Chapter 16 Ice
The night air whips across my skin, warm and thick with the scent of the Mississippi as we ride through New Orleans’ dimly lit streets. The UVMC NOLA crew rides as one unit, engines growling like a pack of restless wolves. The camaraderie amongst us is a tangible force, our shared dedication to justice fueling the roar beneath us. We’re more than a club, we’re a family bound by loyalty and a thirst for vengeance, hurtling toward a mission that’s etched deep in our bones.
“Keep it tight,” I call over the coms. Over the cacophony of road noise, they hear me. They always do. I lead them out of the French Quarter, where shadows cling to the cobblestones like spilled secrets. We ride past the flickering gas lanterns that paint the streets with dancing gold. Our bikes are steel steeds, and tonight, this city is ours to protect.
As we cross the train tracks, I sense a shift. The air crackles with tension that wasn’t there before. It’s as if the city itself holds its breath, bracing for what’s to come. The warehouse we’re staking out tonight isn’t just another run-down building; it’s a fortress shielding the sins of a greedy cartel. My gut twists, but not from fear. It’s pure, unadulterated anticipation.
I throw a clenched fist into the air—the signal—and like a well-oiled machine, we decelerate. Our formation breaks, each rider peeling off to disappear into the gloom. We glide to a stop in an alcove shrouded by ivy and neglect, far from prying eyes. I kill my engine, and the others follow suit. The sudden quiet settles heavily around us.
“Off your bikes,” I murmur, my voice low but carrying that familiar edge of command.
The crew moves with hushed efficiency, their trust in me unspoken yet resounding. I catch the glint of moonlight on chrome, the gleam of dedication in my brothers’ eyes. We’re ready to find out the truth about this place. It could be a trap, but so far, there’s no indication of that. If Juan was trying to trick us, he would have stationed sentinels at the train crossing. Since no one was there, I doubt they’ll know we’re coming.
Boots crunch on the gravel as the men form a circle around me, their gazes as tangible as the Kevlar beneath my cut. I lean in, scanning the group of hardened faces illuminated by the faint glow of streetlights filtering through the overgrown foliage.
“Listen up,” I start, “we’re ghosts tonight. We’re only here to observe so we can see what we’re dealing with. We’re going in paired up. Two-man teams. Keep your comms open but stay off the chatter. We need eyes on every corner, every shadow. Count the guards, the exits, everything. Questions?”
The men shake their heads, indication that they know the drill. It’s not the first time we’ve had to stake out a place to get intel. I briefed them earlier when we met up at the inn. They know what’s at stake. This is the shit they live for.
As the men find their teammate for the night, Fang and Bones pair up. Vapor and Tank aren’t with us. They’re dealing with other club stuff, nothing serious, but they couldn’t make it out tonight. That leaves me in charge, and I like it.
“Diablo.” I lock eyes with him. “You’re with me.”
“Let’s do this.” He cracks his knuckles.
We split without another word. Pairs of men peel off into the darkness, heading down predesignated routes toward the target. Diablo and I move with a stealth that belies our size, our shadows fusing with the night. The warehouse is a few blocks over, so we carefully make our way through the streets, sticking to the darkest spots.
Every step is calculated, every breath measured. We’re hunters stalking prey—one misstep, and we become the hunted. But we’ve played this game before, danced with death by the light of the moon. This isn’t our first tango, and those kids are counting on us to find them.
The sharp scent of the bayou is a pungent reminder of the rot we’re here to excise. I scan the empty streets, searching for signs of life, for the flicker of a guard’s cigarette or the whisper of a conspiratorial conversation.
Diablo shifts beside me, a silent titan clad in leather. We’re a pair of revenants who have risen to right the world’s wrongs, and as much as the silence speaks of danger, it also hums with the promise of retribution.
Tonight, we’re the embodiment of the UVMC creed. We seek vengeance for the voiceless, and wrath for the wicked. Together, we’ll tear down the fortress of Los Serpientes de Cristal, brick by bloody brick.
Up ahead, the faded blue warehouse’s silhouette stands stark against the night. High fences, crowned with barbed wire, encircle it like the ribs of a giant carcass. Security lights flicker and stutter, their shadows dancing with sinister intent.
Diablo and I press ourselves to the cool earth behind a cluster of neglected shrubbery. The rough fabric of my jacket scrapes against the leaves. It’s only a whisper of sound, but it raises my hackles.
I pull the binoculars from around my neck, lifting them to my eyes with practiced ease. As I study the structure, guards appear at different intervals. Juan’s sentinels are predictable in their movements, puppets on a routine string. They’re armed with rifles, slung casually over their shoulders, but not far from reach. Their stances indicate confidence, as if they’re comfortable and not on alert. It’s a good sign that Isabella’s friend wasn’t setting us up, but we can’t be too careful.
My pulse thumps steadily, a war drum in the quiet before the storm. I murmur to Diablo, “Two by the east wall, another pair making rounds.”
“A couple on the roof. Rifles.” Diablo’s gravelly voice is barely audible, but I catch every word.
My gaze sweeps over the perimeter, alighting on potential entry points, storing away the layout like a map etched in my mind. A delivery bay partially obscured by stacks of crates seems promising, an oversight in their fortress. If this were my den of evil, I’d keep the exits completely clear. Easier to guard.
Every detail sharpens the plan taking shape within me, each observation a piece in the puzzle we’ll use to gain entry. Somehow, we need to figure out if this is the right warehouse. For all we know, there’s nothing but weapons inside.
“East side’s our best bet. Less light, more cover,” Diablo murmurs.
“Agreed.” I nod, my eyes never leaving the target. “See anything else? Any kids?”
“Not yet. Let’s stay here for a while.”
“That’s the plan.”
My grip tightens on the binoculars as movement catches my eye. A side door creaks open, spilling a sliver of yellow light into the murky night. My heart clenches, a vise around my chest, as I watch a cartel member emerge, flanked by shadows that are too small, too hesitant to be fellow cronies.
“Shit,” I breathe, the word a ghost on my lips.
Children. Their heads barely reach the thug’s waist. Their steps are uneven and uncertain in the grim procession. Anger flares hot and fierce within me, a blaze that demands justice. How many innocents have these bastards corrupted? How many lives have been tarnished before they’ve truly begun?
“Got something?” Diablo’s voice is a rumble beside me. I glance over—he’s still fixated on the roof, counting guards and timing rotations.
“Kids,” I say, my voice hard as the steel hidden in my cut. “This is the place.”
Diablo’s rage radiates off his body, mirroring mine. These monsters have crossed a line, and we’re the ones who will set things right. If we’re lucky, we’ll send the guards straight to hell where they belong.
My mind races, every instinct screaming to charge in and put an end to this now. But I’ve lived long enough to know that blind vengeance gets people killed. We need a plan, a solid one that’ll save those kids and dismantle Juan’s rotten empire.
“Stay focused,” I command myself. “Watch and learn.”
We settle back into the shadows, counting and watching, taking in all the information we’ll need to breach the warehouse. Justice will be served. It’s only a matter of time. Until then, I have to be patient.
After watching the warehouse for several hours, we have detailed notes on the operation. I beckon Diablo with a tilt of my head, a silent command that it’s time to check in with the other teams.
We slink away from our hiding spot, careful not to make a sound. Betraying our presence would tip Juan off that we’re on to him. Can’t have that.
As we reach the rendezvous point, a couple of other men from our crew stand huddled together.
“Report,” I murmur, my voice low and even. The less noise we make, the better. This is enemy territory, and the darkness is both our cover and our foe.
“Rear side has three entry points. They’ve got three guards on rotation, but there’s no pattern to it,” one of the guys whispers back. His eyes are hard, his jaw set. “What did you guys see?”
“Guards and kids,” I say, the word tasting like bile.
Fang and Bones join us in time to hear the update. My crew’s eyes flash with understanding, their expressions darkening further. The revelation hits them like a physical blow, and the air around us charges with a silent fury. Everyone wants to rush in, but we can’t.
“We can take ‘em,” Bones says. “A quick strike, silent, like phantoms. We get those kids out tonight.”
I appreciate his fire, I do, but we’re not superheroes. Although we’re damn good at what we do, we’re not invincible.
“Hold up,” I caution. “We need everyone else to report their intel back when we get back to the inn. Then we can devise a plan that doesn’t end with us in body bags. We’ve got one shot to rescue those kids. One. And we can’t fuck it up.”
Bones’ muscles tense. Frustration is written all over his face, but he nods, accepting my call. That’s what this is about—trust. Trust in me to lead. Trust that we have each other’s backs.
“Watch longer,” I command. “We need to know when they move, where they go, and how many men are involved.”
Pairs of men break off to return to their posts. As the night stretches on, I track the changing of guards and find holes in their routines. Watching and waiting, I run through possible scenarios for how we can rescue the kids. We don’t know how many are inside. That’s a huge problem.
“We need to get a peek inside,” I mutter to Diablo.
“Fang’s sending up a drone right now.” He points at a flash of silver against the night sky.
“Can’t hear it,” I say.
“Some new government tech shit.”
“How’d he get his hands on it?” I ask, impressed.
“Magic? Who the fuck knows. Probably through one of his nerd contacts at the Pentagon.”
“Pays to have friends in high places.”
“Or people who owe you one,” Diablo says, smirking.
“Guard’s moving again,” I whisper. The pattern is becoming clear now—it’s not entirely random. They switch every thirty-five minutes, leaving a gap just wide enough for someone bold and quick enough to slip past their defenses. They’re also less likely to look up and notice the small drone if they’re too busy doing a shift change.
“Looks like the drone’s over the roof,” Diablo whispers. “Might have skylights.”
“Hopefully.”
“New shift is coming on.”
“I see them.” My eyes flick back to my binoculars. I’m counting steps, timing the patrols, mapping it all in my mind. There’s an art to planning an op like this. Half chess, half poker, all nerve. One misstep can bring down hellfire.
“East corner’s weaker. Less light, more cover,” I say, filing away each detail like ammunition for later.
“Was thinking the same thing.” Diablo’s voice is calm, but I’m sure he’s as revved up at I am, itching for action.
The drone flies away from the roof and disappears behind one of the buildings. Thirty seconds later, he jogs over, carrying the drone. “Got a decent look inside. I’ll map the inside of the building and brief everyone on it when we meet up.”
“Good.” I glance at my watch. It’s almost midnight. “Time to go.”
“You sure we got everything we need?” Diablo asks, his gaze never leaving the dark behemoth before us.
“Yeah.” I nod, taking one last scan of the perimeter. We’ve got enough information to draw a map of what’s happening inside so we can be ready for battle. Also, we’ve found enough holes in their armor to thread a needle through—if we’re careful, and if we’re silent. “Let’s pull back.”
“After you.”
Like phantoms, we recede into the darkness, our presence dissolving into the humid night air. Each step back toward the bikes is measured, purposeful. We don’t leave a trace, not even a scuff mark. Juan Vasquez has no idea what we’re up to, and I intend to keep it that way.
The night wraps around us like a shroud as we walk back to our bikes. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready to snap, but the heaviness in my chest isn’t just from the adrenaline. Those kids, their faces shadowed with fear, are seared into my mind, lighting a fire in my soul. They deserve freedom. Soon, we’ll give it to them.
We reach our bikes, and the rest of the group falls into place without a word. But I feel a storm brewing, an urgency that wasn’t there before. I’m sure others saw the kids, and none of them want to waste a single second. The fact that none of them rushed toward the warehouse when the kids came out is a testament to their loyalty and training. I know I can count on these men when the time is right.
“Mount up,” I whisper, swinging my leg over the bike. The others follow suit, their movements fluid and silent.
The engines purr to life, a low rumble that vibrates through the stillness of the night. We peel away from the warehouse district with our lights off. Distance grows between us and the warehouse, but the images don’t fade. My mind races faster than the wheels beneath me, piecing together fragments of a plan that could either save those kids or send us all to an early grave. I need Fang, Bones, and the other club leaders to run through this with me. We can’t leave an opening for the cartel to gain the upper hand.
Back at the inn, I kill the engine and swing off my bike. The others follow, forming a loose circle in the pool area. Their gazes rest on me, trusting that I’ll know what to do next.
“Alright,” I start, my voice a low rasp. “You did well tonight. Real good. But this is just the beginning.” I lock eyes with each member of the crew, seeing the same fire reflected back at me. “We know what we’re up against now. We got kids to save and a cartel to bring down.”
A few nods ripple through the group—silent acknowledgments of the stakes.
“Next step, we plan. Every move has to be calculated. We strike smart, not hard.” My tone leaves no room for argument. “And this… this stays with us. Not a word outside this circle. Understood?”
“Understood,” they echo back in a chorus of agreement.
“Get some rest. We’ve got a war to wage, and you need to be on your A game.”
As soon as I dismiss the others, Vapor and Tank roar up on their bikes. Fang, Bones, and Diablo hang back with me.
“Church,” Vapor says, jerking his chin toward our meeting room.
I file in behind him along with the others. We take seats in a circle in the center of the room. Vapor calls Church to order and I give him a rundown of everything we saw.
“It’s definitely the place,” I finish.
“Good. Glad to hear Isabella’s friend didn’t set us up,” Vapor says.
“We can trust Maria and her husband Pedro. Isabella says they want out.”
“Not a problem. If they stay loyal to Isabella, then we’ll help them start new lives in another state. If they want to go back to Mexico, we can make that happen too.”
“I’ll let Isabella know.”
“Vasquez thinks he can use this city as his playground. He thinks he can prey on the innocent right under our noses.” Vapor’s voice slices through the silence. “But he doesn’t know who he’s messing with. Doesn’t know what we’re capable of. We ruined shit for him at Lulu’s, but that was only the beginning. It’s time he found out what we can really do. First we get the kids to safety, then we go in for their moms.”
A murmur of agreement rises. The same fire burning through their veins lives in mine.
“If we go for the kids first, Juan will know and he could hide the women,” Fang says, always thinking of the worst-case scenario.
“That’s why I didn’t want to go in tonight,” I say.
“This needs to be a tightly orchestrated attack,” Bones says.
“How urgent is the rescue?” Tank asks.
“Well, they’re being forced to work, but they’re not being beaten as far as we know. The ones I saw looked like they ate well enough.” I stroke my beard, considering the various implications of waiting too long to get them.
“Get one of the prospects to put a pot of coffee on,” Vapor says to Tank, who hurries out to grab one of the guys. “I want us to hash this shit out tonight. We hit them tomorrow at midnight.”
“We can’t. Isabella says the women get off work at nine p.m. We have to hit the textile warehouse at the same time,” I say.
“Okay. What do we know about the drug warehouse place?” Bones asks.
“Isabella can tell us everything about it. She worked there so she knows it inside and out.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’ll get her?”
“Yeah. But we need more space. Fang, did you get the blueprints for either of the warehouses?” Vapor asks.
“Both. Wish I had a big enough screen here to show you.”
“We’re moving ops to my place,” Vapor says. “Pack your shit. Ice, get your woman and meet us there. Bones, tell Tank the plan. I’ve got plenty of coffee at my place. See you guys in an hour.”
“Will do,” I say.
The others agree to rendezvous back at Vapor’s house. As we file out of the room, I look up at the sky, where stars are obscured by the reach of the city’s glow. Somewhere beyond that artificial shine, fate is watching us, waiting to see if we have what it takes.
The road ahead is treacherous, riddled with pitfalls and unknown perils, but fear is a luxury I can’t afford. I’m ready to face whatever awaits us. UVMC is unstoppable. We’ll save those kids and their moms and strike another blow to the Los Serpientes de Cristal cartel. After that, we’ll be one step closer to reclaiming the soul of New Orleans. Tonight’s darkness will give way to tomorrow’s battle, and we’ll be ready. Tonight, we were ghosts. Tomorrow, we’ll be the tempest that tears their world apart.