by Rie Warren
I needed outside contact.
Racing upstairs, I skidded on my heels when I hit the landing.
Angel rolled around a corner down the hallway.
My brother.
The man who thought I’d betrayed him and his MC.
He held out his palm, a burner phone balanced right in the center. “Don’t worry. I didn’t make any long distance calls.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Bailout
I TOOK TWO STEPS toward Angel.
He curled the cell in his palm.
“I need that.” I laid my shotgun against the wall.
He was my exact opposite in almost every way—unscarred, young, blond. But he looked at me with the same fucking stormy blue eyes narrowed at me.
“And I needed you.” He drew out his pistol. “I had no one left. No one. You knew about my dad being murdered, and you never once fuckin’ thought about sharing the little family secret with me, couillon?”
“Jesus Christ, Ange. There’s a goddamn good reason I left.” I ranged closer. “There’s a reason I came back. You. But this shit is way bigger than us.”
“You want to take down Legion. End my legacy.”
“It’s corrupt and all fucked up, and you know that.” I fisted my hands through my hair. “We’re arming terrorist cells now? The cartel was bad enough. The Blood Legion has been on ATF’s most wanted radar for over four years—”
“When you showed up the first time.” Distrust angled his features in a harsh light.
“That’s right. Except I won’t let you get nailed for this, T-frère.” I snaked my hand forward and grabbed the phone. “Don’t make me pull my weapon on you, Angel.”
He aimed his gun at my forehead.
My breath halted, just for an instant.
I stared him down hard. “I can shoot faster than you. But I won’t shoot to kill.”
“Bien.” Angel’s jaw tensed, his finger on the trigger, too. “I will.”
I dodged his bullet, and it whizzed beside my head.
Grappling Angel against the wall, I knocked the gun loose, kicked it aside. But when he retaliated, I lost my grip on the cell phone. It went scuttling underfoot.
He landed a punch on my face before I wrestled him back with my forearm cranked against his throat. I refused to fucking hit him, not unless I had to.
We stood, locked together, staring at one another for several seconds while I watched a fury of emotions skitter across his face: anger, betrayal, fear . . . hurt.
Releasing Angel with great breaths drawn in and out of my lungs, I held my fist an inch away from breaking his jaw in half.
I loosened my fingers. “You’re not man enough yet.”
With a twist of his legs pretzeled behind mine, Angel dropped me to the floor.
He rolled on top of me. “Bullshit.”
In an instant I cranked his arms behind his back, torqued his thighs like fucking noodles in my merciless grip, and flipped him onto his back.
“You are wasting my time.” I thumped the back of his skull to the hard floor.
With a last growl in his direction, I jumped off of him, starting for my hidden stash.
Angel leaped to his feet. “Like you wasted mine.”
Spinning around, I rammed him into the wall with my hand coiled around his neck, squeezing.
He grabbed at my wrists, trying to break free.
My hold ruthless, I pressed him to the wall ’til I thought his shoulders would dent the plaster. Until his eyes bulged. Until his mouth gasped open.
I released him and stepped back. I watched him bend forward at the waist, breathing with a wheeze, his glare finding me through the mop of blond curls on his forehead.
Picking up my shotgun and the burner cell, I cradled the weapon in the crook of my elbow and dialed out to Bane, Walker, and Justice.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
No answer. No hope.
Been made. Mission compromised. Blaize missing . . .
And Angel the very last pain in the backside I needed. With a low curse, I pocketed the cell phone, quickly firing through possible plans to rescue Blaize—flying motherfucking solo when I didn’t even know where she was being held.
“It’s true?” Angel spoke up. “You came back to take the Legion down.”
“Seems so.” I moved through the hall, entered the first bedroom.
He followed, his voice still a rasp from his chest. “Who are you exactly?”
Opening the wardrobe, I hit a concealed lever, and out popped a partitioned box.
Out popped Angel’s eyes, too, when he saw the contents of the secret compartment.
“What they call a shadow operative. I work with a very elite group of people.” The assholes who aren’t currently answering my SOS.
I meticulously began preparing for Armageddon. This was what I did. I had one job tonight. Get Blaize back. If I got to kill some of the fuckers who’d taken her in the process? Bonus points. Grenades pocketed. Shotgun shells loaded. Knives sheathed. Fast-action pistols holstered. A few compact explosives units tucked away.
Angel ranged closer. “So you. The veep. This whole time with the Blood Legion and the last time was all a lie?”
I glanced back. Angel stood with his hands at his sides. His brow furrowed. He watched me systematically arm myself to the teeth.
“Yeah. All lies. Except for you. You’re my brother.”
“Half brother.” His lips curled in a derisive sneer. “What about Blaize?”
“She’s my boss.”
“That’s rich.”
“And I love her.” I lashed another KA-BAR to my thigh.
“Fuck.” Angel notched his head back. “I wished you’d told me all this before.”
“I’m not very good at confessions.” I dragged on a pair of fingerless black leather gloves.
“No shit?” He warily ambled within striking distance . . . then pushed out his hand. “Brother.”
Bypassing his outstretched palm, I pulled him into a hard hug he immediately returned.
Drawing away, I smacked him on the forehead. “Next time you fight me it won’t be a friendly. You need to brush up on your moves.”
He flipped me off.
The seconds were ticking down.
I had to locate Blaize.
“I’m outta here, kid.”
“For Blaize?”
“Yeah.” I swept past him and headed downstairs.
Angel sprinted after me, hot on my heels. “Then I guess we better go get her back.”
“We?”
“Family, right?” He gripped my arm. “I can find her.”
“You know where she is?” My heart started beating to a faster rhythm.
“Venom took her to the drop. Insurance, he said.”
And just like that, my heart dropped again.
“You better grab some hardware, brah.” I aimed Angel back toward the weapons cache, trying the burner cell one more time. “Because we’re on our own.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mortal Danger
IT WAS FULL DARK by the time we bellied up to the train depot, me in night-op gear, Angel in fucking street wear with the Legion leather on top.
At the NOL Amtrak rail yard, we slithered between forgotten freight engines and decommissioned stock cars far away from the busy terminal.
Finding a nice little hillside bunker behind a pile of stacked steel girders after I’d planted a few tricks on the train line, Angel and I laid in wait.
Big-ass halogen lights shined all over this neglected part of the train depot like searchlights.
Night dripped down, heavy as the weight of Blaize’s life on my shoulders.
My woman. My lover.
My love.
Sweat trailed along my temples, and I curled over my gun sights. With a grunt, I swung my head toward Angel, who hunkered beside me.
“Mouth breather.”
“Loser.” He butted his shoulder against
mine, an AK punched against left arm.
“Jesus. Should’ve blacked out your hair. Glow much, blondie?” His shiny curls all but shouted lock on this target right here.
“Not my fault I got the looks in the family.” His white grin flashed in the dark.
“Doubt it.” I knocked against him. “Watch and learn, kid.”
Squeezing my trigger, I hit random halogens, shuttling the rail yard into a darker shade of black.
I stuffed the M2 into a holster and dug my hands into the earth. With my fingers covered in black soil, I initiated Angel, blacking out his face, making a sooty mess of his hair.
“You keep your head down,” I ordered, crouching on one knee.
“Blaize is really in charge?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s—”
“Hot. Yeah, I know.” I checked my ammo. “You better keep your eyeballs in your head and your sights on the tangos.”
“Tangos?”
“Threats.”
Just like that, the threats started rolling in. A three-pronged vanguard. The long silver, black, and thundering double file of Legion motorcycles entered from one direction. A veritable cavalcade of black SUVs rolled in from the left. That would be the terrorists infiltrating home turf. And drawing the circle closed in a mix of trucks and motorcycles, Los Reyes de Guerra.
Melting pot indeed.
Fuck.
Guns, drugs, and cash—the RICO trifecta.
I waited for all the players to exit their rides, unstraddle their bikes, converge together between two rusted hulks of abandoned train cars.
No sign of Blaize.
If Venom had handed her over to one of the other bastard groups, or worse, already done away with her, I’d . . .
Fuck it.
Pulling out a remote, I blew the three charges I’d placed earlier—a neat trick I’d picked up from Walker.
The train yard below flashed into bright white with a massive flash bang. I hoped the unexpected explosions would lead to a whole lotta suspicion amid the shady motherfuckers huddled below.
How about that for a snafu, assholes?
“Holy fuck!” Angel shouted.
“Shut up.” I clapped a hand over his mouth before he could give away our position. “And don’t be a loose cannon.”
Fuck the goddamn RICO statutes and live-hostages protocol. I was gonna kill every asshole present until nothing but a bloody red swamp remained, filled with their various body parts.
Angel ripped my hand away. “So you do this kinda thing a lot?”
“Yeah. Not usually on US soil though.”
And usually with some freakin’ backup, AKA my team of misfit wanderers.
With the perps shouting accusations at one another below, I decided it was strike-time.
“I’m going in. Need to get sights on Blaize. Cover me.” Holding my Walther M2 at the ready, I glanced back once at Angel. “But don’t shoot unless it looks like I’m in trouble. Don’t want you taking heat.”
Taking a roundabout route down the hillside, I crouched low and circled the train cars. I listened to the argument—growing more heated and hopefully headed toward the deadly zone—erupting between Legion outlaws, el capitan drug runners, and haji shitheads.
Peering between two railcars, I still couldn’t locate Blaize. Not a fucking goddamn woman in sight.
Couldn’t see Burn either. Which was unusual. And he’d had a motherfucking hard-on for Blaize since day one.
A sickening sense of foreboding shivered up and down my spine.
Continuing my recon, I widened my circle.
Then I heard it.
A scream.
My name.
BLAIZE!
Following the sound, I dodged to one of the outlying stock cars. The door was rolled wide open, and some kind of light shone from inside.
I heard a low curse then Blaize hissing, “Get your hands off me before I fucking kill you.”
I jumped up inside, exchanging my gun for my KA-BAR.
Fucking Burn. Holding a goddamn lit blowtorch too close to Blaize’s face, his mouth at her ear. The mad psycho was living up to his serial killer roadname. I smelled singed hair on the air—Blaize’s—beginning to crackle.
Her eyes widened when she spotted me. Burn swung around, dropping his hand to his gun tucked into the back of his pants.
Stalking panther-fast to him, I cracked the hilt of my blade against the side of his face. “Not so fast, dick-for-brains.”
Blood spurted from his nose, hitting me in the face. Dragging him to me, I knocked the fucking torch away. I yanked the gun from his grip, quickly stashing it on my body. With my hand clenched in the neck of his shirt, I hauled him to me for a bone-cracking head butt, snarling with vicious rage.
Burn staggered from my grasp. Only for a second before I was on him, throwing him to the floor.
There was such black-fucking-fury in me he had no chance of escape. I locked in against him, taking in his scarred face, his scared expression.
He looked up one final time from wide-alive eyes before I muttered, “Time for you to take a dirt nap, couillon.”
The knife went in easy, tearing through the flesh of his neck and serrating right across his jugular. A warm pool of blood gurgled out of him, dripping through the cracks in the floor.
Cleaning the blade on his leather, I turned on my heel toward Blaize.
“Storm! You shouldn’t be here!” Her face was pale, and there was a bruise on cheek, a scrape on her forehead.
She seemed to be tied down to a chair set in the far corner of the empty car, but I couldn’t really tell because she was covered from her neck to her lap in a big leather jacket bearing the Legion insignia.
Shit.
She’d been here far longer than everyone else, had to be. Alone with Burn.
Fuuuuck.
“Where the hell else would I be?” I headed to her, but before I could reach her, Venom jumped inside.
Kouto leaped in, too, right behind him, brandishing the wicked-looking machete.
With one swift scan, Venom stalked to Burn’s blood-leaking body.
“Well, damn. You killed Burn?” Shaking his head, he edged closer to me. “That ain’t no way to treat a brother.”
Stationed between him and Blaize, I trained one gun on him, the other on Kouto, who only grinned wider.
He chanted some fucking juju shit beneath his breath, goading me with long arcing sweeps of the glistening sharp machete blade.
Venom slowly pulled out his Ruger, loosely handling it, aiming between me and what he could see of Blaize.
Right about now would be a frigging great time for my team to show up. Bastards didn’t even know what was going down unless they’d bothered to check their damn phones.
My shoulders tensed. My jaw hardened. I remained fixed in place, locked on my targets.
“How long have you known?” I asked, trying to decide who to kill first.
Probably Venom.
Blaize whispered something behind me, but I couldn’t make out her words.
Venom continued waving his piece around like eenie meenie miney blow their heads off. “About the time your girl here took up arms. I mean”—he cocked his gun—“that time she saved my life. Sometimes it pays to be paranoid.”
“You always had that in spades.”
Kouto was slowly trying to circle to my side.
“I did laugh when you almost shit your pants yesterday. When we were gonna rape Blaize here.” Venom’s lips twisted in a sick manifestation of a grin. “Guess you didn’t think it was so funny, huh? Figured out the whole friggin’ shebang, Storm. You were rotten the first time you joined the Legion, and in even deeper with—who? what?—this time.”
“That’s right. I’m the people who put down maniacs like you. Put you behind bars. Put you in your graves.” Ready to squeeze my triggers, I muttered, “I should just execute you now and save the American taxpayers some money.”
“You could. But th
ere’s somethin’ you haven’t figured out yet. And I’d like to stick around when you see my big surprise.” He angled toward me, whispering, “Tick tock . . . tick tock . . .”
Kouto laughed from his belly, and I took that moment to pop one off. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, spinning him around.
Venom grinned wildly, not even concerned about Kouto. “Tick . . . tock.”
Kouto righted himself and drew the machete up.
“STORM!” Blaize yelled.
And it was in the moment of silence that followed her outburst I finally heard it. The quiet low-key beeping.
Tick.
Tock.
Blood drained from my face, and I almost dropped my weapons.
I glanced behind at Blaize.
Tears streamed down her face.
“Storm,” she whispered.
Kouto paced closer, blood dripping from his wound.
Venom looked down the barrel of his revolver at me. “Gotta hand it to the towelheads. They sure know a thing or two about rigging explosives. Even when the explosives come from a bunch of Kentucky rednecks.” He waved his piece at me. “Go on. Take that jacket off her. Be gentle though. Or BOOM.”
Backing away, I slipped one gun at my waist, keeping the other steady and sighted. When I reached Blaize’s side, her face crumpled for just a second.
After taking a deep breath, she nodded at me.
I swallowed—and pulled the leather cut from her with fingers that shook.
A homemade bomb vest was strapped around her midsection, interconnecting wires leading to a clock steadily ticking down.
2:00
Chapter Thirty-Three
Le Grand Mort
“JUST IN CASE YOU’RE wondering, cous, that’s minutes. She’s been stuck in here for a couple hours already with that thing strapped to her. And just in case you get any fancy ideas, try to remove the vest and it detonates.” Venom shrugged. “Burn tried to keep her company. But you killed him, so . . .”
A harsh sound escaped my chest followed by a reverberating roar.
Kouto made his move on me, raising the glinting steel.
I spun to engage him but someone—fucking someone—got to him first.