Blaine sat in the bush behind the barn and leaned against a tree. He was tired, but alert. He knew that their intel was good and that the Scorpions would arrive just after midnight. ‘No wonder pigs get fat, sitting around on stakeouts like this.’ He thought as he took a bite of his beef jerky.
They had been out to the site earlier in the week and had built a shooting platform in the trees on the east side of the building, and a secondary platform on the west side. Frankie was nestled on the east platform and Crater was posted on the west. Blaine’s sawed-off pump twelve gauge rested on the ground beside him, and his treasured gold desert eagle handgun was tucked nicely into his concealed carry holster, loaded and ready for action. He preferred a good beat-down over cold-blooded killing, but the future of the club depended on the outcome of this fight. An outsider like Liv wouldn’t understand, but this was war, and however the night shook out, there would be casualties. They all accepted it, and law enforcement wouldn’t be too interested in a bunch of dead bikers – after all, it made their job easier, fewer scumbags to deal with.
Their van was stashed about a quarter mile away and they had bushwhacked to their positions. It was dusk and the mosquitoes had started to come out in full force. Blaine looked up to the sky and was thankful that it wasn’t a full moon, they were well hidden in the dark of the quarter moon and a cloudy sky. He slapped at a mosquito feasting on his neck, and then snapped his head to the side when his well-trained ear heard the unmistakable growl of a Harley Davidson in the distance. He pulled up his night vision goggles and trained them on Frankie, and breathed a sigh of relief to see that he must’ve heard the bike too. He was in position with his eye glued to the scope of his gun.
The four bikes pulled up to the barn followed by a van, not unlike their own. Two more guys jumped out of the van, along with a smaller figure. ‘Must be the woman.’ Blaine thought to himself. He lifted his binoculars, studying the group. There were seven of the fuckers, two more than they had planned for. If they weren’t accurate with the initial shots, this could turn into an all-out bloodbath.
Blaine kept his eyes trained on the group and waited for the signal. Frankie was the first to shoot. Blaine saw the muzzle flash from Frankie’s silencer and then the biggest man in the group of Scorpions spun around and fell to the ground. Blaine followed suit and pulled his trigger but missed his mark. The Scorpions scattered like cockroaches. He fired again and struck his target in the leg. He saw two of his guys run crouched out of the woods, firing their pistols at the men. He couldn’t get a clear shot from his vantage point without risking the lives of his men, so he pulled out his gun and ran toward the action. They had definitely caught the group of rival bikers off guard, but they were still well armed. He took refuge behind a large oak tree. He was breathing heavily, but fuelled with adrenaline. He spun around the tree and fired four shots at one of the gang members as they ran into the barn. Four down, according to his count. The sniper was the only one with a silencer, and the shots from Blaine and the boys popped out into the night air. Still breathing heavily, Blaine crept toward the barn door. He had lost track of the other guys and was going to try his best not to shoot any of his brothers.
Blaine’s heart jumped as he felt the unmistakable barrel of a gun pressed into his neck. “I’m going to gut you like a pig, you fucker,” a voice rasped into Blaine’s ear.
His captor wrapped a strong arm around Blaine’s neck and dragged him into the barn. A single lightbulb hung from one of the beams and even in the dim light Blaine could see that the bodies of the men on the floor weren’t those of his Brass Bonds brothers. His captor was the lone Scorpion still standing. Crater and Frankie ran into the barn, their guns trained on the last of their enemies.
“Drop your guns and kiss the wall,” the man yelled.
Blaine’s boys hesitated and Blaine croaked out, “Let him kill me.”
“Shut up!” the man yelled at Blaine.
“Make sure his death is slow and painful,” Blaine rasped and smiled.
Blaine’s guys still had their guns trained on the duo. He knew that they would follow his orders, but they would be torn about it.
Crater hesitated. But, Blaine saw Frankie straighten his posture to aim his sniper rifle at him. Blaine closed his eyes and tried to think about kissing Olivia. In that split second, he wondered how she would react when she found out that he was dead.
A shot rang out and Blaine flinched and then fell to the ground. The lifeless body of his captor pinned him down on the barnboard floor. He held his breath and wondered why he hadn’t felt the shot. Shock?
It wasn’t until Crater pulled Blaine out from under the dead Scorpion that he realized the blood covering his body was not his own. He sat up and turned to face a woman. In the melee he had forgotten all about Zeb’s informant.
She was beautiful, a small woman with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. She was dressed in black from head to toe, including her gloves. She expertly holstered her Glock and bent down to feel for a pulse on the man. “They’re all gone. You guys got them all. Get the hell out of here.” She pointed to the door with her gloved hand.
“Are you coming with us?” Blaine asked.
“I was never here,” she said, and backed away before disappearing out the door of the barn.
Blaine stood up and assessed the damages, but was interrupted when Scotty ran into the barn and screamed, “Tyson is fucking bleeding out. We’ve gotta get him out of here!”
They ran outside and saw Tyson lying in the gravel outside the barn. His face his gray and he was bleeding heavily from his left thigh.
“Crater, you stay with him. Who knows whether any of the Scorpions got out a distress call.” Blaine pulled out a radio and barked orders to Hammer, who had stayed back with the van. “Get the fuck over here now!” he screamed into the radio. They wrapped a belt around Tyson’s leg, and it seemed to slow the spurting blood.
“I think it’s the femoral,” Frankie whispered to Blaine.
Blaine nodded grimly and held Tyson in his arms. The black van flew down the gravel road and arrived in a cloud of dust. The boys gathered to lift Tyson into the back of the van. Blaine put his fingers to his neck and his heart sank as he realized there was no pulse.
“Get him in the van. We can’t leave him here,” Blaine whispered sadly. He knew that it was smarter to leave him there and let the authorities assume that he was one of the dead Scorpions, but he had known Tyson since he was a boy and couldn’t do that to him. They laid him in the back of the van on some cardboard, and wrapped as many towels as they could around his leg. It didn’t take long for each towel to become a saturated crimson rust color.
There was no time for sentimentality and the rest of the boys jumped into the van and they sped away from the scene of the gunfight. Blaine had known that they might not come back alive, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. He knew that he was supposed to have a tough as nails façade, and did his best to hold in his tears. He didn’t make eye contact with any of the other men in the van on the ride back to the clubhouse. None of them did. The ride was funereal as they made their way back into Torver.