Breaking It All (The Hellfire Riders Book 3)

by Kati Wilde

  “I’ll carry that with me,” he says.

  Then I watch him go—and it’s not just the kiss he’s taking with him.

  He’s got my heart, too. And I know it won’t beat again until the next time I see him.

  34

  Gunner

  Stone’s being kept on a fucking horse farm.

  At least, what used to be one. In two days, I haven’t seen a single horse. Just motorcycles belonging to members of the Iron Blood and a few vehicles that circle the property on regular patrols.

  For two days Zoomie, Blowback, and I have been taking turns lying out in the goddamn desert, seeing what we can of the layout. It’s making me as impatient as hell, but the surveillance is necessary. If we rush in without knowing where Stone’s being held, he could be dead before we get to him. But we’re on a tight timeline here, because even though we’re out square in the middle of nowhere, up on a bluff with our eyes trained on the compound, the longer we watch the place the greater the chance we’ll be discovered. And hell knows when another fight will be held—or whether Stone might go up in the ring again.

  From what I can see, the Cage itself isn’t here. Just two barns where the fighters are kept, and a clapboard farmhouse that isn’t home to a family but where the guards sleep and eat.

  Most of those guards aren’t Iron Blood. Not wearing kuttes, at least. Most likely they’re hired guns, and the Iron Blood just picks up the fighters at the rallies and provides extra security.

  The second morning, I see Stone being herded toward an old racetrack with three other men.

  Exercising them like they’re fucking animals. A tower overlooks the track and through the scope I can see the guards up on the platform, rifles slung.

  Animals in a goddamn prison.

  “Easy, pretty boy.” Lying on her belly beside me, Zoomie nudges my leg. She’s watching through her own scope, her gaze flat and hard. “I know you’re excited to finally see your boyfriend, but keep your head down.”

  I’m keeping my fucking head down, and keeping eyes on Stone. He’s moving smooth, quick. Not injured from his fight—not in any way that shows.

  After a half hour, they’re herded back to the east barn.

  Got him.

  But he’s not the only one we’re after. We wait through more exercise rotations, only a handful of men at a time—some faces I recognize as bikers who’ve gone missing, some I don’t.

  “All that muscle to push around,” Zoomie says softly. “Not enough guards on duty to handle all of it at once.”

  Good news for us. “You seen Crash yet?”

  She shakes her head.

  And we don’t see Crash. Just Handlebar, coming out of the west barn and heading toward the track. So we’ll need to hit both barns.

  Almost noon, Blowback returns from his recon on the north side of the property, listens as we fill him in on the location of our two men. “Tonight, then?”

  “We going to have trouble with the Iron Blood swooping in?” A part of me fucking hopes so.

  Blowback shakes his head. “They’re on a relay run. So it’ll just be the guards on site.”

  Two dozen guards, by our count—with only a third of them on duty at any time, and the rest taking their ease in the house.

  Chef won’t be here. But that’ll keep.

  Zoomie looks to me. “You want me to call everyone in?”

  “Everyone” is the Butchers, the Riders. Each of them holed up in different towns a few hours’ ride away, waiting for word from us. And when we give that word, that’ll be a hell of a lot of bikers converging on one point. We run the risk of someone noticing and pulling the plug on the stables before we get our boys out.

  Blowback, Zoomie, and I could go in quiet. Pull out Stone, then get to Handlebar, and get the hell out before the guards take notice and the shit hits the fan.

  Or we can bring everyone in and burn the whole fucking thing down.

  “Call ’em in,” I tell her.

  I suppose kicking through the door of a guarded facility is what Anna might call a stress situation. The sort of situation where Stone told her that I’ve got fucking ice in my veins.

  Doesn’t feel like ice. Not when the explosion the Butchers set off in the main house sends heat racing across my skin.

  And ice is glacier slow. I’m not. My finger is lightning on the trigger. One, two, three bullets—and three guards down, each one looking surprised that there’s a big fucking hole in his skull.

  Inside, the horse barn…looks like a horse barn. A high peaked ceiling opens over a long central aisle lined with stalls. Steel bars reinforce the sliding doors, and men are charging against those doors now, their yells joining with the increasing noise from outside. Gunshots. Roaring engines. Shouting.

  It’s dark—overhead lights went out two hours ago, at ten—but recessed lighting along the central aisle provides more than enough light to see by. I snag the keys off a guard’s belt and toss the lot to Zoomie. “Start opening the cages. I’ll clear the road.”

  “There’s a faster way.” She heads toward a small office off the right side of the entrance. Looks like a horse barn but more like a prison, I realize, with central controls for the cell doors.

  Doesn’t smell like a barn, either. No hay, no horseflesh.

  Smells more like a hospital.

  I head down the aisle, ignoring the men shouting at me to let them out, looking for one face.

  He’s in the fourth stall, standing at the sliding door with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing just a pair of sweatpants—and not a bit fucking surprised to see me. And this isn’t ice in my veins when I reach through the bars and clasp his hand in a tight grip, my eyes locked on his.

  Roughly, I say, “Good to see you, brother.”

  He returns my grip, holding tight. “And me, I’m always glad to see your girly mouth.”

  Not girly. Just pouty. But I’ve only got time for a grin before an electric hum sounds and the door rolls open.

  All at once there’s men running everywhere. No more guards yet but they might be coming. I pull my extra piece from its holster and toss the gun to Stone.

  “Ready?”

  He’s not. Years of fighting at his side means I can read him fast, and he’s not focusing on the the exit. Instead he’s tilting his head. Listening.

  Then taking off running deeper into the barn. I keep up easily. Most of the fighters have cleared out, heading the opposite direction, and despite the noise echoing through the barn I hear it—

  The clatter of metal. A muffled scream.

  A woman’s scream.

  He heads for a door, what looks like an old tack room. Wordlessly he signals. He’s going low.

  I take high, slamming through the door, gun sweeping the room. Clean, white, an exam table, medical equipment scattered over the floor. Movement in the corner. A big fucker on top of a smaller figure—tearing off her panties.

  Then the fucker collapses on top of her, the top of his head gone, Stone’s gunshot still echoing around the room. With a shriek, a strawberry blonde scrambles out from under him, wearing a tiny nurse’s outfit and thigh high stockings splattered with blood.

  Stone starts for her and she cringes back against the wall decorated with the fucker’s brains, holding out her hands as if to ward him off, begging.

  “Please, please! I don’t care what you do to me. But please first let me find my b—”

  Scooping the panties off the floor, Stone shoves the wadded fabric into her mouth, then rips a white stocking off her leg, using the nylon to tie the gag around her head. Wildly she fights him, trying to rip off the gag and speak, but he traps her hands behind her back and binds them next.

  What the fuck? He’s been through some shit, but Jesus Christ—treating a woman like this? Shaking my head, I step forward and her panicked gaze swings over to me.

  Emerald eyes lock on mine.

  Cherry. Without the big red wig.

  I back off, let him finish whatever the he
ll he’s doing.

  Without a word, Stone picks her up and throws her facedown over his shoulder. Expression savage, he turns toward the door.

  Outside, everything is chaos. The fire’s blazing in the house. They’ve started the west barn burning. I spot Spiral at the wheel of my truck, signal to Stone.

  He tosses Cherry into the back, leans over and warns through clenched teeth, “Don’t fucking move or I’ll round up every single man you caged up and bring them over here to use your pussy.”

  Stalking away from her, he heads toward a group of bikers—the Bedlam Butchers. They’ve gathered around Handlebar, the Butchers’ VP.

  One of their VPs. Crash was the other.

  Uneasy, I shake my head. “Maybe not the best time, brother.”

  The Butchers are friends but this is a hard fucking thing to ask anyone to take in. And while hurting?

  In his place, if I was hearing Stone was dead, and a friend was the one who killed him? I don’t know that there’d be any ice at all. Just fire until his blood ran in rivers over my hands.

  But I see Stone’s eyes as he heads over toward the other men, and I know that look. I’ve seen it in broken men. Stone doesn’t give a fuck what they do to him. Maybe even welcomes their worst, if the worst is easier to deal with than the shit in his head.

  So I’m tense as fuck when Handlebar sees him and all the laughter and backslapping around him stops. The Butchers are watching Handlebar, too. Maybe just waiting for a signal as Stone halts in front of the other man.

  “I’m so fucking sorry, man.” Stone’s voice is hoarse as he spreads his hands out wide, exposing his bare chest. “I’ll take whatever you got. Fists. Bullets.”

  Slowly Handlebar approaches him. He’s a massive fucker, with a thick beard, ink, piercings. He looks fierce as hell but I know him as a big, laughing man always ready with a joke.

  That laughter is gone, his expression bleak as he grips the back of Stone’s neck with one hand, pulls him close and bows his head. Stone does the same, his mouth near the other man’s ear. I can’t hear what he’s saying—just see Handlebar’s nod and the wet sheen in the big man’s eyes.

  They pull away from each other, hands clasped. Then Stone turns and heads back to the truck. I jump into the truck bed after him, watching as he crouches next to Cherry.

  Harshly he says, “You’re going to pay for every fucking lying word that came out of your mouth. You understand?”

  She’s not even looking at him. Instead she’s staring at the burning buildings, her emerald gaze wildly searching the flames.

  Roughly he catches her chin and forces her to face him. “You understand?”

  When she frantically nods, he releases her, then looks to me. “Anna?”

  “Safe,” I tell him.

  “The fucker who touched her?”

  “Taken care of.” Or same as, because he will be.

  He exhales a long, shuddering breath. Closes his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “I love a goddamn bonfire.” Wearing a huge grin, Zoomie swings over the side of the truck and takes a seat on the tire well. “But we forgot the fucking marshmallows.”

  “Next time,” Stone tells her.

  “Aw. Look at you, you big asshole, promising to get kidnapped again just for me.” With as much affection as she ever showed any of the Riders, she rubs her hand over his short hair before shoving at his head. “Who’s the nurse?”

  “Cherry,” I tell her, then rap my knuckles on the cab’s back window, letting Spiral know we’re ready to haul out.

  “Cherry?” Zoomie echoes, her eyes narrowing. “So why aren’t we roasting her instead of a marshmallow?”

  “Because I’ve got something else in mind for her,” Stone says and turns his grim gaze toward the woman, who cringes away from his stare. “And I’m going to take a real long time to do it.”

  His voice—so fucking cold.

  And for the first time that night, my blood finally runs like ice.

  35

  Anna

  My heart seizes up when Daisy suddenly starts barking, running back and forth across the floor of my studio. Since coming home, I’ve been keeping a gun nearby when I’m alone. I grab it now and head to the window overlooking the front drive.

  Gunner’s truck is pulling in.

  My heart gives a wild leap and I’m running, almost tripping down the stairs in my hurry. I burst through the front door and onto the porch just as Stone gets out of the driver’s side.

  Laughing, I throw myself at him. God, and he catches me and hugs me so tight. Daisy’s barking wildly, rubbing up against his legs, and he pulls back to look at my face.

  “Aw, pipsqueak,” he groans. “Don’t cry.”

  I’m trying not to. Pulling my long sleeves down over my hands, I wipe my leaking eyes. “I was just so happy to have the house to myself. I’m sad I have to share it again.”

  Stone smiles, but it’s not like the quick grin and laugh that such a response would have gotten before, and it fades so quickly. Jaw hard, he cups my cheek.

  Looking at where the bruise used to be—because he saw the video of Chef hitting me.

  I reach up, grab his wrist. “I’m all right.”

  Nodding, he lets me go.

  “Daisy is all right, too,” I say.

  He barely looks down at the dog, who’s going wild with happiness over his being home, and my heart starts aching.

  Gunner said that fighting and killing an innocent man would hurt him. That it would fuck him up bad.

  And Stone is home. But he’s not the same Stone.

  Gruffly now he tells me, “You might be by yourself a little longer. I’ve got some business out at the clubhouse that I’m going to be taking care of for a while.”

  “Okay.” A lot of the Riders do that now and then. “Have you seen Mom and Dad yet?”

  “Not yet.” Abruptly he walks past me, toward the side entrance—instead of using my door.

  “I told them you were coming back.” I follow behind him, watching Daisy dancing around his feet and desperately trying to get his attention. “But maybe you should stop by.”

  “I’ll get around to it.”

  God. Stone never just gets around to it when it’s regarding our parents.

  But he just needs time. He just needs time.

  And his friends. “Was Gunner with you?”

  “No. He said he had some shit to take care of.” He climbs the stairs to the mudroom, Daisy trotting behind him.

  “Did Gunner say anything about…me and him?”

  Stone shakes his head. “Not a thing.”

  He heads inside—and the screen door slams shut in Daisy’s face. She barks at the door, tail wagging, before looking over at me, where I’m standing numb, rubbing my arms, feeling so damn cold.

  Gunner didn’t say anything to him about me. But that doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t mean Gunner and I are going back to how we were.

  I don’t know how we could ever go back. I’m not just a friend’s sister. But my brother—his friend—is broken.

  And nothing’s simple anymore.

  36

  Gunner

  Inside Chef’s darkened living room, I wait until the big fucker closes his front door before putting two bullets into his knees. The silenced shots sound like an old woman’s hacking cough. He crashes to the linoleum floor in the entryway. My boot cracks across his jaw, quieting his agonized scream.

  His eyes roll back.

  By the time he comes to, I’ve got him taped to a chair and his mouth sealed shut. I don’t need him to tell me anything. I’m the only one who’ll be talking.

  I press the end of the barrel against his forehead and show him the picture of Anna taped and crying. I sent it to myself before deleting it from Stone’s phone—and only kept the picture for this purpose alone. “I just want to make sure you know what this is for,” I tell him. “You remember her?”

  It takes a moment before recognition sharpens his eyes—as if h
e’s taken so many of these pictures that he has to think it through. Finally he nods.

  “Good,” I say and pull the trigger.

  The house burns like the stables did. Blowback’s waiting outside.

  I delete the picture from my phone, then mount my bike. Unscrewing the silencer from the gun’s barrel, I toss the weapon to Blowback. He’ll dispose of it better than I ever could.

  “You heading home?” I ask him.

  “I’m thinking about having a conversation with Paladin first,” he says like he’s just going to talk to the man instead of whatever he’s really got planned. “You going back now?”

  “Not yet,” I say and fire up my engine.

  I’ve got two more things to take care of first. One for me.

  One for Anna.

  37

  Anna

  Sunday night, I’m back at the Wolf Den. It’s not my usual shift—this is typically the night I have off and when Jenny, Lily, and I go out to dinner—but I need to keep busy, and Jenny’s still in a rough spot. Not ready to go out, not so soon after losing her dad. But we’ll slowly get her there again.

  And we’ll get Stone where he needs to be, too.

  “Hey.” Her pale blond hair a little longer than the last time I saw her—too long to be called a buzzcut anymore—Lily bellies up to the bar. “Good to see you back.”

  “When did you miss seeing me here?” I raise my brows. “You were gone, too.”

  With a narrowing of her gray eyes, her gorgeous face instantly turns dangerously mean. “Don’t fuck with me. I can’t take this kind of emotional shit. So tell me right now—are we okay, you and me? Because if not, we’re going to hash it out, right now.”

  I blink in absolute confusion before it hits me. Ohhhh. Because I was so pissed at her the last time I saw her—because she hadn’t told me about Stone being missing, either.