Chapter 20 Ice
Racing toward the drug cutting warehouse, dread churns in the pit of my stomach. If we’re too late, I’ll never forgive myself. Vapor and Diablo ride just as recklessly as I do, burning rubber as we fly into the warehouse’s parking lot. Our bikes screech to a halt as a dozen women hurdle themselves towards us, screaming out warnings in rapid Spanish. Their desperate pleas paint a grim picture of the cartel’s presence inside.
“ ?Cuidado! ?Están armados! ” one of the women cries, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
Gunshots sound from inside the warehouse.
“We’re here to save you,” I say before repeating the sentence in Spanish.
“Go with him,” Vapor commands, pointing at Slayer, one of our patched members who just arrived. The rest of our crew rolls in, a formidable group ready to fight for their brothers.
Slayer steps in, guiding the women toward the side street with urgent gestures. According to our plan, there should be vans on the next block. Hopefully they’re still there.
“Get them to safety, now!” Vapor barks, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. His posture radiates urgency.
“ Vamonos, rápido ,” Diablo urges, his voice low and steady as Slayer leads the flock of frightened souls toward safer ground.
Their footsteps fade into the distance, punctuated by the occasional sob or whispered prayer, but my focus is already shifting, aligning with the task at hand. Inside that warehouse, danger lurks, but I’m more than ready for it.
As Vapor, Diablo and I stalk toward the building, the sound of squealing tires rips through the night air, yanking my focus from the warehouse’s dark maw back to the parking lot. A car skids to a stop, its headlights slicing through the gloom. A frantic woman emerges—a tempest in human form. Dark hair a wild halo around a face etched with panic.
“ ?Espere! Who are you?” My voice slices through the air, commanding her attention as she bolts toward the warehouse, her elegant dress no match for the desperation in her stride.
“Please, you have to help him!” Her gaze locks onto mine with an intensity that sears straight through the chaos. “Pedro… mi esposo . He’s inside!”
“Pedro,” I repeat.
The name sends a silent alarm echoing through my skull. Pedro Hernandez gave us a description of the warehouse where the kids were being held. Without his help, we wouldn’t have found them so quickly. This woman must be Maria, his wife. I catch the unmistakable shimmer of love and fear in her eyes.
“Maria, listen,” I say, voice steady. “I’m Ice. I’m... with Isabella. I’ll get Pedro out, but you need to stay back. It’s not safe here.”
Her lips part, ready to protest, but the resolve in my stance is unyielding. I’m not about to let her walk inside, straight into a bullet. Her eyes search mine, as if she’s assessing her options. Finally, she nods, her body deflating with a shaky exhale.
“Okay, I trust you.”
“Stay back. We’ve got this.” I turn away, the weight of her trust settling onto my shoulders like twin anvils. As I step toward the building, my mind sharpens. The hunt is on, and every second counts.
Vapor, Diablo, and I slip inside the warehouse. Shots ring out between periods of eerie silence. The air is thick with the tang of gunpowder and fear, each breath a reminder of what’s at stake.
We edge forward, hiding behind boxes and shelves. The scent of chemicals and cocaine hangs in the air, mingling with the metallic bite of impending violence.
Through the dim haze, I spot them—Bones, Tank, and Fang, pinned behind crates barely thicker than matchsticks as bullets shred the air around them. The staccato rhythm of gunfire drums against my chest, a rapid heartbeat pulsing through the space.
“Cover me!” Bones grits out, his words laced with urgency as a bullet whizzes past, embedding itself into the wood an inch from his head.
“Got your back,” I call out.
Bones sprints toward a stack of wooden pallets, diving behind them and disappearing.
Locking eyes with Vapor, I help him lay down cover fire as Diablo heads in another direction. Once Diablo’s safe, Vapor and I slink further into the warehouse.
We spread out, moving with a predator’s grace. A cartel man pops his head out from behind a stack of supplies. I fire. He drops.
“Got more at six o’clock!” Vapor yells.
We unleash hell, shooting at the cartel thugs, dropping them like flies. Bones and Fang manage to get a couple of shots off before ducking back into their hiding spot.
I dart from cover, firing in controlled bursts that send cartel shooters scrambling. Vapor charges a group of men, a force of nature barreling through their ranks, his thunderous roar rivaling the gunshots. Across the room, Diablo’s a blur of motion, his shots precise, each one finding its mark with ruthless efficiency.
It’s a symphony of violence, orchestrated with the precision of street-hardened veterans. We weave between bullets and bodies, our assault relentless. Adrenaline surges through me, focusing my world into the only things that matter—the pull of a trigger, the recoil, and the fall of an enemy. We are justice’s dark agents, delivering retribution with every round fired.
“Push forward!” I yell.
Vapor’s response is a roar as he tackles a gunman to the ground, a savage fury unleashed. Diablo’s laughter rings out, not of joy but a promise of retribution as he dispatches another with a swift, final movement.
Bullets fly, embedding themselves in the splintering wood just inches from where our brothers are still pinned down. Bones pops up, firing wildly. The second he disappears, Tank takes his offensive position. Fang is next, covering his brothers while they reload. If I can get to them, we’ll have a better chance of rescuing them.
“Cover me, Vapor!”
With a surge of power, I break from my makeshift cover. Vapor unleashes a barrage of shots, providing suppressive fire that echoes through the cavernous space. Diablo flanks wide, taking down another gunman with practiced ease as I dive behind the crates.
Bones grins at me. “Welcome to the fuckery!”
“Can’t leave you guys alone for a second,” I jab.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here.” Fang bounces up to fire another bullet.
“How many are left?” Tank asks.
“Three!” Vapor shouts.
A gunshot pierces the air.
“Two left,” Diablo growls.
The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and impending victory, but we’re not there yet. I risk a glance and spot a man sneaking up behind Vapor. I whip my gun in his direction and pull the trigger. Vapor ducks, but my bullet finds its mark first. The bastard drops, dead before he even hits the ground. Too quick. Too easy.
“Last one,” Fang calls before shooting the guy. “And now there’s none.”
“Search the warehouse,” Vapor commands.
Bones, Tank, and Fang fall into step beside us. We sweep across the battlefield, searching for anyone still alive who isn’t a part of our club. A man moans on the ground. He’s as good as dead, but I waste a round, just to be sure.
“Clear!” Vapor’s rough voice is a thunderclap in the sudden stillness.
“What about the office?” I ask, eyeing the closed door.
“Check it.”
With a single kick, I open it, my gun leading the way.
“ ?Por favor, no dispares! ” The voice is raw, desperate, coming from behind a toppled desk.
I train my weapon on the figure cowering among scattered papers and shattered glass. The man’s eyes grow wide with terror, while his hands tremble in the air. His frantic gaze locks onto mine, pleading for mercy.
“Pedro Hernandez?” I ask, demanding confirmation.
“ ?Sí, sí! ?Soy yo! Please, I’m not one of them!” he stammers.
“Stay still,” I order, keeping my aim steady. I need to be sure he’s not a threat. We can’t afford any surprises, so I quickly search him for a weapon. He’s clean.
“ Te lo suplico, they forced me…” Pedro’s voice breaks, the raw fear unmistakable.
I gesture to Vapor, who steps forward, his imposing presence filling the room. He gives a curt nod after a quick scan, signaling the all-clear.
“Come with us,” I command, lowering my gun but staying alert.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“Let’s move out,” I say, turning to my brothers. “We’ve got a safehouse to secure.”
As soon as we step outside, Maria runs toward us. I don’t know why she’s not with the other women, but I suspect she’s too stubborn to follow orders. She reminds me of Isabella. Loyal to the core.
“Pedro!” Her arms are outstretched as she barrels into him. They collide, two souls entangled in an embrace of fear and love.
“ Mi amor ,” he breathes out, his words muffled in her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, you’re safe now,” she soothes, but her eyes flick to me, wide with unspoken gratitude.
“Thank you.” Pedro’s gaze latches onto mine, heavy with an indebtedness I don’t need. His life isn’t a currency I trade in. It’s just another day’s work.
“Keep your thanks,” I grunt, holstering my weapon. “You’re alive because of her.” I nod to Maria, who clings to him like she could will away the world’s evils with her embrace.
“Juan won’t let this slide,” Pedro murmurs, his voice quivering with the weight of what’s coming. “He’ll come after us.”
“Let him try.” My words cut through the tension, sharp and unyielding. “The UVMC doesn’t bow to cartel scum. If you want protection from him, you have it.”
Maria’s eyes search my face, seeking the truth behind my promise. She finds it in the steely resolve that has defined my existence since I swore allegiance to this club.
“ Vamos con Fang ,” I instruct, gesturing to where Fang waits by one of the vans. “He’ll take you to the safehouse.”
“Can we trust you?” Pedro’s question hangs between us, a challenge and a plea rolled into one.
“Your life depends on it.” My tone leaves no room for doubt.
Relief washes over their faces, trust crystallizing in the moment they step toward Fang. He nods once, a silent guardian ready to ferry them to safety.
“Go,” I urge, watching as they disappear into the vehicle.
“Let’s go home,” Vapor says when we get outside.
As he gets on his bike, the rest of us follow suit. I take my spot behind him, second in command as we roar toward his house.
The Garden District is too quiet as we roll up. Wrong kind of silence. The kind that watches. When we reach his house, I immediately know something’s wrong. The front door hangs off its hinges, splintered wood and shattered glass strewn like breadcrumbs of chaos across the porch.
We pull up, cutting our engines abruptly. The sudden quiet gnaws at my nerves. A jarring sense of unease wraps around me as I survey the scene.
“Blue!” Vapor bellows her name like a man possessed, storming into the wreckage of his home. His slicked-back hair and piercing eyes are wild with fear, his towering frame a weapon primed for destruction.
I follow close behind, every muscle coiled tight. The sight that greets us chills my blood. The living room is a battlefield of overturned furniture and scattered belongings. It’s the aftermath of a struggle.
One name pounds through my mind: Isabella.
“Vapor?” Blue’s voice, tinged with relief, cuts through the silence.
“Baby?” Vapor leaves the living room and goes into the hall.
Blue and Babet step out of the library, twin ghosts, covered in cobwebs and smeared with grime.
“Jesus, Blue,” Vapor exhales, pulling her into his embrace. He inspects her as though she might crumble to dust, his hands tracing the contours of her face, assuring himself she’s real.
“We had to hide.” Her emerald eyes meet mine before flicking away. “Under the house, in the crawlspace.”
“Where’s Isabella?” Her name bursts from my lips.
“Juan’s men took her,” Babet says.
“Damn it.” I grit my teeth. “When?”
“I don’t know. A hour ago?” Blue says, trembling.
“We were too afraid to come out. We didn’t know if they were still here.” Babet’s mournful tone stills my heart.
“Where did they take her?” Vapor asks.
“I don’t know.” Tears fill Blue’s eyes. “You have to find her.”
“We need to go to the safehouse,” I tell Vapor. “Pedro might know something. He gave us the lead on the warehouse with the kids. He might know where Juan took her.”
“Let’s ride,” Vapor growls.
Minutes later, we’re a fury on wheels, speeding toward the safehouse. The thrum of the engine vibrates through me, a rhythm syncing with my racing heart. Blue clings to Vapor, her body pressed against his back like a shield, while Babet, surprisingly light, holds onto me with a strength that defies her age.
We arrive at the safehouse on the outskirts of town.
I storm past the guards and into the house, my mind locked on one thing—Pedro. I find him sitting beside Maria on a sofa in the living room.
“Juan took Isabella. I need to know where,” I snap.
“He kidnapped her?” A mask of worry spreads across Pedro’s face.
“We don’t have time to fuck around. Where would he take her?” My voice is ice-cold steel, each word a bullet aimed at Pedro’s conscience.
His eyes widen, the weight of my gaze pinning him like an insect on display. The club’s protection is a double-edged sword. The truth is the only payment we’re willing to take.
“Speak,” I command.
“If you have a map, I can show you a place.”
“Here.” I pull my phone out of my cut and open the map app. “Point it out.”
Pedro’s fingers tremble as he takes the phone and zooms in, tracing the winding roads to a patch where land drowns in water.
“In the middle of the swamp?” I scowl.
“ Sí, el sitio de tortura ,” he whispers. “It’s where he… deals with traitors.”
I don’t need a translator to know what he’s saying.
“Juan’s building is here, hidden away. The closest dock is here.” Pedro points to the location before handing the phone back.
I drop a pin and commit the path to memory. Twisting roads. Landmarks swallowed by the swamp. The quickest route into hell. My crew stands silent behind me, their presence a solid reassurance that no one faces the darkness alone.
“Thanks,” I grunt, though gratitude tastes bitter knowing what awaits us.
My eyes flicker over Pedro’s cowering form, seeing not just the cartel’s logistics man but a husband, a pawn in a game too dangerous for any semblance of normalcy. Maria watches from the shadows, her arms wrapped around herself as if she could hold their world together by sheer will.
“Keep him safe,” I tell Fang, my voice low. “We might need more intel.”
“Got it,” he responds, his stance resolute despite the uncertainty clouding his features.
When I get outside, Vapor’s already on his bike, the engine growling impatiently beneath him. Blue and Babet are nowhere in sight, likely inside, sheltered from the storm we’re about to ride into. I swing my leg over my bike, feeling the familiar leather beneath me, the beast rumbling to life at my command.
“Let’s roll!” My voice cuts through the quiet, a call to arms that sparks a fire in my veins.
We tear out of there, engines roaring in unison, a symphony of impending wrath. The road stretches before us, an asphalt river winding toward the swamp where danger lurks hidden beneath moss-draped trees and murky waters.
Doubt gnaws at me, a relentless pest chewing holes in my resolve. What if we’re too late? What if Juan’s already sunk his venomous fangs into Isabella, leaving nothing but pain and regret?
I shut it down, lock it away. Can’t afford doubt—not now, not when Isabella needs us. She needs me to be the cold, calculating leader I’m known to be. But as we ride on, my fear intensifies. The night wraps me in a cloak of possibilities, each one darker than the last.
The bayou looms closer, its oppressive air reaching out like tendrils, trying to choke the hope from my heart. Spanish moss drapes the trees like skeletal fingers, whispering warnings only fools ignore. But there’s no turning around, not when every mile could mean the difference between Isabella’s safety and her death.
Eventually, the road becomes nothing but dirt and overgrown bushes, a reminder of the treacherous terrain that hides more than just gators and snakes. We barrel down the desolate stretch, racing closer to where I hope we’ll find Isabella. Pedro had better be right about this or he’s going to bear the brunt of my wrath.
Fortunately for him, the dock is exactly where he said it would be. After hastily parking, I spot a boat moored to the shore. It’s large enough to hold my crew of men. Motioning toward the others, I quickly climb inside. They join me, ready to fight.
As we race toward Juan’s secret prison, my gut churns with anger. Every second is a countdown. Every breath, a step closer to war. Losing Isabella now isn’t an option. When I get my hands on her brother, he’s a dead man. I’m going to kill him. Slowly. Mercilessly. And with all the rage of a man whose heart has been ripped from his chest. She’d better be alive, or there will be hell to pay.