by Callie Hart
They’re halfway to sober by the time six o’clock rolls around and it’s time for them to leave. Jamie briefs the rest of the Widow Makers, choosing a team to go with him on the run—Cade, naturally. Keeler. Carnie. And me.
There was no way on earth I was staying behind on this one. No way in hell. I was preparing for a heated, violent argument about me coming along, but then Jamie goes and surprises me by calling out my name anyway.
“Are you serious?” I ask. “You want me to come?”
He nods sternly. “You made it pretty clear that drugging you really isn’t an option anymore. And I know if I leave you behind here, you’re only going to wait until we’re gone and then follow us. Better if I have you by my side, where I can see you and keep you safe.”
“This is fucking bullshit!” At the back of the clubhouse, Shay rockets to her feet. “I’ve been a member of this club for nearly six years now. I’m one of the best marksmen the club has, and I can fight just as well as anyone else. Why the fuck haven’t I been called up?”
Jamie sighs heavily. “This is going to be like neurosurgery, Shay. You don’t do precision work with a hammer. You do it with tweezers and a microscope. If we go charging in there with a huge team of people, our cover will be blown immediately. We can’t afford to risk that.”
She shoots daggers at him, folding her arms across her chest. “Seems to me we’re taking a lot of risks these days. And all for the wrong reasons. What happened to helping the girls, huh? What happened to finding Cade’s sister? Seems to me, the club’s purpose has had a shift in direction over the past few months, and none of us were told about it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means the Widow Makers are nothing more than your hired help these days. You only call on us when you want us to protect her,” she says, stabbing a finger at me. “And now here we are, working with the Mexicans to go save her father. She has nothing to do with this club, Rebel. She’s not one of us. Why the hell should we be endangering our lives to fix her problems?”
Jamie’s furious. I’m furious, too, but nowhere near as outraged as he is. I can practically see the steam blowing from his ears. The thing about Jamie when he’s angry is that he doesn’t blow up or start screaming and shouting. He gets quiet, his movements more precise, his voice clipped and tight. All three of those things are happening now as he says, “You’re not going to be risking anything, Shay, because I didn’t call you up. And in case you missed it, Sophia is one of us. She’s a prospect. When she’s outside the walls of this compound, she’s wearing the same cut you wore when you prospected for us. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? I’ll tell you what I told you six months ago. If you don’t like the way things are being run, feel free to leave at any point. And feel free to leave your ink behind at the same goddamn time.”
I didn’t know what he meant the last time I heard Jamie tell Shay she could leave her ink, but I do now. You can’t just walk out on the club. Joining is a commitment and a responsibility. It’s something you have to take seriously, which is why the prospecting period is so long, aside from the fact that the other members need time to work out if you’re going to be a liability or not. So wanting to leave is a big deal. Shay will need to have the Widow Makers club emblem scoured from her back with fire or acid if she wants to pack up her shit and go. Some people try and cover the huge back piece with something else, but the work is never good enough; if that’s the route you want to go down, Jamie and Cade have to inspect the new ink, and nine times out of ten it won’t be acceptable. The club’s banner will still be all too clear, and they’ll take your skin anyway.
On the other side of the clubhouse, leaning against the bar, Julio starts to laugh. “Trouble in paradise, my friend? You can say whatever you like about my operation. My men aren’t dumb enough to question me like that. It would mean death for them, and they know it. Bad business, letting women play at big boy games. Haven’t I told you this before?”
Jamie doesn’t respond. He’s too busy burning holes in Shay’s head. “Do we have a serious problem here, or can we get on with the task at hand?” he demands.
“Whatever.” She turns her back on him. “Get on with your precious task at hand. I’ll be right here when you get back.” Sarcasm drips from her voice. She’s not happy, but then when is she ever? Cade shakes his head, rubbing his hands at his temples. The other members of the club are all looking to Jamie, waiting for him to tell them what to do next. Julio, Andreas and the rest of the Mexican crew file out of the clubhouse, all of them still smirking at the discord they just witnessed.
Five minutes later, the people Jamie called up including myself are all climbing on our motorcycles, watching Julio’s Humvee burn off into the settling dusk.
The skyline is a deep pink, tinged with burned orange—a smudged blur of color that looks like it was violently splashed across the desert. An ill portended prophecy perhaps. Those pinks and oranges will deepen to crimson before long, a brutal and bloody horizon, and all six of us will find ourselves riding toward it.
Cade and Carnie talk in hushes tones as Jamie stands beside my Ducati, checking and rechecking the clip of the Glock he’s holding in his hands. “Don’t hesitate. You see anyone you don’t recognize and you shoot. Have your gun up and ready at all times. Don’t leave my side. If shit goes bad, get the fuck out of the farmhouse and back to the bikes. Make your way back here, no matter what. We’ll all be following behind you.”
He wants me to turn and run at the first signs of trouble, but he has to know I won’t leave him. If shit goes bad, it means we all need to stand our ground and fight. I won’t be leaving if Cade or any of the other Widowers are hurt. And if he’s hurt? God, if he’s hurt, I’ll die before I get back on my bike and ride off into the darkness. He doesn’t need to hear me say this, though. He needs to hear me tell him I’ll do as he asks for his own peace of mind, so this is what I do.
“Of course. I will, if that’s what you want.”
He nods once, a hard, sharp, military nod. I think that’s who he needs to be right now: a soldier, and not my fiancé. After he hands me the Glock, he still cups my face in his hands and kisses me deeply, though. “Be careful,” he whispers. “I’ll never forgive you if you get yourself killed.”
“I’ll be dead so it won’t matter,” I say, smiling.
“I’ll shoot myself in the head and find you on the other side, just so I can kill you all over again, Sophia. Don’t even fucking joke about it, okay?” There’s worry in his eyes. I don’t like that. It’s dangerous. If he’s worrying about me, then he’s not focusing on what he has to do in order to get us through this. I want to say something about it, but in the end I don’t need to. Jamie steps back, head down, checking his own weapon, and when he looks back up at me, his eyes are cold, flinty, cool as ice. He’s done being Jamie. Rebel stands before me in all his savage glory, and I know without a doubt his head is back in the game.
“Okay,” he says, his eyes passing over me like he doesn’t really see me. “Let’s do this. Let’s ride.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SOPHIA
My father sat me down once when I was little and spoke to me about violence. Of course, him being an ex-preacher and a man of God, he quoted passages from the bible.
‘‘The Lord tests the righteous, but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.’
‘For we know him who said, “Vengeance is mine; I will repay.” And again, “The Lord will judge his people.’
‘Do not envy a man of violence and do not choose any of his ways.’
‘You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.’
He taught me to be forgiving and just. He taught me to be kind and to allow mercy into my heart. He told me that to pardon those who trespassed against me, just as it says in the Lord’s Prayer, was
one of the most righteous, Christian things I could ever do in this lifetime. I’m thinking about this as we stalk silently through the back fields toward Ramirez’s farmhouse, and I’m wondering what my father would say now if he was asked about vengeance. Would he still stay the hand of justice, choosing to absolve Ramirez for the things he may have done to him, or will he have had a change of heart? Maybe he’d like to pull the trigger himself when Ramirez’s head is blown off. Maybe he’d like to be the one holding the dagger that plunges into the cartel leader’s throat. I don’t know. I just can’t picture it.
“Five men upstairs,” Cade whispers. “Three downstairs that I can see.”
“Two to the rear of the house, too,” Rebel whispers back. “There has to be more. No way there are only ten people guarding this place. Carnie, skirt around to the front. Come back with a head count. See if Julio’s Humvee is parked up there yet, too.” It should be. Julio left a clear thirty minutes before we did, and we’ve had a tricky approach to the farmhouse, too, traversing at least a mile’s worth of uneven terrain in the dark to sneak up on the cartel from the rear. Carnie nods and then takes off into the inky darkness without saying a word. If he’s pissed about Shay not coming along on this run, he hasn’t said anything about it. He’s dressed in black, the same as the rest of us. The only flash of color I can see as he disappears from sight is the small patch of skin on the back of his neck. After a second that vanishes, too, and Carnie is gone. The four of us that remain crouch low to the ground, chins tucked into our chests, weapons primed and loaded in our hands. I feel like a fraud, holding onto the Glock like I know exactly what the hell I’m doing with it, when in actual fact I’ve only fired a weapon like it a couple of times.
I’ll make it work, though. I know enough to remove the safety, aim and fire the thing, and that’s really all I need to know right now.
Carnie doesn’t come back for a while, and Cade begins to get twitchy. He bounces up and down on the balls of his feet, pulling a face, probably in pain from the circulation cutting off to his lower body as we crouch. Rebel watches him, his right index finger moving slowly up and down as he caresses the slide of his gun. “What d’you think?” Rebel asks. “Too many of them?”
Cade exhales, studying the farmhouse. He shrugs one shoulder, pursing his lips. “Fucked if I know, man. You’re the one with the gut feelings about these things.”
Rebel looks back to the building, frowning at it slightly. “I don’t know this time. There are too many variables.” Carnie returns like a ghost, barely visible, parting the tall, wavering stalks of grass as he hurries back to the group. I’m praying for good news, but I can tell right away that he hasn’t seen anything to make him feel confident about this plan. In fact, he seems kind of spooked.
“There are so many cars up there,” he says, sinking down beside me. His body may very well be shoved up against mine, but it’s Rebel he’s talking to. “At least seven. Julio’s Hummer is there, but it’s blocked in. Ramirez obviously had someone barricade him in in case things go south. There are motorcycles up there, too, man. Three of them. Harleys. Expensive ones.”
“You recognize them?” Rebel asks.
Carnie shakes his head. “They’re not local to here, whoever they are.”
Rebel raises an eyebrow at Cade. “What club would align themselves with Ramirez?”
“None that I know of. Hector hates the clubs. He does everything he can to fuck them over.”
Rebel’s brows bank together; he looks deep in thought. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about outside involvement now. Julio’s expecting us to break up this little dinner party in less than thirty minutes, so we’d better get moving. We’ll stick to the original plan.”
“What about their escape route?” Keeler asks. “If their Hummer’s blocked in, they won’t be able to book it out of there when the first explosions go off.”
Cade makes a tsking sound between his teeth, shaking his head. “That’s not our problem. Julio’s a grown ass man. He’ll figure it out.”
“Exactly.” Rebel places a hand on Cade’s shoulder, fixing those cool blue eyes of his on his friend. “You good to go?”
“Sure am.”
“Okay. Go and lay the charges. We’ll give you ten minutes. After that we’ll head through the back door and lay ours. We’ll wait for your signal.”
Cade nods. “I’ll be right behind you.”
“Don’t stand on anything stupid,” Rebel whispers.
Grinning, Cade pops up from the ground, tightening the straps of the backpack he’s wearing. “You know me. I never put a foot wrong.” And then he’s gone.
Rebel shifts the backpack he’s wearing, too—it’s identical to the one Cade just vanished with, and its contents are the same: fifteen pounds of C4. I cringe at the idea that he’s carrying that amount of explosives on his back, but no one else seems overly concerned. I know next to nothing about materials like that. According to both Rebel, Cade and the internet, C4 is fairly stable until you prime it with an igniter. We won’t be doing that until the very last second, after we’ve gotten rid of Ramirez’s guards on the lower floor.
Ten minutes tick by slowly in reverse.
After what feels like forever, a car alarm starts wailing around the front of the building, high-pitched and ear-shatteringly loud. Rebel smirks, pulling back the slide on his gun. “That’s it,” he says. “That’s our cue. Come on.”
My heart is in my throat as he gets to his feet, still bent low at the waist, and begins to run toward the farmhouse. Carnie and Keeler are up and following in an instant, and weirdly enough, so am I. I don’t think twice. My palms are sweating, my blood pumping in my ears, but I’m not afraid. I definitely should be.
I would be if I was following anyone else into this nightmare, but following Rebel is different. I trust him. I believe in him. I love him. I will follow him until the ends of the earth if needs be.
“Hey! Hey! ¡detener! No te acerques más!” A loud shot rings out into the night, followed by a high, metallic zipping noise. I hunch down lower, still running, as a bullet rips through the air to my right, close to Carnie. Carnie swears under his breath, returning fire, but the report of his weapon is drowned out by a deafening, roaring sound that detonates somewhere around the other side of the building. A wall of light, sound and heat ripples past us, and twisted shards of metal rains down from the sky.
“Fuck.” Rebel dodges a piece of warped shrapnel. “Keep going! Keep running!”
Up ahead, the gunman who fired at us a second ago has his back turned on us, facing toward the house, obviously trying to figure out what the hell is going on. His body is lit up in silhouette, framed in black against the orange glow that’s spilling through the windows and the open backdoor of the farmhouse. Carnie takes advantage of the opportunity and fires his gun again, and this time he doesn’t miss. The guard jolts harshly, his arms rising in the air, and he lets out a strangled shout. He sags to his knees, his gun falling from his hands, and then topples forward into the grass.
We reach him just as Cade barrels around the side of the building. Rebel rounds on him, gun raised, ready to shoot, but then he sees who it is and turns away. He spins around just in time to catch another of Ramirez’s guards appearing in the doorway ahead of us.
The world is in chaos. Another explosion rattles the window frames of the building, so I don’t hear Rebel’s gun go off. I only see his arms kick back and then the guy’s head bursting like a watermelon as he tries to lift his own weapon too late. Blood and tiny fragments of bone shower Rebel and I, spattering our faces and our chests.
“Inside, inside, inside!” Cade hollers. “Move.”
Rebel’s already running; he jumps over the body of the man he just killed and sweeps his gun from left to right, scouring the room for further assailants. Keeler is right behind him, followed by Cade and then me, with Carnie bringing up the rear. “Find the door into the basement,” Rebel shouts back to us. “Cade, take Soph. Find her father.”
“No! I’m staying with—” A strong hand on my shoulder drags me sideways pulling me in the opposite direction Rebel heads off in, and Cade is in front of me, his face an inch away from mine. I want to slap him. My arm is half raised, my hand well on its way to making contact with his face, but Cade grabs hold of me by the wrist.
“You can’t go where he’s going, Sophia,” he says. “He’s about to descend into hell. You aren’t ready for that.”
“Fuck you! I need to go with him!”
Cade shakes his head quickly. “Do you want to get him killed? Is that what you want?”
“Of course not!”
“Then do as he says and come with me. We’ll do what we have to do, we’ll find your dad, and Jamie will do what he has to do, too.” His hold on my wrist increases to painful degrees. I’m about to argue further, but then I realize Rebel’s gone and a confusion of people are scrambling to get by one another up ahead, which can only spell certain death for me and Cade.
We’re in a large, well-stocked kitchen. This is the first time I’ve taken a beat to look around see where we are. To the left, the door to the pantry is wide open, revealing stacks and stacks of food, tinned goods, cleaning products, as well as two guns sitting abandoned on the edge of a shelf. To the right, a closed door with a heavy-duty padlock bolted to it. Straight ahead of us: chaos. No one seems to have noticed Cade and me hovering in the dark kitchen yet, but that won’t be the case for long. Through the melee of limbs and well-tailored suits ahead, I make out Julio Perez’s face, contorted into a rictus of rage. His cheeks are purple, his jowls shaking.
A gun goes off, followed by another and then another, and Cade yanks me to the side, to the right, toward the door with the padlock bolted to it. He holds up his gun and fires at the heavy Yale lock, and the thing shatters, falling to the floor. He opens the door, then, and grabs hold of me, pulling me to his side.