Connor

 

“I will find out what’s going on,” I swore to myself over and over. Princess’s actions earlier that day only made me more stubborn than ever. What would she be willing to self herself so dearly for?

 

Not that she didn’t like the sex, I thought smugly. Obviously, she liked it.

 

Christ, her body was like the best I’d ever had.

 

Still, I needed to focus and get Princess out of my head. I had to acknowledge that she had managed an annoying permanence there that pissed me off.

 

Still, the way her tits bounced …

 

Focus, Connor!

 

Joey and I had agreed that taking only light arms would make us as quiet and mobile as possible. We equipped ourselves with small handguns and several switchblades. The rest of the Devil’s Wings joining us followed suit, though we gave a semi-automatic to one. He would be the cavalry, waiting outside if things got really bad.

 

Like most bikers I knew, we talked and made bawdy jokes the whole time. Not one of us discussed just how dangerous the mission actually was.

 

A raid on the fucking Minghelli family! Princess was right to be concerned. For a moment, I thought about bringing her, but decided against it. This wouldn’t be some pimply teenager with a broken bottle. These would be professional thugs, armed and brutal.

 

Plus, I knew how the Minghelli family treated whores. About the same as the Devil’s Wings, actually.

 

Night fell. Me and the other guys waited in the meeting room for midnight, smoking and playing cards. Maps of the Minghelli compound (stolen from online) were splayed out on the table, but people had stopped looking at them long ago. There was only so much you could cram inside your head, then it was just pointless.

 

At last, a clock chimed somewhere. We were ready.

 

Joey, two other Devil’s Wings, and I mounted our bikes. Paul, the guy with the semi-automatic, climbed into a nondescript black sedan along with another man. Many bikers looked down in disdain on such cars, but I knew they were important. It was easier to shoot from the back of a car, and who knew how many wounded we might have to take back? Who knew what state Honi would be in when we got to her?

 

I was surprised to realize that I was officially thinking of the girl as “Honi.” I guess I’d finally made up my mind. She and Princess’s lies only made me more determined.

 

We took off.

 

Joey and I went north. The other biking pair went south. The black sedan went east. We would all converge in the middle, joining right at the same time but without the conspicuousness of traveling together.

 

It was a clear night. The moon was high, full, and beautiful above us. I cursed it. It would make us easier to spot.

 

The Minghellis had a number of different places as their strongholds. Restaurants, a taxi station, even a laundromat. But we believed that Honi would be held at the Minghelli estate itself, a gothic, sprawling architectural wonder from a different age. I had only seen it once before, and my first impression was that somehow it had been teleported from old Europe itself. And that had been in daylight. Now, as we pulled up to it, bathed in starlight and nestled in a mountainside, I expected to see German aristocrats in flowing, fur-lined robes emerging from its ornately carved doors.

 

But this wasn’t a gothic horror story, and we weren’t in Europe. This was America’s own brand of aristocrats: the Minghellis, top mob family for four generations.

 

Joey and I killed our engines before we got to close. Then, dressed all in black leather to hide us in the night, we crept forward, pushing our bikes with us for an easy getaway.

 

A crackle of our walkie-talkies let us know that the other groups had arrived. The black sedan would wait on the east side, in the estate’s shadow, entirely hidden in black darkness. The second pair would approach from the back. Joey and I would be approaching from the most dangerous side, the west, bathed in moonlight.

 

“You ready?” I murmured to Joey, drawing my gun.

 

“Yup,” he whispered back, following suit. “Man, we are in way over our heads.”

 

I had to admit he was right. Now, standing before this place, symbol of all the Minghellis’ wealth and power, I felt more and more outclassed.

 

But that doesn’t matter, I told myself. A good biker is made by his guts and his brain, not by the class of bike he rides.

 

That’s what I kept telling myself, anyway.

 

We saw no guards. The Minghellis were confident. That can be used to our advantage, I realized.

 

There was a window not far from us. I gave Joey a nod, and together we darted for it, keeping to the shadows of the old oaks and rose hedges that dotted the estate’s lawn. It was the other team’s job to cut the alarm system. Holding our breaths, we waited until the crackling confirmation came over the walkie-talkie.

 

“Done!” We heard, and we prepared to enter.

 

Once we were up against the window, I took the bottom of the heavy glass pane and pushed upward. Nothing. Just the slightest shift. Of course, it was locked. Resigned to breaking it, I raised my fist until Joey hissed, “Wait!”

 

“What?”

 

“It moved just a bit. If I can get a screwdriver in there, maybe I can shift the latch.”

 

“You brought a screwdriver?” I asked in disbelief, but Joey chuckled.

 

“Of course I did,” he said. “I got a wrench, some wire cutters, duct tape, and even a blowtorch in my trunk. Come at me, bro!”

 

Of course, I didn’t. I was glad Joey was so prepared.

 

As he said, I hoisted the heavy glass pane once again, and, with some wrenching and wriggling, Joey was able to slip the narrow bar of the screwdriver underneath the gap. A long minute passed, with me sweating to hold the ancient window up, and Joey muttering swear words to himself. At last, I heard a grinding click, and Joey yanked the screwdriver out in a flash.

 

“All right,” he said. “Now try.”

 

I took a deep breath, placed my hand carefully on the glass so I wouldn’t break it, and pushed.

 

With a muffled groan, the window slid open.

 

“Fuck,” I grumbled. “This house is so fucking old that just opening the window was probably louder than breaking it!”

 

Joey tutted at me. “We should be glad the place is ancient,” he said. “That’s why there was give in the window. An old, warping frame.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled, and then hoisted myself inside. It was made slightly difficult by the gun in my hand, but after a second I managed. Joey had it easier. I was able to grab his wrist and practically pull him up myself.

 

“Okay. Now what?” he muttered.

 

I pointed left, lighting a dim flashlight. “The way to the basement is down there. I imagine that’s where they’ll be holding her. Fitting. This fucking place already feels like a dungeon.”

 

It did. The tiny light revealed that we were in one of the spare guestrooms. Golden chandeliers dressed the ceiling and sheets hung, ghostlike, over marble busts. Imposing portraits of long-dead rich men lined the walls.

 

“Man, does this guy have money,” Joey murmured. “Just the crap he keeps in storage is worth more than what I’d make in a year!”

 

As he spoke, he reached out to touch one of the many crystals that hung from a bedside lamp. Could those possibly be rubies? Just in time, I smacked his hand away.

 

“Come on,” I said. “We’re not here to rob the guy. We’re here to find Honi … Farrah. I don’t want to be noticed.”

 

Joey nodded to show he understood, and then together we crept towards the door. It was locked, but fortunately there was a latch on the inside, and we were able to flip it open.

 

A long hallway greeted us on the other side. Red carpeting, lined with golden tassels, bathed the floor in softness, and as we trod silently across it I felt like my muddy black combat boots were more and more out of place …

 

“Rrrehh!” A terrible noise shattered the silence, and I jumped about three feet in the air before whirling, gun pointed at the noise.

 

“Don’t!” Joey grunted, grabbing my gun hand. He pointed his own flashlight at the source, revealing a fuzzy-haired ginger cat, hissing and spitting at us from beneath a marble table.

 

“Christ,” I muttered, lowering my gun as the feline darted away. “I’m so jumpy, man.”

 

“I know,” Joey whispered. “This place gives me the fucking creeps. Which way to the basement?”

 

I glanced back and forth and then replied, “This way.”

 

We continued forward in near darkness. I knew that Tom Minghelli and his mistresses slept deeper within the house, so we shouldn’t have too many problems, but still, I could not get over my sense of nervousness. The hairs on the back of my neck told me, “Someone is nearby!”

 

At last, after passing a beautiful ballroom, a magnificent library, and even a record room with albums signed by everyone from Elvis to Bob Marley, we reached a far door that waited alongside the kitchen. It was wide and unusually ornate for a basement door, but then Joey muttered that it also, in fact, led the way to the family crypt.

 

As if that didn’t give me the fucking willies.

 

Still, we had to be grateful that we’d infiltrated so far into the house without meeting anyone. The basement door wasn’t locked, though it opened with a terrible creaking.

 

Below, a flickering of light could be seen.

 

“Turn off your flashlight,” I ordered Joey. “We’re gonna have to ambush whoever’s down there.”

 

“Got it,” Joey muttered back, and the lights vanished.

 

Ever so carefully, we descended the stairway. Like the rest of the house, the steps were extremely ornate, and were therefore carved of stone rather than wood. This was great for us, because they didn’t creak.

 

We reached the bottom. An orange light danced in the distance, more like that of a candle than a flashlight or lamp. This surprised me. What, is Minghelli so obsessed with this old-fashioned architecture that he uses fucking candles?

 

We crept forward. Soon, a figure came into view. It was a biker, clad exclusively in leather. Though we could only see the back of him as he bent down, rooting through what looked like papers, I knew he wasn’t one of mine. He was much too small and pathetic, with shoulders no wider than a little boy’s. Since he obviously didn’t know we were there, I took a second to study my surroundings. Wooden file cabinets ran against the wall, all the way up to the ceiling. One was open, with hundreds of papers spilling out, and it was through these that the man was rustling. A handheld lighter, clicked on and left on a cabinet, provided the light.

 

A thought occurred to me. Why the fuck would a biker be looking through these papers at nightwith a fucking lighter? But I put that thought away. It didn’t matter why he was there. They fact was that he was there, and in our way.

 

I loosened my gun it its holster, but did not cock it. Whoever this was, I thought it was a pretty safe bet that I could knock him out with the butt of my gun in a single blow.

 

I nodded to Joey, mouthing, “One … two … three!”

 

Something creaked! A crumpled bit of paper underfoot! The biker whirled, bound to see us, and I raised my pistol. I had no choice now but to fire.

 

I stepped forward, hand on the trigger, and—

 

BOOM!