by Wilde, Kati
“I guess that’s not going to go away until it’s done. But I’ll be careful. Because I need to come back to you.”
“And I need you here.” She pulls at the front of my shirt as if to make sure I have her attention. “Not just for protection, either. That’s not the only reason you’re here. I hope.”
“The sweetness of your pussy might have something to do with it.” And me loving her so much I can’t imagine living without her.
She grins. “Good. Because I kind of like your big cock.”
“Bullshit. You love it.”
Her fingers fist in my shirt and she pulls me back toward the bed. “That I do.”
• • •
Jenny
Saxon has the Riders and Titans who’ll be going out to the compound meet at the ranch house instead of the lodge. They’re spread out around our rec room, listening as he sketches out the plan. I’m standing at the back wall and just keeping quiet. Normally he wouldn’t talk business in front of me—not just for the club’s protection but for mine. If anything goes wrong, the less I know the better. My dad’s standing up next to him. Though he doesn’t say anything to Saxon in front of the others, I can tell he’s not happy that I’m here. Then Saxon tells them I got the daylight photos of the Eighty-Eight’s spread, so I’m already in this balls-deep and suddenly my dad’s pissed at me, instead.
I can handle him, though. I have all my life.
And I know why Saxon’s doing it this way. I’m not going out with them—but it helps to hear them talk it over. Because they aren’t going in like I imagined. They won’t be riding in on their loud bikes with a bunch of shotguns strapped to their backs. Instead it sounds a lot like a military operation. Something most of these guys are familiar with, I guess.
Beside me, Lily raises her hand. Earlier she gave me a dirty look when I told her why I’d hired someone else—so that the photos couldn’t be traced back to the Riders—but I guess flying over the compound last night and getting the infrared shots smoothed out her irritation. Those heat signatures are probably more useful anyway. It gave them a good idea of where the Henchmen will be around 3 a.m. on any given night, and how many will be standing guard.
Saxon spots Lily’s hand. “Zoomie?”
“Are we bringing our own weapons, boss?”
He looks to his veep. “Blowback?”
The big man opens a long crate he wheeled to the front of the room earlier. I can tell there’s some automatic rifles inside but I don’t know what kind. The others do, though. A few of the guys suck in their breaths and look to each other like they need confirmation of what they’re seeing.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Lily mutters beside me. She raises her voice. “Where the hell did you get all those, Jack?”
Blowback catches her in his cold stare. “I crossed paths with someone who shouldn’t have had them—and he’s the only one who would know that I have them now.”
“Is that someone still able to talk?”
“No.”
“All right, then.” Lily eases back.
Blowback looks to the others. “These can’t be traced to me or the Riders. Nothing out of this crate has been used before. And there’s two rules that come with them now: You don’t touch them without gloves on, and you leave them behind at the compound.”
“Wait. Leave those behind? Just get rid of them?” Gunner actually sounds pained.
“That’s what I said.”
“A dick in a rubber,” my dad adds, like he’s reminding them. It’s one of his favorite sayings. Go in clean. Come out clean. This time, so that the weapons can’t be traced back to them.
“We’re planning for two nights from now,” Saxon says. “The moon’s going to set around two-thirty. Three teams. Blowback’s will be taking out the kitchen and the cook. I’ll be leading mine in to find Reichmann. Red, Hashtag, and Zoomie are on the perimeter. Hashtag’s our eyes and communication; Red and Zoomie are going to be flying.”
Flying her helicopter? “Won’t it be loud?” I whisper to her.
“Not my bird.” She mimes lifting a rifle and pulling a trigger. “Up high. On a roof or in a tree.”
Oh. Covering the others’ backs. The knot in my chest eases a little more. It’s not untangled by the time the meeting’s done, but when Saxon comes to me afterward and asks quietly, “All right?”—for the first time, I think it might be.
Chapter Seven
Saxon
We’re waiting to hear the kitchen blow, but so far there’s nothing but crickets and dogs.
Blowback’s team veered off at the north end of the compound. In the two days since our meeting, he’s been out here a few times with Stone, checking our access routes for the rumored booby traps. Nothing yet, but we’re still stepping carefully. I’m of the mind that all of the Eighty-Eight’s security is more talk than show. There’s dogs all over the compound, and at the meeting we thought we’d have to put them down to keep them from waking up the Henchmen before we were in place, but they’re all just barking all the time. The quiet would be more of an alarm.
Dogs without training, rumors of booby traps that aren’t there, a compound that’s really just a bunch of mobile homes on an old farm. It’s easy to spot the clubhouse in the photos—all the bikes were parked around it—but the rest of the place is littered with junkers. Real security would be cleaning that shit out so a team of three men couldn’t make their way toward the houses without exposing themselves. Instead we’ve got dozens of rusted vehicles to hide behind.
Crouched behind the tail of an old Ford, Gunner glances at me. We’re all wearing greasepaint so our faces aren’t targets in the dark. I can’t read his expression, just see the movement of his eyes. “Blowback’s running late,” he says quietly.
“Give him another minute. Having a team probably slowed him down.”
Stone huffs out a silent laugh and says, “You still got us?”
Not speaking to us but into the mic against his throat. Hashtag’s answer comes through the receiver in my ear—one of Gunner’s toys. Between him, Stone, and Blowback, we’re better equipped than I ever was during my short stint overseas.
“I’m looking into your pretty eyes now.”
Grinning, Stone flutters his eyelashes just as bright orange lights up the sky. An explosion pounds through the air. His grin drops away. “Here we go. Masks on.”
To filter out whatever toxic shit is being blown into the sky right now. I pull mine up, gritting my way past the pain in my jaw. I’ve healed enough over the last couple of days that I can take my sling off and move my arm around, but everything is still as sore as fuck.
“Holy shit!” The shout comes from the left.
Some laughter. “It’s the fucking Fourth of July all over again!”
Hashtag tells us, “Runners are coming up on your nine. They’re not looking your way.”
Because a meth house blowing due to a chemical spill or fumes building up is as expected as fleas on a stray dog. They’re simply running out to see what happened. It’s just human nature. And that nature will pull them all out into the open.
“I got eyes on Burke.”
The Eighty-Eight’s enforcer—the motherfucker who shot me and would have grabbed Jenny. God damn it. I wanted eyes on Reichmann before we start firing. Right now the Eighty-Eight are thinking it was just a chemical explosion. As soon as the first shot goes off, the whole game changes. They’ll take cover and start shooting back.
A sharp crack splits the night. The game changer. Zoomie, covering Blowback’s team. The tone of the shouting around us changes. Not just surprise but alarm.
“Red?”
“I got him.”
Another crack.
“Shit!” Hashtag says in my ear. “I just got eyes on Reichmann but he saw Burke go down. He ducked into House Nine.”
House Nine. We numbered them all on the map we made from the photos. It’s a one-bedroom northwest of us.
“Are we clear?”
“Keep low and behind the junkers. You’ll have about twenty yards from the last one to the back of the house.”
We move quick. Everyone’s still scattered, probably heading for weapons. Zoomie and Red will keep most of them from poking their heads out. We pause behind the last junker. One short sprint with no cover.
“Are we okay to go?”
“I got infrared on the house. There’s no one at the windows, but— Shit. There’s either women or kids in the bedroom on the north side of the house. I think they’re women, though. Six of them. No one real little.”
Fuck. “Is Reichmann in the same room with them?”
“No. There’s two other men in the house. They’re all in the living room. And—” He hesitates for a second. “Boss, I think the women are chained.”
Chained? Only one reason for that. The rage is quick and hot, but I make it cold. So fucking cold.
So they’re not just running meth and guns. They’re selling girls, too. And if they’d ever gotten to Jenny, there’s no fucking doubt what they’d have done after they’d finished with her. “The bedroom’s north?”
“Yeah. They’re sitting on the floor against the south interior wall. Other side is a bathroom. There’s a window in the west wall but it’s boarded up.”
I look to Stone. “If we take out those other two, Reichmann’ll go for the girls and hide behind them.”
His nod is short, his face hard. “So we’ll be quick, yeah?”
Hashtag comes in. “He must have got on the horn for help because there’s five men headed your way, coming from the north.”
The other side of the house. So we’re still covered for now.
“I’ve got the five, Red, if you want to light up the clubhouse,” Zoomie breaks in. “Blowback’s team is out and heading for the meet point.”
I look to Stone and Gunner. “And we’re heading in.”
Only twenty yards and the night around us sounds like a battlefield. Zoomie’s taking out the five Henchmen on the other side of the house but they must have grabbed cover behind more junkers, because they’re firing back. I don’t know if they can see her or if they’re just shooting into the night. A streak across the sky is one of the flares Red’s using to hit the clubhouse. Burning it all to the ground.
We’re at the house quick and get our backs against the south wall, crouching low. There’s still gunfire coming from the other side. “Zoomie?”
“Almost got ’em.” Her voice sounds strained. “And the rubber on our dick broke. I need some bleach over here.”
“You’re bleeding? How bad?”
“I’ll pull her out,” Blowback comes in.
“Back off, Jack. I’ve got these fuckers and I’ll walk out. Just bring me some goddamn bleach.” She pauses and the noise from the north suddenly quiets. “Okay. They’re down.”
“Pull her out and clean it up, Blowback,” I say. “Hashtag?”
“Two men on either side of the front door. Reichmann’s farther back in the same room. They’re all armed. Shotguns or rifles.”
“You’re sure it’s Reichmann?” Infrared doesn’t give that detailed a picture.
“I’m sure, boss. His wrist’s in a splint and his foot’s in a cast. I figure that’s because someone cut his fingers off and someone else busted his ankle.”
“Blowback can claim the ankle,” Stone says quietly. “But I’d like to point out that I got some teeth.”
From the beating that was coming to him after he touched Jenny. The fingers were Red’s.
His life is mine.
I point toward the front of the house. Immediately Stone and Gunner move out like they were sharing a brain, every step like they were two parts of one whole. They served together a long time—longer than they’ve been Riders—and don’t need words to communicate and know what they’ll each do, so they’ll go through first. They’re razors. I’m just a big fucking fist.
Long dried grass crackles under our boots. No avoiding that. It’s thick around the house. But there’s still enough shouting and dogs barking—and now engines revving in the distance—that no one inside should be able to detect the sound. There’s no lights on. Someone inside is smart enough not to stand in plain sight, then, but the second we move around to the front the glow from the clubhouse fire will let them see us.
Raising his brows, Stone looks to Gunner, who says real low, “Hashtag, are they still by the front door?”
“Affirmative.”
“Standing?”
“Yep.”
“And the girls are sitting? You double check now.”
“They are.”
Gunner looks to Stone, who shrugs. “Hold off a sec, boss,” he says, and as one they’re striding out like the two ballsiest assholes I’ve ever seen and open fire on the front of the house with two of the assault rifles from Blowback’s stash. The automatic weapons shred the upper half of the door and rip through the siding like a chainsaw. Jesus Christ. Even if the guards who were standing by the door are still alive there’s no chance they’re still upright. They’re either cowering or running. No doubt Reichmann’s running—but there’s only one room to hide in.
I head for the door. Stone and Gunner stop firing and are right ahead of me, sweeping through together. One of the guards is groaning on the floor, bleeding from his shoulder and his gun in hand. Gunner barely looks down, capping him with a short burst. I expect to put on my night vision lenses but there’s faint light coming from the narrow hallway now—coming through the bedroom door.
“He’s got one of the girls. Dragged her into the bathroom Looks like they’re standing in the tub and he’s got her in front of him.”
Like a shield. Shit. Eyes on the bathroom door, I point Gunner and Stone to the bedroom. “Get the others unchained and out.”
Stone nods and covers Gunner as he slips down the hall.
“Not arguing,” Red says over the radio, “but this ain’t going to be getting out of here clean. Blindfold them if you can and we’ll drop them off at the Episcopalian church in La Pine. And watch your mouths. Don’t use each other’s names now.”
Gunner flips off the bedroom light—using the night vision so that he can see but the girls can’t see him. There’s still a strip of light under the bathroom door.
Muffled shrieks come from the bedroom, shrill with terror. Gunner’s voice is low and reassuring. I cover Stone as he heads in to help.
“Does Reichmann have his weapon on the girl or the door?”
“On the door.”
A rifle or shotgun. That’s gotta be real hard to hold when one of his hands is still healing. But if I go through the door, I might be a dead man. If I shoot through the door, there might be a dead girl.
That’s not going to happen.
Bare feet slap the floor. Four women, looking terrified and holding onto each other. Stone’s carrying a fifth over his shoulder.
“I got two brothers coming out with five women. Do they have a clear path outside?”
“Yes, sir.”
I gesture for them to go. “Head to the meet point.”
Gunner hesitates. “Boss—”
“Get the fuck out.” I say it easy, but if I have to say it again, it’s going to go down real hard. “I’ve still got eyes watching my back.”
They head out. I watch the strip of light under the bathroom door. Reichmann’s got a shotgun and a gimp hand. Unless he’s using a semi-automatic, it’s going to be damn hard for him to work the action after he fires his first shot. And even if he’s got a semi-auto, he’s holding onto both a girl and the gun. The kick is going throw his aim off and if he’s not steadying it with both hands, he won’t be able to aim quickly again.
And he’s a fucking coward. He won’t hold steady. He’ll panic.
In the living room, I grab one of the guards’ phones. The screen is cracked but I don’t need to use it. Returning to the hall, I crouch low. I put the bathroom door in my sights and aim the assault rifle at the top of the frame. I’m not lo
oking to hit anyone inside; I’m just going for the light.
The recoil jackhammers against my right shoulder and the bullets rip a hole through the drywall above the door, into the bathroom ceiling. The light winks out. Plaster dust and wood splinters rain across the hallway floor. The woman’s screaming but I can barely hear it through the ringing in my ears.
I toss the phone at the remains of the door. It hits with a thunk. An instant later, the center of the door blows apart and Reichmann’s shotgun blast booms through the house.
I’m thinking of Jenny as I charge down the hall and kick through the remains of the door. Thinking of how he had her crammed against that wall in that booth, thinking of the fear and anger on her face. Thinking of the bruises on her arm and her thigh. Thinking how she hadn’t seen him coming.
He doesn’t see me coming now. He’s dropped the pump-action shotgun and is fumbling for the blade sheathed at his waist, trying at the same time to hold onto the woman pulling away. Her tears are ghostly tracks over her cheeks through the night vision lenses.
I knock away the knife and slam my fist into his face.
That’s all it takes. His head snaps back against the tile wall and he crumples into the tub. Fifteen years ago, I killed his brother with one kick. I didn’t mean to—and I didn’t even know that he’d gone into a coma and died until the cops showed up.
I don’t know if I killed Reichmann now with that hit. But this time, I mean to. Grabbing his head, I jerk his chin around until his neck snaps.
Now I’m sure.
• • •
Jenny
There’s no moon in the sky. Only darkness outside. My heart lodged in my throat when Saxon left; the lump hasn’t moved yet. I haven’t moved either. For hours now, I’ve been sitting in window seat in my room with a burner phone in my hand. Scarecrow is standing at one of the other windows. Bottlecap’s out in the orchard, making the rounds. Uncle Thorne is downstairs.
Just in case it all goes wrong and Reichmann comes straight for me.
Light suddenly fills the window alcove. The phone. I blink against the sudden spots in front of my eyes and try to read the message. It’s from the second burner that Saxon picked up.