BRICK (Lords of Carnage MC)

by Daphne Loveling

  I reach up and yank him back by the hair, throwing him down onto the floor. His finger was on the trigger so it goes off, missing me by about a foot as the bullet lodges in the ceiling. I wrench the revolver out of his grasp, ignoring the yelp of pain as I bend his wrist back violently. Then I’m down on the floor, the gun in my hand, and I’m going to kill him with it eventually but right now I just want to beat on him, so I smash the handle against his face, again and again, enjoying the crunch of his nose as it breaks and the spurt of blood and the gurgling sound as he struggles to scream and breathe.

  “Gavin! No!”

  At first, her voice seems far away, almost like I’m dreaming it.

  “Gavin, please! Please, don’t kill him!” She’s down on the ground with me now, grabbing at my arm and trying to make me stop hitting him.

  I stop what I’m doing, putting a hand around his throat in a vise-like grip and look at her uncomprehendingly.

  “Please!” She’s panting, her eyes wide. “Don’t kill him!”

  “Why the hell not?” I manage to say through the fog of my rage.

  “I… I don’t want you to go to prison.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Please, please let him go!”

  “Who is he?” I demand.

  “His name is Devon,” she tells me. She’s pale, frightened. “He was the leader of the team I was on in Atlantic City.” Sydney glances at him, and then quickly away. “When I left, I didn’t tell him. I took some money that belonged to me and walked away. I thought he’d let me go, but…” She shakes her head. “Somehow he found out I was living here in Tanner Springs. He… he found my phone number, and texted me a couple of times, but I didn’t think…” A strangled sob breaks from her throat. Her hand goes to her face, and she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself. “I didn’t really think he would come for me.”

  If Sydney wanted to make an argument for me not killing him, that wasn’t it.

  “Please,” she whispers, as though she can read my thoughts.

  I look down at the hamburgered mess of the motherfucker’s face. He’s barely struggling right now, and I think it’s because he’s having trouble breathing.

  “I will kill you next time,” I tell him. “Know that. If you ever come back to this town again. If you ever come near her. Fuck, if you ever leave New Jersey. I will end you.”

  His eyes are wide and terrified. I ease up slightly on his windpipe.

  “Yes,” he gasps.

  I stand up, and for good measure land one good kick into his abdomen with my boot. He doubles over and begins to retch. Beside me, Sydney flinches.

  “Crawl your fucking ass out of here,” I spit. “If you’re not gone in ten seconds, get ready for another round.”

  Impassively, I watch as he claws at the floor and drags himself through the hallway and out the back door. I kick the cinder block away and the door shuts behind him.

  I come back to where Sydney is standing. She flings herself into my arms and begins to cry.

  “Oh, my God,” she sobs against my chest. “Gavin, thank God! He… he was going to…”

  “I know,” I murmur. “I saw what he was going to do.”

  “I never thought he’d… I mean, I thought he was just trying to scare me. I thought… I don’t know… that he’d get tired of it when I didn’t respond.”

  “And you never thought to tell me,” I say.

  “I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time,” she sighs. “I was going to tell you, but I didn’t want you to worry about me. I just thought you’d go into over-protective mode. I was going to wait until your club business stuff was over, so you could focus on that.”

  “And now, instead,” I continue, “I just have to worry about you lying to me.”

  “What? Oh, come on, Gavin!” she cries, pulling back to look up at me. “I didn’t lie to you! I just…” she stops, stricken. “I just…”

  “Didn’t tell me the truth,” I finish for her.

  “I was going to tell you” she half-wails. “But I didn’t want you to overreact!”

  “Over-fucking-react?” I yell in disbelief. “What exactly would have been overreacting about the fact that some ex-boyfriend of yours was going to try to kill you?”

  “I don’t think he would have killed me,” she protests weakly. “He just… wanted…” Her voice trails off, her lip trembling. “He…”

  I know exactly what he fucking wanted. The murderous rage is back, and I have to stop myself from storming out the back door and putting a bullet in his goddamn skull.

  The fury is so overwhelming that it almost feels like a physical force inside me, fighting to get out.

  Then, just like that, it’s gone.

  “I’ve been trying to keep you safe since we met,” I say. My voice sounds flat, and kind of far away. “I thought you were worth it. I fucking cared about you.” I look at her. “And you couldn’t even be bothered to tell me this. You couldn’t be bothered to let me in enough to know where the real threats were.”

  “It’s not like that at all!” she screams. “I was trying to protect you!”

  “I don’t need protecting, Sydney,” I say, detaching myself from her. “What I need is to be able to trust you. Which I can’t. Not anymore.”

  It feels like all the adrenaline has drained out of my body at once. Suddenly, I don’t feel anything but dead inside.

  Mechanically, I walk over to the back door and open it. That motherfucker Devon is long gone.

  “Get in your car,” I command.

  “Gavin, I —”

  “Get in your car!” I roar. “Now!”

  Frightened, she goes into her office, grabs her purse, and does as she’s told. I slam the door behind both of us.

  “Go home,” I tell her. “Lock the door.”

  “Gavin,” she says tentatively, tears in her eyes. “Are you… coming over?”

  “No.” I walk over to where I dumped my bike on the ground, and haul it upright. “We’re done, Sydney. That way, you don’t ever have to lie to me again.”

  She calls my name over the sound of my bike, but I don’t turn around.

  I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t be here anymore.

  34

  Brick

  It’s been a week since I walked out of Sydney’s coffee shop.

  I haven’t seen her. I haven’t responded to any of her texts.

  I’ve barely slept. Or eaten.

  I’ve drunk enough whiskey for a small army.

  I’ve only been back to the lake house once, for a change of clothes. I can’t be there right now. Sydney fucking ruined that place for me. It was the only place I really felt at home. My sanctuary.

  Now I’m thinking about selling it.

  Or burning it to the ground.

  I’ve not always had an easy time of it. My home life was shit when I was a kid. I got separated from my sister and put in foster care when I was eleven. I did a stint in juvie at sixteen. Joined the Marines at eighteen. I learned to live with very little in the way of possessions, or human contact, or family.

  But I don’t think I’ve ever felt as dead inside as I feel right now.

  The fucked up thing is, I’d opened my cold, atrophied heart up to Sydney more than I ever realized it. It was like I’d lived my whole life in black and white and shades of gray, and she gave me this glimpse into a world full of color, that was right there all the time, but I never knew it.

  I let myself hope it was real. Like a fucking pussy.

  And now I’m back in the black and white world. Only because of her, instead of just being reality, now it feels like hell.

  Tweak has been working hard, doing his magic, and he’s found the intel on where the Spiders’ clubhouse is. It’s on a dirt and gravel road several miles outside of town. No neighbors or other buildings around, well isolated from the main road.

  Tweak’s showing us photos of the clubhouse and area now, on a large screen against the far wall of the chapel. The clubhouse itself is a
pole building, probably about eight-thousand square feet, on a plot of land that looks to be a couple acres or so. A pitted gravel parking lot surrounds the building, and it’s large enough that it serves as an effective barrier to entry, because the complete absence of cover means anyone approaching the building from any side would be immediately noticed.

  “We’ve got video cams on the clubhouse and also on the gravel road,” he tells us. He clicks on his laptop to the surveillance footage streaming from the camera that’s trained on the clubhouse, so we can see what he’s talking about. The cam is positioned far away, as it has to be, but he zooms up onto the building as he talks until he gets a fairly decent image closer up. At the moment, there’s no sign of life. The building looks deserted except for some tire tracks made in the mud after a recent rain. “There are three loading bays on the other side of the building,” Tweak explains. “Most of the time they drive their vehicles inside, so there’s no evidence anyone’s there.”

  Tweak flips the screen to another camera, which shows a long gravel road with bushes and some tree cover on either side. “This is the only way in and out,” he explains. “That’s a plus for us. This camera is about a mile away from their clubhouse. Close enough that we’ll be able to get into position when we see from the other cam that they’re leaving, and far enough away that anyone outside the clubhouse won’t hear a scuffle unless there’s gunshots.”

  Angel snorts. “Those dumb fuckers did us a favor, choosing an out of the way hellhole with only one entry point.”

  “We’ve been keeping track of Black’s comings and goings,” Striker pipes up. “The bastard’s usually pretty well guarded, but every couple of days, he takes off with just a couple of men. We haven’t tracked where he goes yet, but we have noticed that when he’s on his own, he turns right onto the main highway, in the opposite direction of town.”

  “All right,” Rock mutters. “Easiest course of action is to ambush him with the least number of men, of course. What can you give me on when you think his next least guarded trip out might be?”

  “I’d be guessing Thursday,” Thorn says. “Failing that, Friday.”

  “All right.” Rock looks around. “Thursday. We head out, prepared to take out Black, and his two bodyguards if we have to. Brick, Ghost, Thorn, Gunner. You’re with me on bikes. Tweak, Sarge, Striker, Tank, you’ll take a van out, park on the main road and stay in contact in case we need backup.”

  I don’t glance over at Angel, but I know he’s pissed.

  Geno clears his throat. “The rest of us?” he asks.

  “I want all the brothers here at the MC,” Rock says. “Be prepared to take action. Be prepared for lockdown, if it comes to it. Angel’s in charge here while I’m gone.”

  For the first time since we started planning this, it occurs to me: if this goes south, Angel could end up president of the club. What we’re doing could land any of the five of us dead.

  And with Angel at the helm, the club will survive. No question.

  As much as I’ve questioned Rock’s decisions lately, and as pissed off as I know Angel is, I have to admit this is the right decision.

  “Church is adjourned,” Rock says. “Meet here on Thursday at oh seven-hundred. Be ready to rock and roll.”

  Two days later, the brothers are all assembled outside the clubhouse. I’m armed as much as I can comfortably be on the bike, with my Glock in a belt holster, three full clips in the left inside pocket of my cut, and a smaller profile Beretta in an ankle holster.

  The atmosphere among the brothers is tense, but also excited. These are all men who’ve never backed down from a fight. In spite of the danger, you’d almost think from looking at them that they were on their way to a party instead of potentially a bloodbath.

  I’ve killed before. I’ve killed enough men that I’d have to think about it if someone asked me how many. I’ve never had a taste for it, like some men get, but unlike some other men, I’ve never had a particular problem with it if it needs to be done. I don’t go into this run with any particular emotion, except grim determination to keep my brothers safe and accomplish our mission. One way or another, this is Black’s last day on earth.

  If it’s mine, too, then so be it.

  We take back roads and an out of the way route towards the Iron Spiders clubhouse, so it’s less likely someone will see us and tip them off. I keep my mind resolutely off Sydney as we ride, which is harder than it sounds. Even though I’m completely done with her, she’s been in my head fucking constantly since the last time I saw her. At night, when I manage to catch a rare couple of hours of sleep, it’s her I dream about. Sometimes, I’m sinking myself inside her, and it’s as real as if I’m actually there with her. And then I wake up in my apartment at the clubhouse, my cock as hard as iron, and I have to drink myself back to sleep so I won’t give in and stroke myself to completion with her name on my lips. During the day, I vacillate between yelling at her in my head and wishing I could turn back time and give her another chance to tell me the truth.

  Another chance to lie to me.

  To betray me.

  At least, I tell myself, this way I’m not worried about how Sydney will react if I die today. No one will go to her like I went to Tina Sims, to tell her I’m gone. She won’t be expected to pretend that it matters to her.

  Better to be alone. Better to be alone, like I’ve always been. For everyone’s sake.

  Two hours later, Rock, Ghost, Thorn, Gunner and I are all in place. In the van, Tweak, Sarge, Striker, and Tank are watching the main road and waiting instructions. Tweak’s monitoring the cameras and giving us updates.

  The wait is long. I smoke cigarette after cigarette, and try not to go out of my mind. Even in the Marines, the waiting before a battle was the part that always got to me. Eventually, my stomach starts to grumble, but I ignore it.

  Then, suddenly, we’re in motion.

  Tweak’s voice comes over my headset. “They’re just leaving the compound. Three bikes. The one in the front is Black.”

  “Get ready to play ball,” Ghost mutters, crouching into position.

  We hear them before we see them. A triangle of three bikes, with Black front and center. From my spot concealed in the brush, I take aim at the closest one to me. I know Rock and Ghost are trained on Black. On the other side of the road, Thorn and Gunner are sighting their target.

  When they’re in range, I wait just a little longer, to give us the best shot possible. Then:

  “Fire!” I yell.

  I hit my target square in the chest. The bike closest to me drops. The man on the other side sees him, and immediately guns his engine, accelerating quickly past us. The pop-pop of gunfire sounds over the surprised shouts of the Spiders and the roar of their three engines. I get ready to move, and watch as Black reaches back for his own gun but is hit before he can get to it. His bike wobbles, but he manages to stay on, until he’s hit again. He falls off backwards, the bike’s momentum carrying it forward another twenty feet or so before it tips.

  Rock is out of the bushes and on the road now, his gun aimed on the prone president of the Spiders. He fires three shots, then four, at Black, whose body jerks with every round. I get up and run toward him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

  “Come on,” I yell. “You’ve got him. We need to move, before the rest of them come.”

  We race toward our own bikes, concealed further up the road. As we run, I see that Thorn and Gunner are firing at the third Spider. One of them managed to get his rear tire, and he wobbles crazily as he tries to keep the bike from tipping, but it’s a losing battle. Another bullet hits his arm, and he shrieks and topples over. As I run past him, I take aim and fire a bullet into his chest.

  “Ghost! Thorn! Gunner! Move!” I shout. I’m almost at my bike now, and under the sounds of the downed motorcycles I can hear my brothers’ footsteps behind me. We don’t have much time now; it’s a sure bet the Spiders have heard the gunfire by now. We have to be gone down the main road, before th
ey get to Black.

  “We’re on our way,” I hear Rock yell to Tweak and the others over the headset. “Get ready to move. You take the alternate route back.”

  “Copy,” Tweak acknowledges. I reach my bike, fire it up, and gravel flies out from under my tires as I race toward the main road. Behind me, I hear new gunfire. I can’t tell whether it’s ours or theirs. Then, over the headset, I hear a cry of pain.

  “Fuck! Gunner!” I shout.

  “I’m hit,” he yells, “But I’m okay. I’ll be okay. Go!”

  “Where you hit, brother?” Sarge comes over the air.

  “Left thigh. I can ride like this. I’m good.”

  “Fuck,” grits Sarge. “Not for long. Get out on the main road. Turn right toward the van and follow us until we’re out of here. I’ll take your bike back. We’ll get you patched up best we can until we’re back at the clubhouse and Smiley can take care of you.”

  35

  Brick

  Ghost, Thorn, Rock, and I manage to get our asses out of there before the Spiders can come after us. I race back to Tanner Springs, now out of the range of headset contact with the van so I have no idea what Gunner’s status is. We get back to the clubhouse in record time, but of course the van isn’t there yet. I jump off the bike and immediately go find Smiley in the TV room.

  “Get your shit ready,” I tell him. “Gunner’s hit in the thigh.”