Chapter Sixteen

 

RYAN

 

It doesn't occur to me until the heat already hits that maybe I shouldn't have moved. There's no other choice, though. Not really.

I'm not going to leave Rob in there, not if he's alive. Not if there's even a tiny chance that he survived the blast.

What I should have known, and what didn't even remotely occur to me until the flames were already grabbing at my arms, at my legs, and trying to finish the job that the bullet in my vest started, was that there was no way he'd survived it.

It's two long strides to get up to the seat of the rig, and the door feels as if it wanted to fall off anyways when I pull on the handle. The heat, searing the skin on my hands, doesn't matter.

I grab Rob and pull him down on top of me. Logan's got me before I can even get free of the fire, pulling me out by my waist. I'm trying to stay upright, to carry Rob out of the fire.

My second clue that he wasn't going to make it was that he didn't fight me. Not even for an instant. Most of the time, with a rescue, it takes a second to calm someone down.

In that time, people drown the lifeguard. They knock a fireman down the stairs. They alert the guy that the cop is trying to rescue you from. Everyone panics when they realize that they're never getting out of there alive.

Rob doesn't fight me for an instant. He's hanging there on my shoulders like dead weight, and when I slip over with Logan pulling me hard out of the flames, he tumbles off my shoulder.

I've seen plenty of dead bodies before. Dead friends, even. Rob's no different than any of them. He's cooked, and I can see it already. Flash-heated. His clothes are fused to his skin.

We were never close, and I've seen bodies before. Worse bodies than this. Stuff that is impossible to ever forget. But even still, seeing this body, like this, I turn over and I lose my lunch on the hard concrete floor.

Logan helps me up a minute later. I look over at Spider, and at his boss. I don't know if they've had a chance to talk, or pass a message. I might have seen it, if I hadn't gone running off.

I would have done it again, though, if I had the chance to do it over. The whole thing was raw instinct and reflex.

She looks like she's in a bad way. I can see the way she's sucking in breaths, like each one might be her last so she'd better make the most of it. She's going to pass out, inhaling smoke like that. I grab her and start moving her towards the door.

I can already hear the cavalry arriving, way off in the distance. The low rumble of motorcycle engines. We don't have long to get the fuck out of here, and there's no way we can hold the place.

We start moving hard and fast. Out through the back, over the fence. I can tell Davis's thinking about panicking. She's barely holding on. I don't give her time to freak out.

She has to go first. Up the fence. Down the other side. Get in the car. Follow. Don't ask questions.

She takes it surprisingly well. I didn't think she was capable of it. I don't know if I'm capable of it. But I don't have a choice. There's no room for her questioning me.

No room for questioning myself, either, not when everyone's lives are at stake. I need to be in control of myself, and I need to be confident in my decisions.

We have to get the hell out before things get ugly. When we pull up into the parking lot outside the bar, nobody needs to explain to Spider, or to Logan, or for that matter to Davis.

Nobody is going to talk about what happened, not any time soon. Things didn't go our way. Nobody expected a car bomb. The truck was right there. Waiting for us.

Nobody was expecting the bomb, but someone had planted it. Someone had told them to expect people coming. The idea hits me like lightning and just as hard. When I get through the door, and into the bar, I have to stop myself from screaming it.

We've got someone on the inside. Someone who was working with McCallister. Someone who was in on the plan.

I look at their faces, one by one. Davis? I can't imagine that she'd be working with Brent. If she was, why would she need me? I'm supposed to be there to provide a way in to his organization.

If she's got a way in, then why not?

Spider works for her. I know it. So if he's working for her, it makes no sense for him to have been involved, either.

I look at Logan, a long hard look. I know I didn't tip them off, which means that there are only two choices left.

Only two choices left, and one of them is lying in a smoldering pile on the floor of enemy territory. I can't imagine that he killed himself to sell the lie.

Which leaves just one, an idea that I don't want to imagine. One that I can't imagine. Logan is my brother, and there's no way that he would betray me. I don't know anyone who I guarantee would betray me.

Nobody but Spider, at least, and I don't know if it's a betrayal for him to have gained my trust with the express purpose of exploiting it. After all, he was never close to me because he thought it would be a good idea.

It was always a plot for him.

But Logan—I take a deep breath, pour out six beers. The sixth tips over, right onto the floor. In loving memory, I whisper to myself. He was a pretty-boy, and he wasn't my best guy.

But in a way, they're all my brothers. Logan and Brian are my brothers by blood, but even Spider is my brother by choice.

I don't know how it happened, and I sure as hell don't know why. I've got a lot of questions to answer, and I've got to answer them soon. Before I can even think about trying to make another move on McCallister.

But right now, I have to mourn my brother. I pick up the glass I set out for myself, raise it over my head.

"Rob was a good guy, a good friend, a good brother. He gave this club everything. And now, he's given us the ultimate sacrifice. He will be avenged. But first, tonight, he'll be remembered."

I drink deep. I don't need to look between the others to know that they are doing the same. The beer tastes good on my tongue, but somewhere between the taste buds and my brain, things sour.

Someone warned McCallister. Someone who knew about the job being moved up. Only five people knew about it. One is dead, two are cops, and one of them is me.

I don't like it, and the question keeps swirling in my head. I can't begin to imagine Logan selling the club out. Which makes it all that much harder when I can't find another answer, not for the life of me.

There's only one way Brent McCallister and his boys know we're coming, and that way is straight out of Logan's mouth.