I know Sydney probably means to include me in their girls night out. But even though I went out with Brooke and Isabel a few weeks ago, and had a great time with them, somehow the whole conversation hits me the wrong way just now.
Because I’m not an old lady. I’m not anything, really.
And just because I spent last night in Angel Abbott’s bed, that doesn’t change a thing. I’m still just the bartender. The only thing that’s different is, now I’m the bartender who was stupid enough to sleep with the president of the MC that employs me.
Yep. I’m a world-class idiot.
The only mercy in all of this is that Angel and I are the only ones who know what happened last night.
And as long as that’s the case, maybe I can manage to pretend it didn’t.
In the kitchen, Smiley and Lucy are sitting at the table, feeding Olivia. I pour myself a cup of coffee as quick as I can and leave, suddenly not wanting to be near people right now. I wander around the clubhouse, from room to room, just observing everyone as they go about their lives, waiting for the men to come back from God knows where.
Back out in the main room, I lean against a pillar, mostly invisible in a patch of shadow, and watch Jude playing pool with the older kids. Jenna’s right: except for Lila, they all seem kind of star struck by him. I observe as he shows them some trick shots, and realize I didn’t even know my little brother could play pool. His face is softer, more open than I’ve seen it. He’s definitely in his element here. I realize that for the first time since he arrived in Tanner Springs, his guard is down. He seems almost… happy, even.
But he doesn’t belong, either.
The thought hits me in the gut before I can push it away. This is the first time I’ve been able to offer Jude anything good since he got here. And as soon as this lockdown is over, he’ll be back to sitting by himself on my couch, or worse, hanging out with the freaking Krow Klan junior league.
Why does it seem that I can’t manage to keep anything good in my life, or my brother’s? Am I really destined to just never belong to anyone, or anything?
God, we’re both just a couple of misfits.
My heart physically hurts in my chest as I turn away from the scene. Tears suddenly sting my eyes. I know this is just a brief moment in time for my little brother. But even so, I pray it does him some good.
And I hope I can figure out some way to make the good feeling last.
16
Angel
We ride deep into what used to be Outlaw Sons territory.
Used to be — before I decided their club ain’t gonna survive the day.
The Lords are riding in formation first. Behind us, Tweak and Bullet are drivin’ the van, which has bulletproof glass, carrying extra ammo, weapons, and explosives. Behind that rides our chapter to the south. And behind that, the Death Devils.
We’re all on our way to obliterate the Outlaw Sons from the map.
The intel Tweak got told me the Sons are holed up in an old industrial poultry farm that was abandoned when the corporation that owned it folded. The club got quite a fuckin’ chuckle, findin’ out that the Sons’ hideout is knee deep in chicken shit.
We got no idea how many Outlaw Sons there still are, or what kind of surveillance or weapons situation they have. We could have come out here under the protection of night. But I’m not about that. The Sons are gonna see the faces of the men who’ve come to destroy them. They’re gonna know death is coming. They’re gonna look it in the eye.
When we ride up the road to the farm, at first it doesn’t look like anyone’s home. I’d almost doubt the intel, but this is Tweak we’re talkin’ about here. He doesn’t make mistakes. There’s a possibility we’re walking into an ambush, but again, I don’t give a fuck. This war has been goin’ on too long. The Sons have been allowed to live for too long. This shit ends now.
Axel, the president of our Ironwood chapter, takes his men around to the left to station themselves. The Death Devils, led by their president Oz, go around to the right flank. I’m connected to both of them with coms units. We go straight for the front, not bothering to hide our approach. When we’re about five hundred yards out, my men get off their bikes. Bullet gets out of the van and brings my weapon of choice to me.
“Are you gonna knock?” Beast asks me with a grin.
“Yeah, I suppose I better do that.”
And I do. I proceed to put the rocket launcher on my shoulder and blow a goddamn hole right through their fuckin’ front door.
The boom feels like it shatters all the air around us. The space where the door was disintegrates, debris flying in all directions. From inside, I hear shouts.
“Razor!” I bellow as the dust starts to clear. “Get your fuckin’ ass out here, you son of a bitch, and prepare to meet your maker!”
From the left, a burst of gunfire sounds. A rain of bullets hits the dirt in front of us. I duck down and fire in that direction, aiming high until I can get a bead on the precise direction it’s coming from. A second later, there’s a second burst of gunfire, and then two short, heavy pops stop it. The scream of pain tells me one of our men got the sniper.
“Razor!” I shout again. “You fuckin’ coward!”
In what used to be the doorway, a shadow appears.
“Come out with your goddamn hands up, Razor.”
“I ain’t raising my hands for you or anybody,” the figure in the doorway snarls. “I ain’t armed.”
“There’s at least a dozen guns aimed right at your head, you son of a bitch,” I warn him. “Walk out here, alone. One false move and you’ll be nothin’ but a mess of meat, piss, and shit lyin’ on the goddamn ground.”
Razor saunters out of the shadows. I flick my gaze over to Beast, reminding him soundlessly to keep his eyes on any movement from inside the house.
“What you want, Angel?”
“I wanna look you in the goddamn eyes, motherfucker.”
“You came all this way just to look me in the baby blues?” Razor chortles. “I didn’t know you cared.”
“I cared enough to look Dragon in the eye before I ended his sorry ass in prison,” I growl. “And it was a fuckin’ pleasure, let me tell you. I’m not about to give up the chance to do the same with you.”
“Fuck you, Angel. And fuck every single one of the Lords.”
“I doubt that’s gonna be an option for you,” I say coolly. “Now, step away from the house.”
Razor cocks his head, and spits violently on the ground in front of him. Then he takes a few steps forward, until he’s in the yard, about fifteen feet away from me. His nostrils are flared, his eyes full of hate.
“How many men are in the house?” I ask.
“I’m all alone,” he grins.
“Fuck you.”
“Why should I tell you shit? You’re gonna kill me anyway.”
“True.” I snarl. “Your lap dog Wexler give you my message?”
“Yeah.” Razor snorts. “You’re tough when it comes to cuttin’ up a tweaked out security guard, right?” He crosses his arms. “But you ain’t got the balls to be president of your club, Angel. The Lords need better. You’re gonna drive your MC straight into the ground. You know that, right?”
I ain’t stupid enough to let this pussy motherfucker get to me. A year ago, he was a VP, just like me. Difference is, the Outlaw Sons have been driven underground. The Lords have another chapter backin’ us up, plus the Death Devils. I know he’s tryin’ to piss me off. It ain’t gonna work.
I’m still gonna enjoy killin’ the son of a bitch, though.
“Thorn.” I lift my chin. “Go frisk that piece of shit. Make sure he don’t have a piece on him.”
Thorn moves forward. When he’s standing face to face with Razor, he sneers. “Get ready for the thrill of a lifetime, friend.” Razor holds his arms out and Thorn starts the pat-down of his chest and torso. As Thorn is beginning to bend over, a blade in Razor’s right hand flashes, and comes down in a slicing motion across his ba
ck.
“Son of a bitch!” Thorn roars, tackling him to the ground.
“Gun!” Beast yells next to me. From an open window up on the second floor, there’s a flash. I leap to one side and roll just as a volley of bullets starts from all sides. I duck behind a small shed and take aim at the window, firing three times. The first one shatters the glass. I don’t know who or what I hit, but there’s no more gunfire from there.
For the next few minutes, it’s fuckin’ chaos. There’s no time to tell where gunfire is coming from or who’s firing it. I keep firing at whatever moves in that direction, changing out my magazine a few times. A couple of figures run out of the building, but don’t make it very far before they’re mowed down by our men. The rocket launcher is lying in the dirt, about ten feet away from me. Pulling it back with me behind the shed, I pull a smoke grenade from my cut, load it, and then position myself, waiting for the right moment.
I stay like that, tense, my ears straining to read what’s happening in the sounds of the gunfire. Eventually I hear what I want: to either side of us, the firing slows, then all but stops. The battle out there is ending.
“Oz! Axel! Report” I bark into my coms unit.
“All clear on our end. We got a couple men down, but the enemy is neutralized,” Axel squawks back.
“Seven Outlaw Sons dead,” Oz growls, never a man to mince words.
It’s time.
Aiming for the blown-apart doorway, I fire the launcher. The smoke grenade goes through and explodes. A second later, purple-gray smoke starts billowing out of the shot out windows. I signal to our men to surround the building. One by one, Outlaw Sons start streaming out, guns drawn but coughing and stumbling.
None of them make it very far.
By the time the smoke starts to clear, the bodies of our enemies litter the ground. There are no more men exiting the building. I send Striker, Tank, and Bullet inside with gas masks to check that there are no survivors.
I jog over to where Thorn and Razor went down. “You okay, brother?” I call.
“Son of a bitch sliced my back open,” Thorn grits out. “He’s paid for it, though.”
I look down to see Thorn has stabbed Razor with his own knife. Razor’s still alive, but he’s bleeding out, a pool of blood surrounding his torso.
“Got any last words, Razor?”
“Fuck… you,” he wheezes.
“That’s fuckin’ unoriginal,” I growl. “Hell, if I was you, I woulda prepared better for this moment. Goodbye, you piece of shit. And goodbye to your club. It’s as dead as you’re about to be.”
Raising my Glock, I plant a bullet right through that motherfucker’s forehead.
Beast comes up next to me. “Looks like you’re through takin’ out the garbage,” he remarks.
“Yeah.” I speak into the coms unit. “Oz. Axel. We’re done here. Bring the bodies out here, and pile ‘em up in the building.” When I’ve finished speaking I turn to Beast. “When they’re all inside, burn that fucker to the ground.”
Beast nods. Turning to Thorn, he gives a low whistle at the blood seeping from the deep cut on his back. “Shit, brother, you okay?”
“No worries,” Thorn tells him. “My cut saved me. Razor didn’t get a good enough punch to stab deep enough. Smiley’ll put me to rights.” He shakes his head and grimaces. “Isabel’s gonna lose her shit when she sees it, though.”
Beast nods. “I hear that. Just tell her it’s an opportunity to nurse you back to health. Chicks love that shit.”
Oz and Axel come out into the open with their men. Some are carrying the lifeless bodies of the Outlaw Sons. They make for the building to toss them inside. Oz takes one look at Thorn’s back and grunts.
“My daughter’s not gonna like that,” he says to his son-in-law.
Thorn grins. “Nope.”
“You tell Isabel I said hello. And that her man is a fuckin’ lunatic.”
“Nothin’ she doesn’t already know.”
Oz looks at me. “Mission accomplished.”
“Thank you.” I hold out my hand and he shakes it soberly. Turning to Axel, I ask, “Any men hurt on your end?”
“One man shot in the shoulder. He’ll live.” The president of our southern chapter looks around us. “A good day’s work.”
“It was. I’m gonna keep our club on lockdown for a couple days, just in case. But we’re due for a party to celebrate the end of this war.” I nod at him. “Why don’t you come up and join us?”
“We’ll do that,” Axel agrees.
I clap him on the back and he calls to his men to get ready to move out. Striker, Tank, and Bullet come out of the building and tell me there are no more survivors inside. I have them go out to the truck and get the cans of gasoline and the explosives.
Ten minutes later, the funeral pyre of the Outlaw Sons is blazing.
As we ride in formation back to Tanner Springs, I find myself thinking about Thorn, and Isabel, and how she’s gonna have a lifetime of worryin’ about whether her man is gonna come back to her whenever he rides off on a dangerous run with the club. It’s a reality of life as a one-percenter: people get hurt. Sometimes men die. It’s something an old lady has to accept, along with all the rest of it.
Then, suddenly, Jewel’s face is before me. I wonder, briefly, if she was worried today, too. About me.
My gut twists up, in a feeling I don’t really recognize. It’s bad and good at the same time. Thinkin’ she could be missing me, and lookin’ forward to having me back at the clubhouse again, knowing I’m safe… well, that’s good.
But thinkin’ how upset she might be if something happened to me — if I didn’t make it back — that gives me an ache in the back of my throat. I think Jewel’s always had kind of a soft spot for me. And hell, I have for her, too. But now, after what happened between us last night… well, shit. That would have just made things worse for her, if I’d gone and gotten myself killed.
Thoughts like that could fuck up a man’s thinking. Make him weak.
I can’t afford that shit. I can’t have any distractions messing with my head when I’m making decisions for the MC.
That shit that happened last night with Jewel was a mistake. I’m already letting her cloud my thinking.
As I say this to myself, the ache in my throat gets even tighter. I realize I was lookin’ forward to seein’ her again. To celebrating the end of this war by takin’ Jewel to bed again, and fucking her until we both passed out from exhaustion. But I gotta walk away from that shit. It’s too dangerous. And it ain’t fair to Jewel.
Find one of the club girls. It’s better that way.
But I know I won’t be doin’ that. Jewel’s the one I want, even though I’m not gonna have her. The only relief I’ll have tonight is at the bottom of a bottle of Jack.
17
Jewel
At dinner time, the men still aren’t back from their run. Though I know we weren’t supposed to expect them until late, I can’t help feeling more worried by the minute. I know from the old ladies’ faces that a lot of them are thinking the same thing. At least there’s a meal to prepare, and almost a dozen small mouths to feed.
Gunner’s mom Lucy announces that she’s taking care of dinner tonight, and that spaghetti’s on the menu. She commandeers the kitchen and puts some of us to work slicing garlic bread, opening cans of sauce, and preparing a salad — which makes the younger kids groan.
“You can’t exist on Pop-Tarts and cheeseburgers,” Lucy admonishes them when they complain. “Eating some greens once in a while isn’t going to kill you.”
Jude is taking a break from video games and is actually hanging out in the kitchen with us — which means that Noah and Connor are in here, too. Noah’s little sister Mariana insists on helping out with the cooking, even though she’s too little to do very much. I set her up on the counter and tell her she can sprinkle some salt into the boiling water for the spaghetti. Then, once I’ve measured out the pasta, I have her dump it in the pot, be
ing careful to hold her tight so she doesn’t get too close to the heat. She waits impatiently, leaning over to stare into the water every thirty seconds or so, then looking up at me. Each time, I shake my head. “Not yet,” I tell her.
“I love spaghetti,” Mariana informs me, peering up at me earnestly with eyes the exact shape and color as Jenna’s.
“Why don’t you marry it then?” I ask in mock seriousness. She erupts in peals of giggles.
“When is it going to be done?” she demands when she’s quieted down. “I’m hungry already!”
“Pretty soon,” I say. “It’s almost there.”
Smiley calls over to us from his perch at the table. “You know how to figure out when the spaghetti is done, don’t you, Mariana?” I look at him and he gives me a wink.
“Ummm…” Her face squinches into a frown as she considers his question. “When you eat it and it tastes good?”
“Can’t argue with that,” I joke.
“No, I mean the way all the professionals do it,” Smiley says, getting to his feet.
Mariana stares at him in fascination, even though I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know what the word professional means. “How?” she asks, wide-eyed.
Smiley grabs her under the armpits and lowers her from the counter to the ground. “Well, it’s like this. First, you take a couple noodles out of the water, like this.” He grabs the tongs and fishes two strands out of the pot. Putting them into his other hand, he tosses them back and forth for a few seconds so they’re not hot, then tells Mariana to hold out her hands. He places them into Mariana’s upturned palms. “Now, what you do, see, is you throw the noodles against the wall. And if they stick, that means the spaghetti’s done!”
“I wanna try!” Connor cries, stepping forward. Smiley grabs some more noodles and places them in Connor’s hand. Noah glances at Jude, then seems to decide he’s too cool for this, and stays put.
“Okay, throw them against the wall!” Smiley urges them. With a shriek of glee, Mariana flings hers. A second later, Connor follows suit. All the strands stick.
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