22. Women who say “I want a bad boy”
are clueless. What you need is a man who
will break someone’s face for you but
also make you breakfast in bed.
- #ZKK
Three days pass in no time, and before I can blink, we’re pulling our bikes to a stop not far from one of the Fists’ clubhouses. Odin remains on his motorcycle beside me. “Now we wait for the sign from Spider,” he says, repeating the plan we’ve gone over each day, so everyone remains on track. His cobalt irises glance around at everyone minus Viking, the NOMADS, and Saint. Viking and the NOMADS are all with Spider, and Saint is driving the dump truck, on his way to us.
Odin speaks louder over the cars passing us on the highway. “When Spider blows the other club up, Ares’ charter and ours will storm the Iron Fists clubs at the same time. That way it all happens at once, and there’s less chance of reinforcements getting to other clubs to fuck us up. Saint will be right behind us. Half of you load up in the back, and everyone be ready to fuck shit up. The NOMADS and the Prez will be meeting up with us coming from the other direction.”
Speaking of Saint, the beefy dump truck comes into view with his crazy ass hanging halfway out the window, flipping us the bird. The vehicle eventually pulls off the side of the road ten feet in front of us, and multiple kickstands hit the dirt. We’re tucked right behind a group of bushes alongside the road. It’ll be easy for us to get the hell out of here but also keep the waiting motorcycles hidden.
We decided that our bikes may be quicker and easier to hide if the cops show up. With a van, we risk a group of us getting popped and snatched up by the police. None of us want to have a shoot-out with the law or end up in jail. Another downfall of driving the van is if the Fists happen to muster up some backup, they could easily catch and kill us in one van.
Patting my chest, I reassure myself my vest is securely strapped on. I can feel the warmth but smoothing my fingers over it helps my mind catch on that shit’s about to get real. We’ve spoken about it over the past few days, working out times and places, all the fine details, that sort of shit. This type of thing always seems surreal until it’s actually happening.
Nightmare, Odin, and I remain on our bikes as Sinner, Blaze, Chaos, and Torch dismount. Blaze and Torch each take out a small glass vile filled with white powder and put it to their nostrils. Snorting up a deep inhale of powder, their eyes slam closed with the impact. A few beats pass as the drug hits them then they’re all piling into the back of the massive truck.
I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with what’s about to go down. Various brothers took a few shots of moonshine before we left as well. I, on the other hand, strapped on my bulletproof vest. I need to be clearheaded for this; I don’t intend to die today.
The three of us riding are the biggest here other than the NOMADS, so it’ll be easier if we approach the compound on our bikes. The smaller guys need more of the protection of the vehicle. Not saying they can’t hold their own, but Nightmare, Odin, and I could probably take down a small army just the three of us. Viking tried to make Odin stay back in case anything happened to him. He’d need to step up as the new Prez, but O wasn’t hearing it.
“Here we go.” Odin blows out a breath, eyes trained to the sky.
“We’ve waited long enough,” Nightmare growls and flicks open a purple switchblade. “I have a promise to keep.”
An explosion rattles the ground, a smoke cloud rising toward the clouds, and the truck ahead of us lurches forward. The guys in the back are most likely holding on for dear life, so they don’t show up with broken bones before the fight begins. Rocks spew in their wake and our engines thunder to life. The three of us move quickly to tuck in behind the brothers.
We get one chance to make our surprise entrance; it has to go off without a hitch. The other club will already be wondering what the hell’s going on with the loud noise. With any luck, they’ll think it was weather related, but I’m not holding my breath on that one. Our bikes lurch forward as we attempt to keep speed with Saint. The fucker has a lead foot, even in a heavy-ass truck.
I take up the rear. On a mission, we still don’t break formation. I can’t help but send up a prayer that God be on my side today. Chevelle’s become too important to me. I don’t want to leave her so quickly. I need more time in this life with her.
As we approach the electric chain-link fence, I brush the thoughts away. My mind chides myself for being a pussy. I need to harness my anger and get some payback for these assholes trying to hurt Chevy. I have to make it safer for her so she can do what she loves.
Hopefully the massive tires we stuck in the back of the truck work, and none of the brothers get toasted from the fence. Saint picks up more speed, and as we get closer, we fall back. Just in case the fence flies toward us with the impending impact, we don’t want to be prematurely injured. My gaze skirts around the surroundings in the moments we have before shit hits the fan.
An Iron Fist attempts to leap out of the way but Saint slams on the gas, mowing the guy over and flying through the locked gate. We swerve around a bloody, detached leg and I decide right then to keep my eyes on the target and nowhere else. Some of the rival MC members out in the yard take off in different directions. Saint runs anyone over in his path.
Odin yanks a Glock from his boot, lacing the men still running away with bullets. They fall to the ground in motionless heaps. O doesn’t even falter with the deaths, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of life he had to make him so hard inside. He’s too young to be so damn jaded. The kid’s like nineteen. Regardless, he carries out orders, killing on sight.
This isn’t payback. No, this is an extermination.
Viking said he only allows someone to fuck with him so much before he makes an example of them. He’s setting the bar really fucking high, so bigger clubs won’t attempt to fuck with us in the future. He said we knock out a huge, ruthless outlaw club and word will travel fast and far. One thing is for certain, this damn sure isn’t Chicago. Texas is an entirely different type of beast.
Saint veers off to the side, the brothers spilling from the back. We pull to a stop on the other side of the truck for protection, weapons in hand as Viking and the NOMADS roar in from behind. They dismount their bikes beside us, so Odin and Spider can defend the vehicles and get anyone who may try to escape.
The brothers and NOMADS storm the club. Viking’s first in, clad with an AK-47. He pops rounds off clearing a path through the men already shooting at us. Nightmare takes off past me toward a hallway. Exterminator’s hot on his heels tossing smoke cans in his wake. The clubhouse is bigger than ours, with rooms and hallways veering off in every direction it seems.
I split off with Torch, having his back as he works to clear various rooms. We come across multiple bikers and return fire. Whores scream frantically, running in all directions. It’s pure chaos; the magnitude of this job didn’t fully hit me until now. No wonder the Iron Fists were able to keep coming at the Oath Keepers over the years. They’re fucking everywhere!
We leave the whores be, as they’re most likely not here of their own free will. The members we caught from The Pit were tortured extensively and admitted to all types of sordid shit going on at this club. The President, Puppet, has been around for far too long. He’s had free reign from his high number of members and secret compounds spread from Texas to California.
Someone comes at me from behind, catching me off guard. A forearm wraps around my throat, and I rear back, stumbling backward until I slam him into the wall. It dazes him enough to shake his arm lose, and I spin around. He lands a blow to my jaw. Good thing the fucker’s practically made of concrete; the hit against my jaw doesn’t even rock me. He gets another in close to my temple, and I see red.
I counter with a right straight into his gut and then stun him with a head-butt to his nose. Stupid motherfucker. The bones crunch and blood pours free like a faucet. His arms flail, looking for purpose and I take a step back, with my left foot forward as I land a solid uppercut with my right. He wavers for a second then drops to our feet like a sack of flour. I land a kick to his temple for good measure.
“That’s for sneaking up on me, motherfucker.”
“Come on.” Torch nods with an amused eyebrow lift. We keep to our path before a shrill whistle rings through the air. My gaze meets Torch’s, and he holds a fist to his chest telling me to stay in place and remain quiet. He listens for a minute, then when a series of three sharp whistles follow, he nods for us to go back the way we came.
We make our way there quietly, waiting for any other clues. Back in the main entry, we’re met with a scattering of dead bodies everywhere and Nightmare holding a bloodied older man. He’s been beaten, and Night has the dark purple switchblade pressed firmly in place.
“Brothers,” Viking thunders. “This is the root of our problems.”
“Fuck off Oath scum,” the broken man spits. Prez presses his finger into the man’s temple so hard, I’m afraid he’s going to stab through his skin and into the guy’s brain. I have pent-up anger inside and enjoy a good ass kicking, but I’m not much for torture.
Blaze steps forward, his hunting knife in one hand and Glock in the other. The knife is already bloodied, I notice. “No, fuck you,” he snarls and stabs Puppet in the gut. The older man hisses in pain but remains standing.
“I should’ve put a bullet in your skull,” Puppet coughs.
In response, Nightmare flicks the blade up swiftly. He slices a gash into one side of Puppet’s mouth. With that move, his eyes widen in shock from the jolt of pain.
Torch yanks his blade free from his holster, approaching Nightmare and the prisoner. He drives the blade into Puppet’s upper thigh. “For Bronx, cunt.”
The man groans, his head swaying side to side and I can’t help but wonder how he’s even still alive. Viking approaches them next, and I swallow roughly. He grabs the man’s shirt collar with both hands and rips it completely open. Blood sops out from the gash Blaze already inflicted.
“For Scot—may our road father rest in peace—and for Princess, my ol’ lady.” He draws a small axe free, and with one harsh swing, hacks into the injury free side. That’s the hit that hurts, as Puppet wails in pain.
Scowling, Nightmare growls, “The fun’s only begun. When I’m finished with you, that hatchet will be child’s play. You kidnapped my son, you beat my ol’ lady, you will suffer.”
With a nod to the brothers still beside me, I make my way outside before I puke my guts up.