Vengeance (Steel Kings MC Book 3)

by Jamie Garrett

  Vengeance

  Jamie Garrett

  Copyright and Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jamie Garrett

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. All requests should be forwarded to jamie@jamiegarrett.com.

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  Cover design by The Final Wrap.

  Editing by Jennifer Harshman, Harshman Services.

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  Contents

  1. Doc

  2. Ava

  3. Doc

  4. Doc

  5. Ava

  6. Doc

  7. Ava

  8. Doc

  9. Ava

  10. Doc

  11. Ava

  12. Doc

  13. Doc

  14. Ava

  15. Doc

  16. Ava

  17. Doc

  18. Ava

  19. Doc

  20. Ava

  21. Doc

  22. Doc

  23. Doc

  24. Ava

  25. Doc

  26. Doc

  27. Ava

  28. Doc

  Also by Jamie Garrett

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Doc

  Glass shattered behind Doc’s head as the window behind him exploded. He lifted his hands to instinctively cover his head, and for the smallest of seconds, he couldn’t work out what the hell had caused parts of the Steel Kings’ clubhouse to land on his head. Another second ticked by, and the reason was suddenly obvious as the punch of automatic gunfire reached his ears.

  He jerked upward, his gaze quickly sweeping the room, making sure Old Maggie and the sweet butts weren’t in the room. The bare skin of his arms stung like a thousand little needles were piercing his flesh. He didn’t give a damn. The breath held in his lungs eeked out just enough to keep him moving once he knew the women weren’t there. Church had just let out, and so they were likely off together, waiting for the men to be done, and if he knew Old Maggie, prepping a meal to keep her boys satisfied after the long session.

  Levi had held court for what had felt like forever, discussing what they’d uncovered about the Joker’s operations in the weeks that had passed since rescuing Stacey, the sister of Stick’s old lady. Vlad had been worried about retaliation. Now as the popping of gunfire sounded seconds before plasterboard on the other side of the room joined the glass covering the floor . . . well, it looked like they didn’t have to worry about when that was coming anymore.

  Jokers. It had to be. No one else would have the balls to invade the Kings’ land, let alone pepper their clubhouse with what seemed like a never-ending supply of bullets. Chops skidded past him, slipping on the floor as he ran to take cover behind the bar, nearly taking out Tex, who was right on his heels. Doc barely had a second to make sure the older member hadn’t hurt himself falling before Seth and Grady appeared out of the meeting room, Grady already holding up his weapon and shooting blindly back through the walls as Seth bolted for the back room. Just about every King was armed when they went out on rides, Doc included, despite how much the gun still never felt quite right in his hand. Most were carrying concealed full-time, with a permit or not, but they would be no match for the fully automatic submachine gun punching a new air-conditioning system into the clubhouse walls.

  Seth threw open cabinets lining the back walls of the clubhouse and appeared with much better firepower, shoving one in Grady’s hands before moving on to distribute them quickly among the men scattered about the room. Thank God no one had found the time to go upstairs or out back before the assholes had arrived, or they would be looking at definite casualties. As far as Connor could tell, everyone was present and accounted for, assuming he was right about Old Maggie gathering up the women of the club elsewhere while church was in session. He hoped he was, because if anyone harmed on hair on anyone under the Steel Kings’ protection, he would see to it that the perpetrator died—slowly and very, very painfully. A grim smile pulled on the corner of his mouth. Med school wasn’t just for learning how to fix someone up.

  That said, he wouldn’t even get the chance if Callie was hurt. Given the time, she was likely still at work, but Doc recognized the glint in Grady’s eyes when Seth shoved the MP5 into his hand. It was as if their sergeant at arms was welcoming an old friend. Merc may have come a long way since he’d first joined the club, not long after Doc had come along, but there was still a hardness in his gaze. It was something Doc was grateful for today—Grady’s temper and his accuracy. The man could drop a target with a single bullet from more than a mile away. Today, however, their quarry was a lot closer.

  Seth finished his rounds at Doc’s feet, squatting beside him before reaching behind him and handing Doc a Glock pistol. Seth flashed him a quick grin. “Think that’s more your speed, Doc. Stay here, and make sure everyone’s safe.” He turned, nestling the butt of his weapon against his shoulder, ready to fire. “Time Merc and I showed these guys what Kings are made of.” He made a series of hand gestures with Grady, who turned and headed up the stairs toward Levi’s office. Likely Merc was looking for the best vantage point to take out those still circling.

  Damn, it felt like an eon had passed since the glass had shattered over his head, but in reality, it had likely been a minute or two, three at the most. The room had gone quieter after the initial barrage, but Doc was under no illusions that hell wasn’t still waiting for them right outside the clubhouse doors. The Jokers were probably sitting outside, just waiting for one of them to open the door, where they could be picked off one by one. How long would they have to wait before the fuckers got bored and forced their way inside?

  He looked over to Seth, who must have had the same idea as he called out. “Shakespeare! Secure the front door. I’m going to do the same out back.” As swiftly as he’d arrived, Seth was on his feet and moving again. Doc stood, holding the G23 nestled in his hands. He’d seen the aftermath of what they could do to the human body, especially with the larger caliber.

  Standing there in their clubhouse, their home, charged by their VP with helping secure it against their enemy, he found it difficult to care what firing his weapon might do to the body of a Joker. Shakespeare was already at the door, moving furniture to barricade the heavy doors, when Doc started moving to help. When it happened, it almost came as a surprise. There was a small tinkle of falling glass and a quiet whoosh sound before Shakespeare let out a cry and hit the floor, his hand wrapping around his upper arm as blood decorated the entryway wall.

  “Shit!” Shoving the gun into the back of his pants, Doc darted forward, any thought of the Joker who had just taken out Shakespeare gone. His brother in arms needed him, help that he was uniquely qualified to provide, and that was a
ll that mattered. He fell to his knees in front of Shakespeare, forgoing checking the wound. Shakespeare had a tight grip on it, and it was more important to get him out of shooting range. Doc planted his feet against the floor, cursing as he slipped in blood that had pooled on the floor. Damn it! He didn’t have the time to check whether it was just a flesh wound or if Shakespeare was bleeding to death on the clubroom floor. Not until he got him a safe distance away.

  He jerked at movement in his peripheral vision, his heart rate slowing back to only overtime when Tex slid into view. Doc nodded, and Tex scooped up Shakespeare’s legs, allowing Doc to grab under the man’s arms. Shakespeare cursed loudly when Doc’s movements jostled his arm. That was good. He was awake and was feeling pain. It sucked for Shakespeare right now, but it was a damn good sign. Flesh wounds could bleed like a son of a bitch, but he’d be alright, if they could just take care of the bastards outside so Doc could take a proper look. A volley of shots sounded overhead, followed by the sound of tires squealing. It sounded like Grady had gotten their revenge for them.

  Tex moved around the corner of the entryway and carried Shakespeare back behind the bar. Finally in a spot of somewhat safety, Doc peeled Shakespeare’s bloody fingers off his arm.

  “Fuck, man! It fucking hurts!”

  Doc couldn’t help his grin at Shakespeare’s words. It felt damn good to hear his brother’s voice so lively, despite the pain he must be in.

  “Hold still, you ass.” He grabbed a cloth from behind the bar and mopped up the wound site. He’d been right. A long, angry gash lay across Shakespeare’s left arm. It was still weeping blood, but not enough to risk hypovolemic shock, and the man was conscious and angry.

  Doc grabbed a clean bar towel and pressed it against the wound, ignoring yet more curses that fell from Shakespeare’s lips. Doc was well supplied for his makeshift surgery downstairs by his contact at the local hospital, but anesthetic was sometimes short on supply, and some of the more masochistic bastards refused to use it unless their intestines were practically falling onto Doc’s floor. He’d long ago grown immune to the gritted teeth and swearing that went on by the club members who needed his attention. “Hold that there until I come back.”

  Shakespeare nodded as Chops scooted up beside him. “Go,” the older man said, nodding at Doc and Tex. “I’ll make sure the bugger doesn’t do anything stupid.”

  Right. Time to finish what Shakespeare had started. Connor stood, gun at the ready again as he moved toward the front door. He’d seen no sign of Seth since he’d taken off for the back, but the sound of gunfire told him their VP was waging his own war. It was up to him and Tex to keep the front clear.

  Reaching the corner wall, he pressed himself tight against it, meeting Tex’s gaze before he turned swiftly, sweeping the hall. It was empty. Either the Jokers hadn’t managed to breach their defenses yet, or Sticks was keeping them busy at the back. Knowing Seth, his combined with Grady’s efforts upstairs might just be enough to keep them all alive.

  He’d reached the front of the hall and was about to step over the puddle of Shakespeare’s blood when a sound reached his ears through the chaos—sirens. The noise, welcome or not, was quickly joined by the sound of multiple motorcycles revving and then riding away, the squeals of a couple of tires on the concrete parking lot out the front of the club joining in.

  Doc’s hands fell to his sides as he sucked in a breath, then another, before Grady came thundering down the stairs, Levi following closely behind. “They’re gone!” Merc called. “Cowards ran like chickens when I picked a couple of them off, and the cops did the rest.”

  “Everyone safe, Doc?” Their president’s voice caught his attention and Doc looked up to meet Levi’s gaze.

  He nodded. “Shakespeare’s got himself a gash on his shoulder, but everyone else is fine, I think.” He sucked in another breath. “We know about the women yet?”

  Grady laid a hand on his shoulder, no doubt well aware of Connor’s weakness when it came to protecting the fairer sex. “They’re all fine, Doc. Callie called me a few minutes ago. Old Maggie had them down at a local farmers’ market, enjoying a day out. Thank God.”

  Doc couldn’t agree more. It was likely the Jokers had chosen now to attack, when they were all inside the building attending church, but he was damn glad the same reason meant the women had cleared out for the day. It had kept them safe. Levi might be trying to keep a lid on the conflict between them and the Jokers, but if any of the women had been injured, there would have been hell to pay. There probably would be anyway, now that the assholes had ambushed the Kings on their home turf. No way could the president take that without any sort of retaliation. The only question was, when?

  At the grim look on Levi’s face, it wouldn’t be long.

  2

  Ava

  Ava pushed to her feet, dropping the tablet on the table in the lounge, and sprinted to the double automatic doors at the entrance to the ER. So much for her quiet day. It had started off easy enough, pleasant even. She’d dropped her daughter, Emily, at their neighbor’s house, and then driven to her first shift at Memorial. The morning had stayed easy, quiet—a couple of sore throats, stitches for a kitchen incident. Even the guy who vomited what looked like a week’s worth of food was easy compared to what was currently heading her way.

  Paramedics pushed a gurney holding a writhing patient. She could see the blood covering the sheets from where she stood, as well as hear her new patient cursing a blue streak. “Fuck, man. Give me something for the fucking pain.” She was surprised he was still conscious, given the blood loss, but some stubborn ones could hang on through remarkable injuries. It looked like this one was going to be a handful, though.

  Her gaze slid sideways and she caught the eye of the security guard currently on duty, watching with relief as he picked up his radio from his shoulder holster and spoke into it. This was definitely not her first rodeo, but she’d only been working at Memorial for the grand total of five hours and she was still learning which groups or gangs she needed to watch out for in her new town. She’d be glad to have someone watching out for all blowback while she treated the guy.

  “One entrance wound,” the paramedic called out as they wheeled the guy into the closest vacant station, lifting the patient onto the bed. “He’s complaining of shortness of breath, and blood pressure’s low.” She was quickly surrounded by other stuff, moving quickly to hook the guy up to monitors and hang fluids. Two large-bore IVs had been added in the field by the paramedics, trying desperately to get his fluids up on the trip to the hospital.

  Ava snapped on fresh gloves and grabbed a face shield, moving swiftly to the man’s bedside. First things first. She had to find the exit wound and make sure that was all there was. “Okay, let’s roll him.” She stood at the man’s head, supporting his neck, and couldn’t hold back her sharp intake of breath when the man was tilted to his side and his jacket came into full view. The sleeves cut off, she’d barely noticed it at first, but now she could see the entire thing. Covered in blood, a leather cut covered the man’s back, emblazoned with a laughing court jester. A chill ran down the back of her neck, but Ava forced it back. She might be new in town, but she’d heard about the Jokers. A nurse had told her about them the moment her feet hit the ER floor. A biker gang, they terrorized both citizens and law enforcement alike. It seemed they were almost untouchable, and now one of them was in her ER.

  What the hell was he doing in her ER? Surely they knew she’d have to report the gunshot wound. Why would they risk it? Because the man was going to die without immediate help. It was the only explanation—why a one-percenters biker gang would risk attending a local ER. And the guy had to land squarely in her lap. Great. She could only hope she’d still be out of there in time to eat dinner with Emily and forget about this whole mess.

  There! The exit wound, a hell of a lot messier than the neat hole drilled in his chest, was sitting near the TL junction. God, that was going to make a hell of a mess, if he managed to
survive at all. The man groaned as they rolled him back onto his back. A nurse barely had time to yell out, “Pulse is thready” before the biker’s eyes rolled back into his head and multiple monitors started beeping in a rapid tattoo.

  “I need to intubate, now!” Ava grabbed at the laryngoscope and quickly stripped it of the sterile covering, positioning it and then passing the tube down the man’s throat. She’d barely secured his airway when a colleague, Dr. Reed, lifted his stethoscope from the patient’s chest.

  “We’ve got diminished breath sounds on the right side. He needs a chest tube.”

  Behind her, a nurse rushed to gather the equipment, while another spoke on the phone. “We need eight, no, ten units of O neg in the ER, stat.”

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  As the chest tube was secured, the blood arrived. Ava dodged around the rapidly increasing blood pools on the floor, grabbing a pint. “Run these wide open.”

  Dr. Reed stepped back into the field, listening again. He looked up and met Ava’s gaze, his expression grim. “Ever performed an emergency thoracotomy in the ER, Dr. Casey?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could utter a single word, a long, unbroken beep sounded from the cardiac monitor. Flatline. “Starting compressions,” she called out, leaning forward and placing her hands on the man’s chest, close enough to the entrance wound to make her shudder. She had to forget what the man was wearing.