My brothers stream out behind me in a long, black column of growling metal, followed by an empty 18-wheeler. The sun dips down on the horizon in front of us, casting an ominous orange glow across the empty highway. My jaw aches, and I realize it's because I've been gritting my teeth for the last thirty miles.
I don't like heading out before nightfall. I'm not one to play things safe, but I'm also not foolhardy. I glance over at the president of the Death Dealers, Tank. He has us heading out to Falmouth to take the Spiders MC by surprise. He's confident that they won't be there, and that they've left a stash of guns unguarded. I don't know where he's getting his information, and I don't like it, but it's not for me to question my club president.
The Death Dealers have seen enough upheaval in the last year. Our old president, Ranger, was picked up by the FBI and indicted on conspiracy charges. They threw him in federal prison all the way across the country. Considering his age and the length of his sentence, he'll die in his cell.
Tank was voted to be the next president. He's a tough son of a bitch, and charming as hell. He's always done right by me, and I can't deny the way he's been growing the club since he took over. We've shut down every club in the state, or forced them to swear allegiance to us. We've never been more powerful.
But shit like this…riding over to one of the few remaining clubs to stand against us in broad daylight? It's got my hackles raised. I tried to use my background as a SEAL to change his mind, argue for a more tactical approach, but he wouldn't hear it, and I think I managed to piss him off, too.
Tank raises his arm and points to his right. We take the exit for Falmouth, a small desert town, and pull off the main roads. We don't want anyone seeing us and warning the Spiders that we're coming. At least Tank's taking that precaution.
We slow down so our Harleys don't make as much noise and cruise along the side roads. We reach a small field with an abandoned barn on the edge of it. On the other side lies the MC's headquarters. I know, because I'm the one who came here to do advance surveillance. Tank is confident the Spiders are away, so we need to quickly infiltrate the clubhouse, empty their stash of guns into truck, and head off into our own territory. The Club's last hope of resisting our dominance is selling this shipment, and without it, they'll have no choice but to submit.
Gyro waves his hand from the window of the truck. He's too fat to ride a hog anymore, so he's got the truck. I nod back, and take my pistol from the back of my jeans.
"Y'all know your place. Let's get in and get out quick as we can, before any locals call the pigs," Tank grunts. He doesn't want someone happening by to call the cops and bring any unwanted attention.
Six of my brothers gather behind me, and the rest fall in behind Tank. I'm leading the assault from the east, and Tank will lead from the west, meaning I need to lead my team to the other side of the clubhouse before we begin. I crouch down behind the barn, wishing again that it were darker. There are no trees to cover our approach, and if Tank is wrong and there are brothers here, we'll be easy targets.
I look back at the eyes of my brothers. They all meet my gaze with intensity and trust. Still crouching, I move quickly and silently toward the back wall of the clubhouse. My brothers don't have my military training, so they're not so silent, but there's nothing to do about it now. We hurry under the clubhouse's windows until we're on the other side, by the club's rear entrance.
I give a sharp whistle, the signal to Tank, then stand, take one step back, and fire my pistol three times at the lock. From the other side of the clubhouse, I hear Tank's gun go off. I raise my leg, and kick the now splintered lock. The door bursts open, and I brace for shouts or gunfire directed back at us, but inside the clubhouse, it's silent. It looks like Tank's information was right, however he came by it.
I rush into the first room, a dim lounge, gun raised. It's empty. The rest of my brothers fan out, heading down a long hallway, each one clearing room after room. Finally, a laugh from Tank breaks the tense silence.
"What'd I tell you boys? The stash is in here," he yells from the front. "Tell Gyro to back the truck up."
I put my gun back in my jeans. My brothers hustle toward Tank, ready to start loading the weapons. I follow, glancing quickly in the rooms off the hallway as I go. There's a small kitchen, then a series of bedrooms, all a mess.
After the last one, I take a few steps and then stop. I don't know what it was, but something in the last room bothered me. Something was wrong.
I walk slowly and silently back to the room and stand in the doorway, casting my eyes over everything in the room. I learned on the battlefield never to ignore my intuition. What caught my attention the first time I passed?
Dirty clothes…empty beer bottles…unmade bed. A cup of coffee on the nightstand. With steam coming from it.
I take my gun back out. "I know you're here," I growl. "I hope you're not planning on trying anything. There's twenty of us, and one of you."
There's a long pause, and then the closet door slowly opens. My brothers aren’t as diligent at clearing rooms as I am.
"I'm coming out," a man's voice says. "I don't got a weapon on me." He shows me his empty hands first, then the rest of him climbs out of the closet. I lower my gun slightly as I look him over.
He's just a kid really, probably only eighteen. By the patch on his vest, I can tell he's a prospect. The rest of his MC probably left him behind to do dishes while they were gone.
"You got a phone on you?" I ask him. He nods to a cell phone resting on top of a pile of dirty laundry.
"But I didn't call anyone, I swear."
Keeping my gun on him, I reach down and grab the phone, scrolling through the last texts and calls. Nothing since last night. He was telling the truth. He didn't have time to get a call out to his brothers to tell them we were here.
I tuck my gun back in my jeans and the phone into my back pocket. The kid's not even five eight, so I don't think I have anything to worry about.
"Let's go," I say, nodding toward the door. The kid walks in front of me, and I follow. I see my other brothers loading up the truck, and Taz, one of the new crop of Death Dealers, looks back and sees us coming.
"Tank," he calls, and our president walks through the front door a moment later. He sees the prospect walking in front of me and grins.
"So they left one behind," he says, his small eyes glittering.
"We're good. He didn't warn anyone," I inform him. "Checked his phone. Want me to tie him to the—"
"Waste him," Tank interrupts. A small cry escapes the prospect's lips.
"Kill him?" I ask with a frown. "The Spiders are going to know it was us anyway, and there's nothing they can—"
"It sends a message," Tank growls. "You questioning me?"
"I'll do it if Ford doesn't have the stones!" Taz volunteers scornfully, taking his gun out and clicking the safety off. I hear one of my brothers let out a low whistle at this show of disrespect.
"The fuck did you just say?" I whisper, turning on Taz, anger pulsing through my brain. "I was killing insurgents in Fallujah while you were waiting for your balls to drop. What, you think you're a man now, just because you got a gun?"
"I'm just saying…" Taz says, but I know I've rattled him. I hear the young prospect sniffle, and my mind races.
"I'll show you stones," I tell him. "I'll kill him with my bare hands." Abruptly, I turn around and punch the prospect in the face. He goes down hard, and I hear some of my brothers cheer as I follow him to the ground, kneeling on top of him and reining blows down on his face. My first punch broke his nose, and soon there's blood everywhere.
When I'm done, I stand up. My knuckles are raw and bleeding, and Tank tosses me a towel.
"Finish loading up," he orders us, and gives me a nod.
I rub the towel over my hands. Soon the truck is full, and we head back to our bikes. The sun is setting, so there's just enough of a shadow for me to turn my back to my brothers and take the prospect's phone out of my pocket.