20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Drakos
When Sylvie heard the words Molotov cocktail, she turned and ran. I followed behind her, and my heart jumped as I watched her race down the apartment stairs. Seconds later, she disappeared around the corner of the funeral home building. I almost ran into her when she skidded to a halt in the shrubbery, her silhouette melding with the darkness. I stopped inches away and hunched down, my breaths ragged and sharp in the cool night air.
Sylvie set the drone case down and opened it. The moonlight flickered off her thick blond hair as she squared her shoulders, eyeing the men about fifty feet away with a calm that set my pulse racing. I watched her and appreciated how focused and competent she seemed—like some avenging angel. They parked their bikes and turned them off, the sudden silence jarring after the overpowering roar of their Harley engines.
Sylvie turned on the remote and pointed it at the drone. A few seconds later, the drone went airborne, and one of the men stopped short. “Hey, shut up, Carver. What the fuck is that?” His voice spiked in alarm. He’d heard the high-pitched, insistent whir as it sliced through the air. The man's silhouette jerked as he spun around, his eyes scanning the dark sky above until he locked onto the buzzing harbinger.
“Drone! Up there!” he shouted, pointing. The other three men snapped their heads up, tracking the sound, their postures shifting from aggression to confusion.
It was almost comical. A short, older man with long, gray hair standing closest to us started looking around, probably searching for the person manning the remote. His body stilled when he spotted Sylvie’s blond hair shining in the moonlight. “Got a death wish, bitch?” he sneered, his loud jarring voice carrying in the night.
“Only for stupid, ugly, assholes,” she called back, her tone cool. “It looks like you’re on that list.” Sylvie taunted him as she furiously worked the controls of the drone.
I mentally groaned even as I admired her fearlessness. The drone's whining sound got louder as one of the men lit a Molotov cocktail, its flame casting sinister shadows across his face. In a heartbeat, I understood what she was doing. A bigger man with the semi-automatic turned our way.
“Fuck,” I muttered, fear slicing through my earlier admiration. If she got hit by a stray bullet, I'd never forgive myself. Pulling my gun up, I propelled myself at her body, tackling her to the ground. She never let go of the remote.
“Head down!” I clipped. My heart hammered against my ribs as gunshots whizzed over us through the bushes.
In that second, I realized how much I cared about her. She was a loyal, clever, one-of-a-kind force, and the world would be a darker place without her.
I heard the men swearing and scrambling around, but I carefully aimed at the biker with the semi-automatic and shot him in the thigh. He yelped and crumpled to the ground as his friends dove for cover behind the bikes.
The drone buzzed in the air, and I watched as Sylvie's steady fingers danced over the remote. Her arms stretched out in front of us, and her face was a mask of grim determination.
“You can get off me now, the show's about to start.” Her eyes never left the drone.
I wanted to laugh. If this was what flirting was like with her, I was all in. The small, deadly object tied to the drone was meant for more than surveillance or intimidation.
She planned to unleash a suicide drone on their asses. Fuck me, this woman was hot.
“Brace yourself,” she warned.
“Incoming!” the first biker bellowed just as Sylvie pressed another button on the remote. The drone had gained enough altitude, and it zipped through the air like a bat out of hell.
“Look at the pretty lights, boys,” she murmured. The little machine plowed into one of the four custom motorcycles, the incendiary device igniting upon impact with a satisfying thunk just as the man with the now-lit Molotov cocktail threw it at the mortuary front door. Before the flames took hold of the door, the motorcycle exploded in a ball of fire and bike parts, sending a shockwave rolling over us. Shrapnel must have hit a gas tank.
“Jesus, fuck,” I muttered as I covered Sylvie’s head with my arms. The explosion caused a chain reaction a few seconds later, igniting two of the other three bikes as debris and fire ignited those gas tanks too. Yells and a roar of pain erupted from the men behind the motorcycles. One of them must have gotten hit by flying parts.
I turned and noticed flames licking at the mortuary entrance, the beautiful, thick inlaid wood door catching fire. The building was well-loved, but it was also old. I didn’t think it would survive the fire if it took hold.
Dragging Sylvie back into the shadows, we watched the chaos for a split second, then I turned to her. “Do you have a fire extinguisher?”
“Yes,” she dropped the remote and ran back to her apartment. I kept my eyes on the men crouching behind the remaining motorcycle when she came back with a large fire extinguisher moments later.
While Sylvie was gone, one man rolled the remaining bike away from the others. When he heard sirens in the distance, he and the other uninjured man got on the bike and took off, leaving their two accomplices without a backward glance.
I stood and walked toward the remaining men lying on the grass. “Hands up, you stupid motherfuckers.”
The man I’d shot in the leg started moaning and begging for help, but I shook my head in disgust. “You tried to burn down the Spade family mortuary, and a residence. You can fucking bleed out for all I care.”
The other man rolled over and fumbled with his side holster. I turned my gun on him. “If you make one more move, I’ll drill a bullet through your skull. Both of you, put your hands up by your heads.”
Sylvie struggled to get the fire extinguisher working, so we quickly switched places. She held the gun while I worked to contain the fire that was now licking up the iconic front door. I let the motorcycles burn.
Several hours later, the smell of smoke and smoldering tires lingered heavily in the air. The police had questioned everyone, and the EMTs took the two injured men away, handcuffed to stretchers.
Detective Reiner, an older man with a bulbous nose and heavy wrinkles, gazed around at the burned-out remains of the motorcycles and the charred door, and shook his head slowly.
“This isn’t gonna end well,” he warned me quietly.
I folded my arms and studied the mess. “The OutKast MC is out of control, and there’s something going on that we’re missing.”
He nodded. “It’s like a freight train that’s jumped the tracks, and Las Vegas is the town it’s barreling into. I’m three months away from retirement,” he muttered, wiping his hand down his wrinkled face. “Do me a favor, and try to keep it contained until then.” He left a few minutes later after stringing yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter.
Using the back entrance, we migrated to Ezra’s office after the emergency personnel left. Fennick paced with nervous energy, shooting me a feral glare every few minutes, and Kilian sat calmly at Ezra’s desk.
“What’s he doing here at three in the fucking morning, Syl?” Fenn asked, nodding his head toward me.
“None of your business, butthead. Would you have preferred I was alone when they came? And he’s the reason the funeral home didn’t burn down.” Her voice cracked, and I walked over and put my arms around her, glaring at Fenn over her shoulder.
"He helped, huh?" Fennick snorted, eyeing me suspiciously. “He doesn’t have a scratch on him. First Luna and now you. What the hell is going on around here?” He turned to me. “And why the fuck are you still wearing a goddamn suit?”
Ezra cut in. “We can argue about her boyfriends and his clothes later. Right now we need to get this mess cleaned up and find out if the OutKast MC president is condoning these attacks.” He looked a little older and worn down as he gestured toward the charred door.
“My partner, Ivan, is monitoring their feed at the clubhouse. When he has anything to report, I’ll let you know.”
Fenn stopped pacing and perked up. “Knox hacked the OutKast clubhouse? Nice. Except you missed this, didn’t you?” He waved toward the burned front door.
I rolled my neck and tried to find patience. “You missed it too, asshole. That’s why we think the president didn’t sanction it.”
Kilian closed his laptop and leaned forward. “I sent the surveillance video to the police. The camera caught their faces.”
Ezra nodded. “I called our insurance agent and the disaster cleanup team they recommended. Their people should be here in the morning to work on the smoke damage and the front door.”
Sylvie sighed. “We need to be ready for the Mayor's aunt's funeral next week.” She glanced toward the front of the mortuary. “I loved that door. It’s the original one from the 1950s.”
I heard movement in the hallway and pulled the gun from the small of my back before anyone else moved. Fenn raised an eyebrow. “Alright, maybe you’re not just a fancy fuck boy. Relax, it’s Callum.”
He walked in, his face stern. “We need additional security here until this situation is resolved.”
Fenn rolled his eyes. “You have a knack for stating the obvious.”
Kilian glanced at Fenn. “And you have a habit of ignoring it.”
Callum threw his arm around Sylvie and kissed the top of her head. “How’d the suicide drone work out, and what’d you take out with it?”
Sylvie grinned, and her eyes lit up. As I listened to her describe the night’s events, I fervently hoped things would settle down soon.