Chapter 5 #3
"For now. I've got her locked in the panic room with the other ol’ ladies, but if they get through the gate, I don't know if I can hold them off."
"We're on our way. Hold the line." I end the call and look at Vulture. "The Reapers are hitting the compound, they want Ava."
"Fuck." Vulture’s already on his bike, his engine roaring to life. "Sterling, we need backup at the compound, now, the Reapers are making a play."
"On it. Moving everyone I can spare."
We tear out of the warehouse district, pushing our bikes to dangerous speeds. The compound's twenty minutes away on a good day. We make it in twelve, running red lights and weaving through traffic with complete disregard for safety.
The sound of gunfire reaches us before we even turn onto our road.
We come around the corner to find the gate breached, Reaper bikes are scattered across our property, and brothers engaged in a firefight with the invaders. Bodies are already down, both theirs and ours, blood staining the gravel dark.
I don't think, I just react. My weapon's in my hand before I'm off the bike, and I'm moving toward the clubhouse where Hustler said he secured Ava. Vulture and Zip are right behind me, providing covering fire as we cross the open ground.
A Reaper appears from behind a truck, weapon raised. I put two rounds in his chest before he can fire. Another comes from my left, and Zip takes him down with a headshot that sprays brain matter across our workshop wall.
We fight our way inside, clearing rooms as we go. The clubhouse is a war zone, furniture overturned, glass shattered, and the smell of gunpowder thick in the air. Hustler's barricaded himself in the hallway leading to the panic room. He’s bleeding from a wound in his shoulder but still standing.
"They're trying to get to her," he gasps. "Three of them went upstairs. I couldn't stop them all."
"You did good, brother. We've got it from here." I look at Vulture. "Get him medical. I'm going after Ava."
"Ice Pick, wait for backup."
"There's no time."
I take the stairs three at a time, my weapon up, and every sense on high alert. The panic room's hidden behind a false wall in my bedroom, reinforced steel that can withstand most assaults. But if they've got explosives, if they're determined enough, they might breach it.
Voices reach me from down the hall. Two men arguing about how to open the door. I round the corner and find them exactly where I expected, two Reapers with a crowbar trying to pry open my bedroom door.
"Step away from the door," I say, my voice deadly calm.
They turn, and I recognize one of them. The Sergeant-at-Arms who was filming when they had Ava in that storage room. Recognition flashes in his eyes, followed by fear.
"You," he says.
"Me." I aim for center mass. "This is your last chance. Walk away."
Instead of walking, he goes for his weapon. Stupid move. I fire twice, both shots hitting true, and he goes down hard. His partner drops the crowbar, bends down and reaches for his gun.
I get a shot off and aim at his arm so that he drops his gun.
“Fuck,” he screams.
"Where's the third one?" I kick the gun away from him.
"I don't know, man. We split up to search the place." I shoot him again, right between the eyes, he drops immediately, losing my attention.
I hear footsteps behind me. I spin, my weapon tracking the movement, and find the third Reaper emerging from one of the spare rooms. He's got a gun pointed at my head, and his smile's ugly.
"Drop it, Saint, or I’ll put one in your skull."
Time slows. I can see the sweat on his brow, and the slight tremor in his hand that says he's running on adrenaline and fear. He's going to shoot, I can see it in his eyes.
The shot comes from behind me.
The Reaper drops, and I turn and see Ava standing there in the doorway of the panic room, Hustler's backup piece in her shaking hands, her face pale but determined.
"I told you," she says, her voice remarkably steady. "I can handle myself."
For a moment, I just stare at her. Then I'm crossing the distance between us, pulling her into my arms, my weapon still in one hand but the other wrapped around her like I can physically shield her from everything that just happened.
"You're supposed to stay in the panic room," I say against her hair.
"I heard fighting, and thought you might need help."
"You could've been killed."
"So could you." She pulls back, looking up at me with eyes that are fierce despite the fear I can see lurking there. "We're even now. You've saved my life twice. I've saved yours once. One more and we'll call it square."
Despite everything, despite the bodies and the blood and the danger, I laugh. "Deal."
The other ol’ ladies come out and wait for Vulture to let us know it’s safe.
Vulture’s voice echoes up the stairs. "Ice Pick, we clear?"
"Clear. Ava and the ol’ladies are safe."
"Thank fuck for that. I need you down here Ice Pick, because we've got more company. The feds followed us here, and they want to talk."
Of course they do. I holster my weapon and take Ava's hand, leading her downstairs where agents in FBI windbreakers are processing the scene.
Bodies are being photographed, evidence collected, and in the middle of it all stands a woman in her forties with sharp eyes and an expression that says she's seen worse.
"You must be Ice Pick," she says, extending her hand. "Special Agent Forrister. Robert's sister."
I shake her hand, surprised. "Didn't know Robert had family in the Bureau."
"He doesn't advertise it. Different career paths, similar goals." She looks at Ava. "And you're Ava Langley, your investigation's caused quite a stir."
"That was kind of the point," Ava says.
"Well, it worked. The raid on the warehouse was successful.
We've got twenty girls safe, multiple arrests including several high-profile buyers, and enough evidence to prosecute everyone involved.
" Agent Forrister's expression softens slightly.
"You did good work, Ms. Langley. Dangerous work, but good. "
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now? Now we process the scene here, make sure everyone's secure, and start building cases against the Reapers and everyone connected to their operation." She pauses. "You're aware that several members of your club engaged in a firefight on your own property resulting in multiple fatalities?"
"Self-defense. They breached our gate, opened fire first."
"That's what your brothers said. And the evidence supports it." She looks around the destroyed clubhouse. "You're lucky, Ice Pick. This could've gone very differently."
"We're not lucky. We're prepared."
"Fair enough." She hands me a card. "We'll need statements from everyone, including Ms. Langley. And there'll be an investigation into tonight's events, both here and at the warehouse. Cooperation would be appreciated."
"You'll get it. Within reason."
"That's all I'm asking." She nods to her team. "Alright, let's wrap this up. I want everyone cleared out within the hour."
As the feds work, I pull Ava aside, checking her over for injuries I might've missed. She's got a bruise forming on her wrist where she must've gripped the gun too hard, but otherwise she's unharmed.
"You scared the hell out of me," I tell her.
"Right back at you." She leans into me, exhausted. "Is it over? Really over?"
"The Reapers are done. The buyers are arrested. The trafficking network's exposed." I kiss the top of her head. "Yeah, sweetheart. It's over."
"Then what happens to us?"
It's the question I've been avoiding, the one that doesn't have an easy answer. What happens when the danger's gone and we're left with just ourselves? When she doesn't need my protection anymore and I don't have an excuse to keep her close?
"I don't know," I admit. "But I know I'm not ready to let you go."
She looks up at me, and there's something vulnerable in her expression. "Good, because I'm not ready to be let go."
"So we figure it out. Together."
"Together," she agrees.
And standing there in the wreckage of the clubhouse, surrounded by evidence of violence and survival, I realize that somewhere along the way this stopped being about protection or investigation or club business.
It became about something far more dangerous.
It became about love.