in the dust. He nods toward a stairwell. Without a word, I fly down the stairs as Angel shouts my name, not checking if there’s anyone waiting to ambush me.
A loud blast behind me tells me the man kneeling in the dust isn’t kneeling anymore.
Down in the basement, I spy a heavy door with a large sliding bolt on the outside. I grab the bolt and slide it back. The handle is locked, too, but it’s old and not very sturdy. Grabbing the first thing I can see — an old carburetor sitting on a shelf — I raise it up and bring it down hard on the knob, once, twice. When it breaks I yank the entire housing out, then fling open the door.
Cady is standing on the other side, looking wild-eyed and savage. She’s shirtless, wearing only a bra and jeans. She’s in a defensive crouch, holding something sharp and gleaming, ready for battle. It takes me only a second to realize that the sharp thing is a large shard of glass, and that she’s wrapped her shirt around it as a handle.
Next to her, Wren stands white-faced and terrified. She’s holding a belt wrapped around one little fist, the buckle hanging loose and ready to strike.
Cady’s eyes meet mine. The tension in her body seems to abandon her all at once. Dropping the makeshift glass knife, her knees give out, and she starts to crumple to the ground as I rush toward her and take her into my arms.
“Wren!” I choke out as I reach for my little girl. “Cady! Oh, thank Christ!”
Cady starts to shake. She buries her face in my shoulder as she reaches to squeeze Wren tight against us both. “Tank…” she whispers as she begins to sob. “It’s okay, Wren, Daddy’s here…”
The three of us stay like that for who knows how long, the two of them crying and me shaking like a goddamn leaf with relief. I hear footsteps, and then Beast’s voice.
“Tank. All clear.”
As soon as his words hit home, I can’t stand the thought of my two girls being in this basement for one more goddamn second. I lift Wren into my arms, stand, and offer a hand to Cady.
“Come on, babe,” I whisper. “Let’s get out of here.”
Cady stops crying. She nods, then looks down at herself, realizing she’s almost naked from the waist up. She must be freezing. Mechanically, she bends down and unwraps her shirt from the shard of glass. She pulls it on, and then looks over toward a small pile of fabric lying on the floor close to the wall. She bends down and shakily picks it up. It’s a hoodie. She pulls on over her head. I watch the whole thing, letting her do it. I think she might be in shock.
Gently, I put my arm around Cady’s shoulders. We leave the basement, and I have her go in front of me, following Beast up the stairs. When we get into the office, I hear him murmur something at Cady. He steps between her and Dragon’s body, so she won’t have to look at him. I put my hand on Wren’s head and make sure her face is buried in my chest. As I pass by, I notice Dragon is definitely dead now. Looks like he managed to get something out of his pocket before he died. It’s a phone, and it’s lying in his palm beside him now, the screen smeared with blood.
Outside, the bodies of the old man and the guy with the scar are still on the ground.
“Strike!” I say, sounding raw and unsteady.
“Yeah, Tank, I’m here!”
“Take Wren to my truck for me, okay? Stay there with her until I get there.”
Wren whimpers a little when I hand her to him, but Striker’s soothing voice quiets her. He cradles her in his arms, and turns to walks down the gravel drive toward the road when I remember something.
“Strike! Hold up!”
Confused, he swivels back toward me. I step toward them and reach into my pocket.
“I brought this back to you, sweetheart,” I say to Wren, and place the Saint Gerard medallion around her neck. “Now you’re safe again.”
I kiss my daughter on the forehead and let Striker take her back to the truck. Then I turn to Beast and Cady.
“I’ll take it from here,” I tell Beast. He nods and follows Striker.
“It’s over, babe,” I say huskily. “It’s all over, I promise.”
With a muffled cry, she flings herself into my arms.
“Oh, God, Tank!” she starts to weep. “Wren… she almost saw something… bad…”
“What happened?” I ask, feeling my stomach drop to my feet. “Did he…?”
“No,” she cuts me off, with a frantic shake of her head. “But he would have.” Her voice breaks. “If you hadn’t come when you did, he was about to. And I couldn’t have done anything to stop him. I was so afraid that after me, he’d do the same to Wren…”
She shakes her head again, unable to say more. I pull her close.
“Shhh… babe. It didn’t happen. Nothing happened. It’s okay.”
I rock her, squeezing her tightly against me. Neither of us says anything more. We just hold each other. Then, when she’s ready, we walk together, out to the truck.
I know in the days that follow, Cady will think I saved her.
She’ll think that what happened is that I rode in here with my brothers, and got her and my little girl out of da
nger. That’s how the story will play out in her head over the years when she looks back on this day.
But that’s not how I’ll remember it.
I’ll remember Cady in that basement, ready to defend my little girl to the death.
I’ll remember how fierce the two of them looked, even in the face of their fear.
But most of all, I’ll remember that this was the moment when I realized I couldn’t live without either of them in my life.
27
Tank
“Uncle Striker!”
“Hey, Bird!”
Wren bolts for Striker as soon as her feet hit the pavement of the clubhouse parking lot. He reaches down and lifts my daughter into his arms. “How are you, kiddo?”
“Good!” she chirps. “We got hot dogs!”
“That’s amazing,” Striker marvels. “You must like hot dogs a lot!”
“Uh-huh!” she nods happily. “And chips!”
Next to me, Cady gives me a look of quiet relief as we lift out bags of food and drink from the back of the truck. Neither one of us can believe how quick Wren has bounced back from the ordeal of a few weeks ago. We were both worried she’d regress and stop talking again, or start wetting the bed at night. But neither one of those things has happened. She’s been extra clingy with both of us, sure. And she insists on wearing my Saint Gerard medal everywhere — even to bed, and even to take her baths. But that’s about it, except for a couple of nightmares the first week.
Cady has suggested taking her to therapy, anyway. She says Wren might have more to process than the kidnapping. Stuff we might not even know about. And she’s probably right. But for now, we’re just gonna wait and see.
One thing Cady has insisted on: we’re never doing the Name Game song with Wren again. She told me about how she used it to try to distract Wren down in the basement, when things were looking bad. So, that song is out of the rotation. And we agreed we’re not gonna call her Wrenny anymore, at least not for a while. Just in case.
Striker swings Wren around in his arms for a little longer, even tossing her up in the air a few times as she squeals in delight. He lets her down, and she runs off to join the other Lords of Carnage kids her age. Last week, they had a play date, where she met Olivia — Alix and Gunner’s four-year-old daughter — and Landon and Logan, Brick and Sydney’s twins of the same age. That was Cady’s idea. She figured it would help Wren not be so overwhelmed by the dozen or so kids here today.
“Wren’s looking right at home,” Striker observes with a grin as he greets us. “She still doing okay?”
“Far as we know,” I say. Reflexively, I reach down and adjust the pop bead bracelet Wren made for me. Wren informed me that the bracelet would protect me from bad guys, and insisted I had to wear it everywhere. I look down now at the multicolored beads and let out a soft snort of laughter. This thing looks fucking ridiculous on me, and my club brothers are already giving me endless amounts of shit for it. But fuck it. If a kid’s love ain’t a force field of protection, I don’t know what is.
“Hey, Rainbow Brite,” Jewel’s nineteen-year-old brother, Jude greets me, right on cue. “You should get someone to glitter up your cut, to match that bracelet.”
“You wanna stay a prospect for the rest of your life, you keep that shit up,” I bark back in warning, pulling out a Dum Dum sucker and pointing it at him. But Jude just fuckin’ laughs, the prick. I make a mental note to send him over to my house at the first snowfall, and have him shovel my driveway and sidewalks.
With Wren’s sandbox shovel.
Just then, Angel’s old lady Jewel comes out of the front door of the clubhouse, their newborn daughter Faith in her arms. “Hey, everyone! Just to let you know, there’s a box inside by the bar where you can put cards and gifts for Eden. Alix told me she’s not feeling great today, so she might show up later. But either way, let’s be as generous as we can!”
Besides being a barbecue, the party today is also a fundraiser for Eden to help her with expenses and stuff, since she’s on her own now. Originally, we were gonna do it at Christmas, but it seemed too fuckin’ soon for a celebration, so all the Lords just celebrated the holiday with their families instead. I’ve only seen Eden and her sister Alix once since Lug Nut died. She’s lost some weight, which isn’t great since she’s pregnant. And she doesn’t look like she’s been sleeping much. But Gunner says she’s coping. She’s been staying at their house a lot since it happened, so she doesn’t have to be alone.
“Jewel is really great,” Cady murmurs, a slight smile playing on her lips.
“She’s a good matriarch for the club,” I observe.
Turning, Cady stares at me, widening her eyes.
“What?” I shoot back. “You think a biker can’t know big words? I read.”
Cady shakes her head in amazement, letting out a low whistle. “You’re full of surprises, Tank Barrigan.”
The mood among the crowd goes quiet as Angel takes the floor from Jewel. He says a few words about Lug Nut, and how the club will mourn his loss forever. He tells a few stories about our fallen brother, a couple that make us laugh, and one that has Cady sniffling and wiping her eyes, even though she never met him. When Angel finishes, a chorus of cheers to Lug Nut echoes through the crowd.
I sneak a look at Cady, wondering what’s going through her head right now. The old ladies all suffer together when one of their men is hurt or worse. It’s a risk they all take on when getting with a member of an MC. But knowing it could happen doesn’t make it any easier when it does.
Cady’s been staying at my place since the incident at the salvage yard. We haven’t talked about it much, other than worrying about Wren. Cady doesn’t seem to want to talk about herself. She’s doing okay, but she’s still pretty fragile, so I’ve been giving her some time to heal.
One other thing we haven’t spoken about is whatever happened to Jess. She wasn’t anywhere to be found when the Lords searched the yard after they disposed of the bodies of Demon and his clan. And she hasn’t gotten in touch with me about Wren. Which is a fucking relief, because after everything that’s happened, there’s no way in hell I would ever give my daughter back to her.
Sometimes, late at night, I still find myself wondering whether Jess gave me the clue about the salvage yard on purpose. And if so, why? But I don’t think I’ll ever know.
Cady’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “Hey, I’m gonna take the pasta salad and the buns and stuff inside to get it all ready,” she says. “Can you take the meat out to the grill, and keep an eye on Wren until I come back out?”
“Will do.” I watch her head into the clubhouse, admiring her ass and thinking about all the bedroom acrobatics I plan to get up to with her later. I carry the hot dogs and hamburger out to the grill, where Angel and some of the other men are gathered around, nursing their beers.
“Hey brother, nice bling,” Thorn greets me.
“Yeah, yeah, Jude already got to me today,” I grouse.
“Tank,” Bullet calls to me. I turn and he tosses me a beer.
“Thanks.”
For a few seconds, no one says much. The only sounds are the screams and laughter of kids playing a few yards away.
“Somber fuckin’ day,” Beast finally says.
“Yeah,” Gunner agrees. “It ain’t easy bein’ here without Lug.”
This is the first time all of us Lords have been together at the clubhouse compound since the salvage yard thing. Angel had us stay away while some of the men did a full perimeter sweep and turned the clubhouse upside down, looking for any evidence of tampering. That’s when we found the explosives planted at strategic places around the foundation and at the exits. Explosives that were set to be triggered by a remote detonator.
Turns out, that was why Demon was reaching for his phone when he died. He was seconds away from blowing up the clubhouse.
How his crew got the explosives in place is another fuckin’ matter. But we’ll get to the bottom of it. I have no doubt about th
at.
I look around the circle of my club brothers, and realize how much it’s cost us to be involved in the drug trade over the years. Sure, we’ve made a lot of money off it. But we’ve had casualties, too. And near-casualties as well. Hell, Eden used to be a heroin addict, before the club rescued her, and Gunner’s ma helped her detox. Hale and Bullet’s lives have been touched by drugs, too. Shit, even Angel and Jewel have, with Jude’s run-in with that goddamn neo-Nazi gang.
And then there’s my daughter’s birth mother, who sold us all down the goddamn river for a nose full of dope.
“We’ve lost our way,” I find myself saying.
“What?” Angel asks.
“We’ve lost our way. We want our freedom, but we’re slaves to the drug trade. The targets on our backs, that’s what they’re from.” I open the beer and take a drink to wash away the sourness in my mouth. “Freedom ain’t this shit.”
No one says anything at first. I don’t expect them to. I’m not the president, and this ain’t church. It’s a risk I’m taking, speaking up against the club’s business. Our president before Angel, Rock Anthony, would have chewed my ass for speaking my mind off the cuff like this.
But Angel ain’t Rock Anthony.
“You got more to say?” Angel growls, narrowing his eyes at me.
“We spend all our time defending our territory from rival clubs that wanna bring the same shit into our town that we’re tryin’ to keep out of it.” I shake my head. “Then what are we doin’? Bringing that shit elsewhere, selling it to other places. And trying to keep the law off our backs to boot. The cops do a piss-poor job of keeping shit out of Tanner Springs, because they don’t have the manpower. So we gotta do that, and keep our own shit away from town, even while other clubs are looking to take our turf away from us. It’s a never-ending fuckin’ cycle.”
I blow out a frustrated breath.
“I want a future, for me and my family. This…” I shrug, “doesn’t feel like a future. It feels like a fuckin’ holding pattern.”
TANK: Lords of Carnage MC Page 20