Running Blind

by SE Jakes

  “Friend of Bram’s. Is this Sweet?”

  “How do I know who the fuck you are?” Sweet asked.

  “I know he took you out of Havoc and left you at the diner on Route 6. Tied you to the seat. I know you left him your knife and gun. How’s that?”

  That, for now, bought the man on the other end of the phone validity. “Your name.”

  “Dozer. Want to know where Bram is or not? Because if you’re not going to help him, I swear to fuck I’ll come there and take you apart.”

  Dozer’s tone was fierce. Sweet wanted to hang up but he forced himself to say, “We’ll take him to safety.”

  “He’s headed east on route 6, with Heathens on his ass.”

  “Can you be more specific about location?” Sweet asked.

  “Start driving and I’ll keep talking,” was Dozer’s answer.

  Three hours later, Bram had taken the Heathens following him on a wild ride, lost them (and made sure three bikes went down into a ditch off the side of the road) and now he was holed up in a safe house Dozer had pointed him to. It was really just a hunting shack in the middle of nowhere, but it had running water and electricity.

  He worked best in the dark, preparing dozens of incendiary devices that would blow when he called the Heathens and led them this way. He’d head out the back of the shack as the night blew the fuck up. From there? Who knew.

  Maybe he’d invade the Heathens compound—the Pagans too—to see if Linc was really and truly there. If he wasn’t . . .

  If he wasn’t, Bram was going to have to move along and save himself. And he resigned himself to that fact as the storm that’d been threatening all night rolled in, fast and furious. It would be over within the hour, so he settled himself into the cot in the meantime, to lie there in the dark and think about his options like he was a boy who’d gotten himself in trouble in school and needed to sit in the corner.

  Except back then, he didn’t have an entire life to rethink. Contemplating shit these days wasn’t for the weak. He hadn’t been perfect but his mistakes had been few and far between. He’d made his choices. The only thing he regretted was not trying harder with Linc, but hell, that wasn’t exactly under his control. Linc had a mind of his own.

  “Dammit, Linc—where the hell are you?” he asked out loud into the darkness and tried to imagine Linc’s future . . . and his own.

  What future? Because Bram wasn’t going to hang out at a biker compound for the rest of his life.

  But you’re not going back to the ATF either, are you?

  Granted, he could go back and fight for justice, for him and for other men Parisi screwed over, no doubt for the all-fucking-mighty dollar. Bram was sure he wasn’t the first, and he could try to make sure he was the last, on Parisi’s watch anyway. And maybe he’d do that, but then what—stick around and ride a desk? Keep doing undercover work until he was old and gray?

  Bram’s hand shook, mainly pain and some withdrawal, and he searched his pockets in hope there was something there to smooth the rough spots.

  Just a pack of cigarettes—and hell, better than nothing. He ignored the amount of time it took him to light the damned thing. Thanked his lucky stars he’d wired the place before this shit started.

  In the back of his mind, he was aware of the fact that this place could blow with him in it. That even if he tried to escape out the back at the perfect time, everything could catch too soon, trapping him. He’d placed the explosives precisely, but that didn’t mean they’d behave as such. They were as unpredictable as humans.

  He knew it. Should be waiting in the woods behind this shack but no, he was tempting fate by lying on the cot, starting at the ceiling, watching smoke curl like it was trying to touch Heaven.

  Good fucking luck. That was the closest he was getting.

  Dozer gave him Bram’s phone number, and Sweet hesitated before dialing, not wanting to drive him even further away. But he risked it . . . and wasn’t surprised when Bram actually picked up.

  “Do you need rescuing?” was Bram’s first question.

  Confident fucker. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

  “I’m good. Just stay at Havoc.”

  “Too late.”

  “Ah, come on. You don’t get it, Sweet,” Bram said tiredly.

  “Then tell me.” Sweet kept the phone to his ear as Tug drove the cage in the darkness. He hated the claustrophobia of the vehicle, but it was a necessary evil to bypass Heathens safely.

  “All I want to do is find Linc. End of story.”

  “You can’t do that alone.”

  “Bullshit I can’t.”

  Sweet sighed. “You need to let Havoc help you.”

  At that, Bram snorted. “Right. I fucking kidnapped you. I lied to you. You want my balls, the same way Heathens does—and I get it. You’ve got your club rules. I knew them and I broke them. I’m a big boy, Sweet. And I pay my own dues.”

  Bram hung up the phone. He’d sounded so goddamned calm and determined, a man prepared to go out with a bang.

  If Sweet knew him—and he figured that he did—Bram had booby-trapped his hiding spot to take as many Heathens to hell as he could. And then some.

  That made things all the more complicated for this rescue. If Linc were here, Sweet could pick his brain, find out how Bram’s mind worked.

  But Linc wasn’t . . . and Sweet needed to trust himself that he did indeed know how Bram’s mind worked.

  He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes for a long moment.

  When he opened them, he dialed Vann’s number.

  “Vann? You sure he called Vann?” Gypsy asked when the trucks were parked at the bottom of the long hill, a mile from the shack Bram was holed up in.

  “He called Vann,” Tug confirmed.

  “I called Vann,” Sweet said to stop the bullshit game of WTF telephone currently happening right in front of his motherfucking face.

  “Feeling suicidal?” Gypsy asked.

  “No, but I’m guessing you are,” Sweet shot back.

  Gypsy looked completely unworried about Sweet’s warning, but Sweet knew Gypsy would back him. And when Vann—a rogue member of Havoc MC who Sweet called in for very special occasions—rounded the corner silently and had probably been standing there listening to them say his name for the past five minutes, all Gypsy said was, “I told you he was a fuckin’ lunatic.”

  “Obviously you’re in need of a fucking lunatic, so it’s a good thing I was free tonight.” Vann’s eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, an almost unnatural amber color that threw both friends and enemies off. They made him look crazy. Unbalanced.

  Of course, he was, so the eyes had it. Sweet cut directly to the chase. “Got a former military guy ready to go down with the ship—and take a whole boatload of Heathens with him.”

  “You want me to take out the traps so you can save the Heathens?” Vann asked.

  Asshole knew exactly what Sweet was asking, so he wrapped his hand around Vann’s throat and murmured, “Fucking with me now’s a bad idea. You’re alive because of my goodwill. Don’t forget it.”

  Vann’s eyes stared through him. When Sweet eased off, Vann said, “I’ll get your boy out.”

  “Then go.”

  “Need help?” Tug asked. He and Vann had worked together once before—successfully, since Tug was still alive. Vann gave a nod and he and Tug disappeared into the darkness.

  “Now that’s a team from hell,” Gypsy remarked.

  “And night’s like these are exactly why you need that.”

  “Guy knows what he’s doing. Wouldn’t mind meeting him,” Vann said three hours later as all the men converged together by the road, half a mile from where Bram was still holed up. No one else had come by—other Havoc members were busy throwing Heathens off the trail and protecting the compound.

  Sweet crossed his arms. “You sure it’s cleaned up?”

  “Sure. I’m guessing you want to take him and then have me rerig everything.”
<
br />   “Yeah. Need me to leave Tug with you?”

  Vann gave a hard shake of his head but clapped Tug on the shoulder. “Nope. Dismantling’s the hard part. I can fix it back in a third of the time. And I’ll wait around to watch the bodies blow.”

  “Good. I’ll go in alone. Tug, keep watch. I’ll call you in first if things go bad.”

  Tug nodded silently.

  Vann offered, “You should make sure this guy doesn’t shoot you again, though. Unless that’s foreplay to you,” with a smile.

  “Get the fuck out of my face, Vann,” Sweet snarled.

  Vann snorted but complied, and Sweet marched determinedly along the path that Vann and Tug had just walked, climbing the steep hill up to the safe house that Bram had made his own.

  It was a simple hunting shack that had been in these parts forever. But Sweet bet it had never been used as a death trap.

  Surrounded. Taken down. At first, he fought, but there were far too many of them, armed with pipes and chains, and he concentrated on curling into a ball when the pain got too fierce, trying to protect his head from the swift kick coming his way . . .

  Shit. Bram shook his head in the darkness of the woods he’d finally walked out into. Now wasn’t the time for a flashback of his beating—that could easily bring on a panic attack. Now was the time to watch Heathens blow the fuck up. And judging by the sounds of bikes coming closer, that would happen soon.

  He smoked cigarette after cigarette in an effort to forget the pain inhabiting every inch of his body. Because working through it was getting him a step closer to Linc.

  He’d head to the Heathens clubhouse after this. It wasn’t like he thought Linc was being held there. No, the Heathens had plenty of places they held the people they kidnapped—and Bram hadn’t been privy to any of those. But storming the clubhouse when the Heathens were in a time of confusion might get him somewhere . . .

  Like possibly dead. But a plan was a plan. He was moving forward. Better to burn out than fade away and all that shit.

  He stared out into the darkness, and then, after several more minutes, he froze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Because he suddenly knew that he wasn’t alone out here. “I told you not to come.”

  “I don’t take orders from anyone,” was Sweet’s response.

  Bram turned to look directly into Sweet’s eyes, and there was no way the guy could’ve gotten in here, never mind up the hill, without being blown to fucking pieces. “Did you fuck with my traps?”

  “Yes. And now they’re reset.” As Sweet spoke, the sound of bikes grew closer.

  “Is that Havoc?”

  “Havoc is safely tucked away, ready to watch the fireworks.”

  “You’re not taking credit for it,” Bram said tightly.

  “Yeah, we are, or you’re not living long enough to find your brother.”

  Those were the last words Bram heard before the area thirty feet from them began to blow to high hell, and he stared, mesmerized by the hot flames that came just close enough to remind him that he’d taken down some evil bastards.

  With pleasure. Burn now, burn forever.

  Who’s the dead man walking now?

  You still are, he reminded himself as the flames began to burn out. Soon the death toll would be exposed, the familiar sirens would blare, and he had to move before the police got here.

  “You’re going to come with me, Bram.”

  It was then that Bram realized Sweet had taken his gun and knife off him while he’d been caught up in watching the explosions.

  “We’ve proven that we can each overpower the other, given the right circumstances,” Sweet started. “So given that we’re equally matched, maybe calling a truce and dealing with this shit together makes sense.”

  Bram groaned inwardly, his head throbbing. Because yeah, he could overpower Sweet, but he couldn’t handle another chase tonight. Not with the police. “Fuck.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” Sweet added.

  “How’d you find me?”

  Sweet shrugged. “You’ve got your secrets, I’ve got mine.”

  Bram was about to say, You know mine, but Sweet didn’t. Not really. Not all. “I want to go to Heathens clubhouse.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Sweet—”

  “Bram, I have men there, checking things out. If they find anything—”

  “I don’t trust Havoc,” Bram bit out.

  “I know that. But you have to—for Linc’s sake.”

  “Load of bullshit,” Bram muttered, but he still let Sweet lead him through the woods in the dark and into a small clearing where a van waited for them. Filled with friendly Havoc members, he thought wryly, but to his surprise, the van was empty.

  He got into the passenger’s seat and let Sweet drive them away from the wreckage.

  It was a mistake. He knew it and he’d still gotten into the truck because the choices facing him were equally deadly. It was the choice of who he’d rather kill him, Havoc or Heathens.

  Havoc might show some mercy, if for no other reason than Linc and Rush. Then again, dead was dead.

  “We’re going to take the long was around,” Sweet told him. “Head through a drive-through for an alibi.”

  “I’m guessing they’ll fix the time stamp,” Bram said and got a curt nod in response. “And then where’re you taking me?”

  Sweet frowned like he was crazy to ask that question. “Back to Havoc.”

  Bram barely had the strength to glare at him. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right? First, there’s the small matter of someone in your club trying to kill me with a roofie—”

  “It wasn’t Havoc.”

  “How convenient,” Bram said dryly. “Still, I kidnapped Havoc’s president, I’m a former Heathen probie, and I’m going to waltz back in there for Havoc to keep me safe.”

  “You’re looking at Havoc,” Sweet reminded him. “And it was noted that you saved me.”

  “I shot you.”

  Sweet pulled over to the side of the road and focused on Bram. “Grazed. And it’s not the best time to remind me, unless you really do want to die.”

  Bram leaned in across the middle partition and paused before he put a light finger on the base of Sweet’s throat. “Remember—we’re only equal because of those fucking drugs. Otherwise . . .”

  “I could take you without blinking,” Sweet growled.

  Bram gave him a slight smile. “Keep on believing that, okay?” And then he cupped the back of Sweet’s neck and yanked him in for a hard kiss before settling back into his seat.

  Sweet put the car into gear and they drove in silence for a while, until they drove through the fast food window and ordered. Bram didn’t want to eat but he knew he had to. Wished for the thousandth time he had pain pills on him.

  “You’re hurting,” Sweet said as they got back onto the road and Bram dug into the bag of food.

  “We’ve all got our problems.”

  Sweet gave a stuttered laugh. “And yours is being unable to accept help.”

  Because you don’t know anything about me. Because I’m so fucked up. Because I’m the law, and when you find out, you’ll hate me and kill me, maybe not in that order.

  Bram swallowed hard. “By help, you’re talking protection. Havoc’s protection. And I’ve already had a taste of what that entails.”

  “I don’t give a shit. Your choices are in my hands now,” Sweet told him. “Now, tell me about your friend.”

  Bram’s stomach tightened. “Who’s that?”

  “The one who told me where you were. How’d you meet? I’m guessing he was Army too.”

  Yeah, Sweet’s tone was too fucking sarcastically innocent, and Bram thought briefly about taking the wheel from Sweet and running them off the road . . . but he assumed that Sweet was being tailed by other Havoc members. “Yes.”

  “That all?”

  “He’s got my back.”

  “Right. He a Heathen too? Or are
you both just spies for them?”

  Shit. Having Sweet think he was a spy for the Heathens was marginally worse than admitting he was ATF. He ran his options. He could overpower Sweet, who’d made a tactically stupid decision to drive and have Bram alone with him in the truck. But escape wouldn’t be easy. And killing Sweet? Not on his to-do list. It made him ache to just think about it . . . and it worried him that he felt that way. “I’ve got to tell you something.”

  Sweet nodded, like he’d expected this. Then he pulled off road, and Bram watched the bikes he’d suspected were there come into view and circle back to guard them. “They’re quiet—you guys have different kinds of bikes?”

  Sweet shrugged. “Sometimes stealth is required. I’m guessing you know all about that. Now go ahead, Bram. Tell me about the Heathens. Tell me how they put you up to this. Tell me about how you, your friend, and your brother have been playing us.”

  “No, we haven’t. My friend and Linc have nothing to do with the Heathens.”

  “So it’s just you.”

  “Sweet, I’m undercover ATF.” The words came out in an easy rush and relief swept him. No more secrets.

  No more cover.

  Most likely, no more breathing either.

  “You’re either truly motherfucking stupid or you think I am,” Sweet growled, and this time, Bram accepted the gun to his head with all the grace his exhaustion would allow.

  Because death wish. “Neither.”

  “I don’t believe this shit.”

  “I didn’t come here for anything or anyone except Linc. That’s my only goddamned interest.”

  “Right. I’ll believe you because you’ve been so truthful.”

  “And if I’d shared this up front? What? You’d have treated me worse than the Heathens did. And maybe Linc too.”

  “Is Linc ATF too?” Sweet demanded.

  “No. Former Army but definitely not a fed.”

  “Not a snitch working for a fed?” Sweet asked. “Maybe you and Linc planned this so you could come in and cozy up.”

  “I’ve been trying to fucking leave so I don’t pull Havoc into anything.”

  Sweet cocked the hammer on his gun, the sound echoing in Bram’s ears. “Too. Fucking. Late.”