Chapter Forty-Nine
Hunter
We arrive at The Red Room as an unhesitating force of vengeance. The parking lot is near empty, a handful of expensive trucks, sedans, and SUVs that hint at nothing more than a bare bones security force. As we park and leap off our bikes, with guns strapped to our backs, our hips, across our chests, enough weaponry to kill a small town, Havoc must see the look of surprise on my face.
“About once a week, they ship their cash out to other parts of their organization — bribes, payroll, whatever — and a decent part of their security force follows that cash shipment, obviously. They vary the date, the time, all of that, but when it happens, it leaves a brief window of an hour or two where they’re vulnerable, and our source told us the shipment left just half an hour ago. Now, these assholes don’t figure anyone would hit them at this time, since most of their money is elsewhere, but we’re not after money. We just want to kill enough of them to send a message,” he says.
“I think we’ll send the clearest message by turning every person in there into a corpse,” Mayhem says. “So, if you want into the Twisted Devils and care about making Ironwood Falls a better place for your baby boy, here’s your chance.”
“No more talk. Time’s short, let’s murder,” Havoc barks before I can even think of a damn thing to stall. “You two go around back, sneak in and start killing. I’ll draw a bunch of their security out here.”
“You going to use the pipe bombs?” Mayhem says.
“I’m going to use the pipe bombs.”
“Come on, Hunter, let’s go,” Mayhem says, sprinting and getting nearly thirty yards away before I can even get my feet moving. Both of them are as giddy as kids on Christmas morning and I’ve just realized I have no fucking clue what madness I’ve gotten myself into.
The second we get behind The Red Room, a thunderous explosion erupts from the parking lot, filling the air with smoke and asphalt shrapnel. Then another erupts. Mayhem doesn’t even blink.
“It’s a tight hallway through the back door until we get to the main gaming floor. Lots of corners, offices, shit like that. Use your shotguns for that stretch, then switch to your rifle and sidearms once we get further in. Kill everyone you see — they’re all hostiles.”
Another explosion comes from the front of the building and I hear yelling and gunfire and, beneath that, continuous, maniacal laughter. Havoc is having the time of his life.
“Hurry, or we’ll miss all the fun,” Mayhem shouts. Then, with a cackle of his own, he boots open the back door of The Red Room and charges inside. Not a second later, the concussive sound of shotgun blasts erupts, along with a flood of screams.
I follow inside and step into a horror shot of bullets and blood, a mayhem of maniacal carnage. Somehow, in this storm of slaughter, I have to find Diesel first.
The hallway stretches before me, a claustrophobic tunnel of violence. Mayhem moves like a demon possessed, his shotgun roaring with each pull of the trigger. Bodies crumple in his wake, faces and chests obliterated into unrecognizable pulp. I follow behind, my shotgun adding to the deafening cacophony, while my eyes scan frantically for any sign of Diesel.
We round a corner and Mayhem's shotgun roars again, the muzzle flash illuminating splattered crimson on the walls. A security guard comes around the corner, eyes wide with panic. Before he can raise his weapon, I instinctively fire, the blast tearing through his chest. He crumples, and I step over the body, my heart hammering.
"That's it! No hesitation!" Mayhem cackles, already moving to the next doorway.
I follow, scanning frantically for any sign of Diesel. Each office we pass is a blur of gunfire and screams. My ears ring from the constant barrage, the acrid smell of gunpowder burning my nostrils.
“Diesel,” I scream. “Diesel.”
“I don’t smell any diesel,” Mayhem says. “Are you sure it’s not just blood?”
“Diesel,” I yell again.
“Oh, I get it,” Mayhem says. “It’s your war cry, huh? Fine, I can roll with that. Diesel! Diesel!”
Our two voices join in a bizarre chorus, one of us screaming for his friend, the other screaming for the petroleum product.
We burst onto the main floor, a cavernous space filled with overturned poker tables and casino security. Mayhem switches to his rifle, cutting down anyone in his path with ruthless efficiency. I do the same, my hands moving on autopilot as I search the faces of the fallen.
"There!" I spot Diesel across the room, crouched behind an overturned blackjack table. Our eyes lock for a split second before he ducks back behind the table. “Mayhem, the one over behind the blackjack table — he’s a friendly. His name’s Diesel.”
“Same as your war cry? What a coincidence.” He shouts back to me from across the room.
“Don’t kill him, OK?”
“I’ll do my best,” he replies.
“No, promise me you won’t kill him.”
“Hunter, I can’t guarantee it, because to expect perfection is to expect to be disappointed. All I can tell you is I’ll do my best.”
“Whatever. Fuck it. Just try not to kill him.”
He gives a curt nod, too focused on his rampage to say anything further. I sprint across the room to where Diesel is sheltering, expecting that his odds of survival are higher if I’m physically standing next to him. Once by his side, I give him a quick hug, then fire several rounds at a team of approaching security, taking out one of them with a center-mass shot.
“Did you find out anything about Moretti and his men?” I say.
“No. All I had time to do was get offered a job and feel good about myself for acing that interview and then you all showed up with your fucking fireworks show. Seriously, who the fuck are you with?”
“The maniac over there is Mayhem,” I say, gesturing toward the tornado of blood and violence that seems to follow him around. “Outside, the one causing all the explosions, is his brother, Havoc.”
“Fucking maniacs. If we make it through this, you think they’ll let me set off some of their bombs?” Diesel says.
I shrug. “There probably won’t be any left. They like bombs, too.” Movement draws my attention, and I fire a hail of bullets at an unlucky security guard who gains a series of holes in his chest. “So you got nothing about Moretti?”
“Nothing. But the man who was to be my boss has his office upstairs and I sure as fuck haven’t seen him here in the middle of this shitstorm. Want to go pay him a visit? He’s probably hiding behind his desk.”
I toss Diesel one of my pistols. “Lead the way.”
Diesel and I make our way across the casino floor, ducking behind overturned tables and dodging stray bullets. The chaos is deafening — a symphony of gunfire, screams, and shattering glass. Mayhem continues his rampage, his laughter echoing off the walls as he mows down anyone foolish enough to cross his path.
We reach the stairs leading to the upper level, and I cover Diesel as he ascends. Just as we're about to reach the top, a security guard appears, his gun trained on us. Diesel fires, and the bullet catches the man in the throat. With eyes wide, he gurgles and falls, tumbling down the stairs past us.
"Nice shot," I mutter, impressed despite myself.
Diesel grins, a manic glint in his eye. "That guy was the first one who interviewed me. He was a dick."
We push forward, moving down a plush carpeted hallway lined with framed photos of celebrities who've visited The Red Room. At the end of the hall is a heavy oak door with a brass nameplate: "Vincent Caruso — General Manager."
I nod to Diesel, who positions himself on one side of the door while I take the other. With a silent count of three, I kick the door open, my rifle at the ready.
The office is lavish, all dark wood and leather, with a view overlooking the city. Behind an enormous desk cowers a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, his hands raised in surrender.
"Diesel? The fuck? We hired you, and this is how you repay us?”
Diesel fires a shot that just whiffs over the man's head. “Hey, Vince. You know, any offer that doesn’t include a fucking dental plan is total fucking bullshit. I mean, how could you, man? Considering the cash this place clears in a single day, and you can’t even help me keep my teeth clean?”
“This is really over our lack of a fucking dental plan? The amount we pay you, you can just do it for cash. Jesus fucking Christ.”
“Pay in cash? Do you know what dental care costs? Fuck, you are so out of touch, you privileged motherfucker.”
“I can’t believe you’re going to fucking kill me over the cost of a teeth cleaning,” Vincent says.
I fire a shot and give Diesel a pointed look. “This isn’t about the fucking cost of dental care — although, fucking really, you need to take care of your people, man, it’s just basic common sense — this is about Victor Moretti and whoever the fuck he sent into town. He’s got men here, I know it, and I want you to tell me everything you know about who they are and where they’re at.”
“Victor Moretti? Who the fuck is Victor Moretti?” He says. “Do you have any fucking clue who I am? Who you’re fucking with?”
There’s a twitch above his left eye and a vein that pulses in his forehead. He’s lying. He has to be.
“Don’t fuck with me, Vince,” I say. “I’m in no fucking mood.”
“Why the fuck would I fuck with you? You stupid motherfuckers have hit my casino. You have no fucking clue. Don’t even realize how fucked you are. It’s going to five, ten minutes before the rest of my men get back and kill you, your friends, and every single fucking one of your family members.”
I press the barrel of my gun against Vincent's forehead, my finger tightening on the trigger. "You've got about five seconds to talk before I paint this fancy office with your brains. Where is Moretti?"
He squirms beneath the barrel, and in the silence of his cowardice, I notice that the gunfire and explosions have stopped. Seconds later, Havoc and Mayhem appear in the doorway.
“Who’s this?” Mayhem says.
“Looks like the boss,” Havoc says. He gestures with his gun to a large painting on the wall. It’s garish, a sick swirl of colors depicting Vince sitting on a throne, with several busty women beside him. “And I’d bet there’s a safe behind that painting. Open it, boss man.”
“Fuck off, you psychopath,” Vince snaps.
“Don’t talk to me like that, you expendable piece of shit.”
“Havoc, Mayhem, calm the fuck down and let me handle this,” I say.
They don’t listen. I’m not surprised.
Havoc's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing across them. In one fluid motion, he raises his pistol and fires; the bullet grazes Vince's ear. The man yelps, clutching the side of his head as blood trickles between his fingers.
Something snaps within him; he reaches into his suit jacket, a gun appears in his hand and he raises it.
I don’t hesitate, and I pull the trigger and put a bullet into Vincent’s hand; Havoc, Mayhem, and Diesel don’t hesitate either — a series of bullets strike Vincent in the chest, the face, and the gut. He collapses into a bloody heap, along with my best chance to find out where Moretti’s men are hiding.
A hand claps me on the back. Another pulls me into a hug.
“You did good,” Mayhem says, holding me tight. “Real good.”
“We’ll talk to Rabid, get you patched in as soon as we can. Your friend can join us, too. We’ll vouch for him. Though he’ll have to be a prospect, though,” Havoc says.
I manage a smile, even though, on the inside, I’m as chaotic as a battlefield full of drunk Marines.
At least I’m in the MC. I may not know who or how many men Moretti has after me, but at least I’ll have backup when they launch their next inevitable attack. That counts for something, right?
“Sounds great,” I say.
“Oh great, I get to prospect all over again,” Diesel says. “I may not sound enthusiastic, but trust me, I am absolutely looking forward to joining your MC and enduring all the hazing and torment that comes along with the prospecting period.”
“Don’t worry, unlike some other clubs, we don’t do anything with the ass,” Havoc says, in a way that is completely unreassuring.
“But what if I ask nicely?” Diesel says.
“Consent matters. And so does saying ‘please,’” Mayhem says. His eyes go down to Vincent’s body, which is rapidly filling the floor with a pool of blood. “But we can talk about your asshole and what you want in it later. We should get back to the clubhouse before the rest of Vinny’s boys get back. We need to celebrate this victory and the MC’s two new members.”
In a disturbingly casual manner, we walk from the office and through the charnel house that used to be an underground casino. It’s only once we’re outside and free of the blood — well, all of it except the splatter staining my shirt, face, and hands — that everything that I’ve accomplished hits me. No, I may not know the names of the people after me, but I’ve bought brotherhood with blood. I’ve bought security and safety for the people I love, and my roots in Ironwood Falls are growing.
I smile.
It’s a good day.
We reach our bikes and I laugh.
“That’s the fucking attitude we like to see,” Havoc says. “You did really fucking well today, brother. We’ve made Ironwood Falls a better place, and I’m glad you realize that.”
I slip on my helmet and my leg over the bike. I am in the mood to celebrate. And to share the celebration with the people I love — Charlie and Emily. I haven’t seen either of them in hours, and after the chaos earlier, I need to fix that. I want to hug Charlie, kiss Emily, and tell them both how much I love them.
“I’ll be at the party later. There’s somewhere I need to go first.”
“To see Charlie and Emily? Mind if I tag along?” Diesel says. Then, in a lower voice, he adds, “I don’t want to be left alone with those two.”
I laugh. “You’re always welcome, brother. Let’s go see my lady and my son.”