by Warren, Rie
I rubbed my hands down my cheeks. I fit that description to a T. “Go on.”
“It didn’t take long for Saul Kosnik, the president of Iron Coffins, to make her his old lady soon as she turned legal.”
“Iron Coffins? They were all over the news when the bust went down in Santa Fe.” The ATF . . . meth . . . more than one public shoot-out. Original one-percenters. And now I knew where I’d seen her ink before.
OMG. Not Oh My God, but Outlaw Motorcycle Gang. Fucking hell.
“They had the drug and gun trade nailed shut up and down New Mexico, working with their Mexican counterparts on the other side of the border.” Jenkins sat back with his arms crossed over his chest. “The overlord had his woman. They were living it up for a long time. Until a double sting operation when the DEA teamed up with the ATF. It was a clean sweep from both sides when they tightened the net.”
“V was caught in the middle of it?”
“Veronica was the second suspect. She was one of Saul’s prime dealers,” he said.
“Fucking hell.” I rocked back in my chair.
“She was smart though. Got a lawyer, turned evidence. It was her first offence, officially, after all. Turned herself over to us.”
“For safe handling.” I jumped up and paced. “And you fucked up. Where the hell is she now?”
“Iron Coffins is now Iron Nails. They relocated to Jacksonville, Florida. That’s where I’d start.”
“How the hell did they find her?” I asked.
“It’s not that hard. Ronnie’s smart, but she started getting sloppy.”
Guilt punched me in the gut. “Because of me?”
“It’s better for a witness to remain unattached.”
“I’m low profile.”
“Not judging by your Medal of Honor,” he said. He’d obviously gotten more information on me during his quick phone call than I’d realized.
Yeah, I had a medal, received in full ceremony. Meanwhile, V had a history full of secrets and mysteries, and the only thing that mattered now was getting her back.
I scraped a hand across my jaw, fighting off fatigue and futility. “If I give you a description of the man who grabbed her, you think you can ID him? Because he’s first on my black toe tag list.”
I started telling Jenkins what I’d seen. Two seconds later he stopped me.
“Billy the Barber.”
“Barber?” My gorge rose in my throat.
“He . . . uh . . .” He smoothed down his tie and fidgeted with his cuffs. “He uses an old-fashioned straight razor. He likes to scalp his victims.”
“Not her. Not V.” My jaw turned stony hard. “You got blueprints on the place or any plans of the compound?”
Jenkins complied, emailing me what he had. We walked outside, the bright May sunlight like a slap in the face reminding me how many hours I’d lost trying to track down V.
“Have her contact me?” he asked.
“Not fucking likely. Once this is done, she’s free.”
“She’ll still need to testify.”
“And then she is done. Allowed to live her life.”
He held out his hand, and I grasped it.
“You could have a career with the government, Bo.”
“Yeah. That ain’t gonna happen again. Been there. Not going back.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” A rush of heat swept over us when he opened his car door.
“More than you do. And you better call off any agents you have on or inside Iron Nails because I have my own team. When we go in, it’s gonna be fast and hard, and I do not want to deal with federal jurisdiction bullshit.”
“That’s not legal.”
“Maybe not. But it is how we save lives.” Veronica’s life.
“Wait.” Jenkin’s eyes skewered me. “Who’s on your team?”
I smiled with an evil sneer. “People you only wish were on the government payroll.”
Chapter Fourteen
I JAMMED ON THE gas and sped into Retribution parking lot fifteen minutes later. Barging inside, I was confronted by the same dudes in similar stances I’d left them in, except Tail was draped over a pool table, sawing logs in his sleep.
Coletrane hunched over a laptop. Hunter’s head bent next to his. Brodie stropped his bowie knife on the huge stone at the end of the bar, and Tuck waddled back and forth.
“I know where she is,” I announced.
Hunter grunted. Cole held up a hand to quiet me.
Kinkaid—industriously mopping the floor—fucking had the gall to shush me.
Business partner? Fuck that. I was going to part his head from his body.
“I said I know where Veronica is.”
“Great,” Hunter mumbled. “So do we. Looking at the plans now.”
“What plans?”
“The ones the agent sent you.”
“Those are on my phone.”
Hunter’s teeth gleamed as he grinned. “Used to be.”
“You frigging cracked my phone?”
“So hardcore.” Cole nodded.
A printer bleeped from the back office. Walker—Hunter’s X-Ops partner—strolled out of the hallway, scowling across the room. He held a sheaf of papers under one arm while he ran both hands down his long black braid.
“Iron Nails MC in Jacksonville. That’s where she is.” I stomped across the floor to the men gathered around the bar.
“We know.” The small white scars on Boomer’s face glinted as he gave a sharkish smile.
“Good news.” Brodie sailed his knife into the nearest wall. “All the intel adds up.”
“What did you do with the Feeb?” Walker unrolled the printed plans of Iron Nails MC on top of the bar.
“Tied him up and dropped him over the Ravenel Bridge.” I shrugged.
Kinkaid dropped his mop, turning bugged-out eyes on me.
“Kidding, partner.” I slapped him on the shoulder.
“Why not?” Walker’s frown made his face even more angular. “I volunteer.”
Hunter growled at him. “Knock it off. No unnecessary murders today.”
Kinkaid’s eyes grew wider than ever.
“Looks like a road trip.” Brodie retrieved his knife.
“Yeah. Uhhh.” Kinkaid focused on his Mr. Clean act, once more swishing the mop across the floor. “I think I’ll hold down the fort here.”
****
I roared home and stopped just long enough to send out a blanket email to all my clients to cancel everything for the next few days, douse myself in the shower, pull my knives and my M9 Beretta together, and hop back into the H1 with a couple bags stowed in the back.
A few hours later Retribution compound hummed with motorcycles. The men had squared away everything from businesses to wives to children and real lives. Tuck, Tail, Handsome, Cole. Brodie, Boomer, Walker and Hunter. They were all prepared to do a solid for me—put their lives at risk for Veronica—when they hardly knew me.
I nodded to each man before we fell into formation and streamed out of the parking lot. I’d be on my motorcycle, too, but I didn’t know what shape V was gonna be in and bringing her back to Charleston on a bike probably wouldn’t be a joy ride. So we flew down the interstate, my beast of a truck flanked by the squad of motorcycles.
Jacksonville was only a four-hour ride away—three when pushing it. We pushed it. I hadn’t slept since the last night in Cheraw. Exhaustion threatened to cloud my vision, but I shoved it back. It was nothing new. Fear crushed my insides, but I beat it off, too. Anger at myself over the things I’d said to V and the way I’d forced the issue with her nearly overwhelmed me. I’d let her go, let her get taken. I focused on the hot burning spike of reined violence I would unleash on Billy the Barber. I just needed to SITFU until I could fuck him up.
As the miles rolled past through South Carolina into Georgia I thought about what V had been through, what she’d lived with alone for so damn long. I could understand why she was wary of love, which was really funny con
sidering she was a therapist, with a whole lot of her own hang-ups.
On the outskirts of Jacksonville, we filed into a truck stop off of 95. It was hot as hell, and the black tar sent heat waves up from underfoot. Killian Slade sat on a badass Harley V-Rod. I’d called him just before leaving my house, sending out the Mayday. With coal black hair, dark all-seeing eyes, a square angled face and the scar on the left side of his forehead, he looked intimidating as hell.
I led the MC crew over. As soon as I rolled out of my truck, Slade and I clasped hands between our chests and pounded each other’s back with a low, “Oo-rah.”
“Damn good to see you.” My voice was low and gruff.
We’d been through hell and back together. Survived the torture, day and night. He was the man I could always count on.
“I gotta say, Maverick, you are not a sight for sore eyes.” He squinted at me. “If this is what happens when a woman turns up in the picture, I’m not a fan.”
“Don’t worry. One day a good woman’s gonna get to you too. I can’t wait.” Releasing him, I stepped back, and all the Retribution dudes made quick intros.
Slade nodded to the two men he knew from past deadly escapades—Hunter and Walker.
“No need to break it down Barney-style, but are you going to fill in some details?” Slade dug in his pocket, retrieved a toothpick, and clamped it between his teeth.
After I finished talking, he stood there swishing the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Let me get this straight. We’re up against Iron Coffins—oh, excuse me—Iron Nails MC. Outlaws, murderers, one of the biggest busts in the history of RICO. You don’t know how many members there are, where your lady might be held inside the compound, what they’re packing—”
“Probably AKs,” Walker helpfully supplied.
“And you’ve never stepped foot in the place, but we’re going to infiltrate, nullify the threat, and extricate the package no matter what comes at us.” Slade stared at me.
“Sounds about right.” I nodded.
Rubbing his hands together, he smirked. “Sounds like my kind of trouble. Improvise, adapt, and overcome.”
That was our unofficial saying.
Later that evening we preformed a distant recon of Iron Nails. We’d ditched the vehicles half a mile away and hoofed it to the site. I was so close to Veronica I wanted to rush in and go kamikaze crazy, but I held back with the last shred of my control. She’d been missing for twenty-four hours.
She had to be alive. I wouldn’t ever be able to dig myself out of the black hole if she wasn’t.
The compound was situated in a rundown area in the northwest quadrant of Jax. Members milled around the cement buildings, automatic weapons carried out in the open. We tallied ten different threats on the exterior alone. High chain-link fencing surrounded the entire base and to make matters worse CCTV cameras lined the perimeter.
Night fell as we laid low, camped out on a hillside, and we needed a plan.
“Your woman, your op, Bo.” Hunter put me in charge.
The same strategizing I’d relied on in Afghan-land came back to me. There, the threats had packed out city centers and busy markets as much as hillsides and settlements.
“We go in quiet. No guns. Don’t want to alert the neighbors.” I cut a look around the surrounds that mostly consisted of a sprawling concrete jungle in the middle of down-and-out-ville. “Although I don’t imagine the neighbors—”
“Squatters,” Walker interrupted.
“—would be all that alarmed at the sound of a little gunfire. No killing unless force is necessary.” I glared at Walker.
“Who? Me? I’m the Zen master. I only kill when someone makes a move first.” He slid a sly grin my way.
“Or if they’re breathing,” Hunter mumbled.
We’d studied the interior layout, and we’d all seen the photo of Billy the Barber Bartko. He was the man I wanted after I located V.
Once it was fully dark, we sprinted low over scrubby ground to reach the fence at the back of the compound.
On cue, Cole pulled out a pair of wire cutters. As soon as he started snipping an opening, low menacing growls rumbled from the darkness beyond. Sleek muscular shapes of Dobermans appeared, their eyes glowing, their sharp teeth gleaming. Four of them prowled toward the fence.
“Your friend the Feeb didn't happen to mention Cujo, did he?” Walker the wiseass just couldn’t help himself.
“What do we do now?” Cole had stopped cutting.
“Make the opening bigger. I got this.” Tuck pulled down on both sides of his mustache.
As soon as Cole had the hole big enough, Tuck pushed through. I expected him to pull out his blade, but all he did was hold up his hands, crouch down, and start whispering to the dogs.
“Wait. So now he's the dog whisperer as well as a preacher man?” Hunter asked incredulously.
“Hold up. Grizzly Adams there is a preacher?” Slade plucked his ever-present toothpick from his mouth.
“He performed my wedding ceremony.” Hunter glanced over.
“Shut the fuck up. You’re married?”
Somehow—while Hunter and Slade gossiped like chicks—Tuck had transformed the vicious killer canines into fluffy bundles of puppy love.
I sent a hushed whisper all around. “We’re in. Focus. Stay low. Avoid the cameras.”
Using hand signals to communicate, we spread out along the exterior of the Iron Nails main building.
Ten of us against possibly fifty, sixty or more. These were not RUBs or wannabes. They were confirmed criminals, and this was a suicide mission. Not the worst I’d seen, but this time the stakes were even higher.
Taking off in two groups, we rounded opposite corners of the main clubhouse. I fixed eyes on two targets up ahead, and they were packing heat. I motioned to Slade. He pulled a thin wire out of his pocket, and I did the same. Crossing the silent sea of concrete, we looped our wires around the thick necks of our enemies, pulled them tight, and quickly slipped the boneless, unconscious bodies to the ground.
Tail, Boomer, and Brodie had moved on, easily handling another few threats using quiet non-deadly force. Hunter and Walker headed up the other detail. We’d decided to infiltrate in two groups from opposite sides, incapacitating threats and investigating rooms along the way. Splitting up was dangerous, but we had no idea how much ground we had to cover before finding V.
If she was even here.
If she was even alive.
The interior was a maze of corridors smelling of rank alcohol and unwashed bodies. The stench burned my nose. We kept our backs to the walls, foregoing garrotes for blades pulled from sheaths. I strafed back and forth, taking point. Each room we came across was quickly entered, any men we encountered taken down quietly, just the muffled thud of bodies.
Until we reached an office. Money piled on top of the desk in fat green stacks. A big rugged looking man sat flipping through the cash, but when we entered, he yanked a semi-automatic handgun up and squeezed off a round.
Slade bolted across the room in an instant. One hand clamped over the dude’s mouth, he wrestled the gun from the thug’s hold. He pulled out his KA-BAR and made a quick slash across the man’s neck. His other hand capped over the pumping artery, he kicked open an interior door. Peering inside the small closet first to make sure all was clear, he left the gurgling dying man on the floor.
First shots fired. The rush was on. There was no way we’d remain undetected now.
My adrenaline peaked. My crystal clear focus sharper than ever.
My ears attuned to the unusually silent surrounds in the aftermath of the quick kill, I heard another muffled thump. I signaled Boomer, Brodie and Tail to spread out and search the immediate area.
We separated in the dim hallway, each going for a different door. I performed a quick scan of an empty bunkroom and drew back. The others appeared, making the all-clear sign. I pressed my ear to the next door. When a stifled scream sounded inside, I tried the doorknob. Locked.<
br />
Fuck that.
No time for subtlety, I braced my shoulder and busted through with one mighty heave. With my Beretta ranging around the room, I dropped it to my side as soon as I saw V. She lay on her side on a dirty camp bed, bound, gagged . . . almost completely naked.
I raced toward her, throwing off my T-shirt to wrap her in the fabric as I sliced through the duct tape binding her wrists.
My first thought was had she been raped?
My second? Get her the fuck out of there so I could make sure she hadn’t been bruised or abused.
My third? I wanted to kiss away the tears leaking from her wide-open eyes.
She kept shaking her head at me, screaming behind the gag. I lifted my hand to gently pull off the tape as soon as I’d cut her wrists free, but my hackles rose. A threat, behind me. Before I had time to react, I heard the fast report of a gunshot going off at my unprotected rear.
I fell on top of V, completely covering her with my body, pulling her head down beneath my chin.
When no impact drilled into me, I stood up and whipped my head around.
Slade stood in the doorway, the muzzle of his modified Beretta smoking. The body of an ugly grizzly Iron Nails crewmember draped like a dead puppet over a chair behind me. He was even more ugly with nothing but grisly tissue replacing one half of his face. Stealth weapon—that was Slade.
He winked . . . then his eyes peeled open in alarm. His gun arm raised, but he halted midmotion, shooting both his hands into the air.
Too late, I turned back around to V. Billy was there. He’d materialized from a second door that swung wide open behind him. He dragged Veronica’s head back by a tight hold in her snarled red hair, the infamous razor positioned at the top of her forehead.
Chapter Fifteen
“DROP THE BLADE, YOU ape-faced fucker.” I snarled.
Billy grinned. Now that I saw his face up close, I almost fucking shuddered. His features were a grotesque mask of tats covering every square inch from his cheeks to his chin to his forehead. Only his pale albino eyes blinked out, eerily pink and, even worse, amused as V struggled.