Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Luke took a few deep breaths and told himself that this would all soon be over.
It didn’t take long for him to park his white truck in the tall weeds behind the broken-down ticket booth.
Luke and Abe stepped out of the truck and adjusted the earpieces that connected them to Agent Miller and the rest of the FBI detail positioned in the woods. Birds fluttered up from a nearby tree line, stirred by the arrival of Kane’s Jeep and Ben’s SUV.
Luke could feel the old fairgrounds breathing—humid, eerie, still tainted by too many childhood memories and the sour tang of cheap funnel cake.
As the youngest sons, he and Abe only had happy memories of this place.
It was also the last time he remembered having fun with his mother before she abandoned the family.
So it was appropriate that today the fairgrounds would bleed.
Or at least witness a bunch of arrests. He’d never admit this to his brothers, but he hoped there’d be no gun play.
Although he was a self-admitted adrenaline junkie, he wasn’t like Abe, Uncle Gage, Kane, or Ben.
He’d never served in the army, he wasn’t a sheriff, he’d spent little time in the MC.
He was much more like Jacob and Trent, both of whom avoided violence and conflict.
He'd much rather spend his time surfing and swimming in the sun with Holly.
But he was also the grandson of Caleb Mosby, the man whose story was still playing out in the lives of his male offspring. So, of course, Luke was a proficient hunter and was now carrying one of Ben’s handguns.
He and Abe moved toward the ticket booth, scanning the area as they walked through the grass. The rusting skeletons of rides cast long, crooked shadows across the packed earth. Beyond the tilted Ferris wheel, three white vans were already parked. The MC was early.
“They drove their cages and brought more men than we thought.” Gage was crouched low, one hand resting on his thigh, the other holding a pair of field binoculars.
“How many men?” Luke asked, already pulling his Glock from the holster on his thigh.
“Fourteen. Maybe more inside the vans.” Gage lowered the binoculars. “They’re armed.”
“No shit.” Luke’s stomach was quiet now, all steel instead of hunger.
Voices crackled softly over the comm.
Ben responded and then told the group, “Agents Miller and Keyes are in the decoy car, black Honda, southeast corner. They’ll come up slowly and park nearby, when we give the signal.”
Luke could picture the scene. Holly’s hair pulled back, her chin tilted stubbornly. Even though it wasn’t really her in that car, he felt the phantom of her there. His hand flexed at his side.
A low growl of motorcycles echoed down the dirt road.
“Wait,” Trent asked in his surprised voice. “There are more of them?”
“There are always more,” Ben whispered. “Get used to it.”
“I’ll be glad when this is over,” Jacob said. “I hate surprises.”
Kane appeared next to Luke and tossed him three black flash drives.
“Garbage data,” Kane said. “Just like we planned.”
Luke caught it one-handed and tucked it into the inside pocket of the flannel shirt he’d worn to protect himself from ticks, sunburn, and grazing bullets. Of course Abe had laughed. But when Abe was the one who ended up with Lyme Disease, then it would be Luke’s turn to laugh.
Six bikers, including Ripper, lined up in front of the old tilt-a-whirl. The others fanned out behind him.
Ben touched Luke’s shoulders. “You go first. We’ll be right behind you.”
He put his gun back in the holster and walked ahead slowly, his arms in the air.
Behind him Ben led, as always, with Luke and Kane flanking, Trent covering the ridge, Jacob guarding the back route out. Abe and Gage—both silent and coiled like predators—were already gone, circling wide to position himself behind the MC’s primary van.
Because that was the kind of stuff Army Rangers, like Abe and Gage, did.
And right now, Luke wished he had Hawk next to him. Hawk, still a full-fledged member, had the gift of gab that had gotten them all out of trouble more times that Luke could count.
But right now it was up to him to save Holly and Eve.
Ripper and three other men moved toward the rusted grandstand, dressed in worn leathers, guns half-visible beneath open jackets. One of them—tall, wide, and marked by a jagged scar down his cheek—stepped forward.
“What are you doing here, Crow?” Ben appeared next to Luke, his face formed into a mask of fury. He held the map in one hand.
Crow’s grin made his scar seem even scarier. “Surprised, J-Reb?” Crow pointed at the two men still near Ripper. “I’m surprised. I thought you were smarter than that.”
Crow turned slightly to smile at Ripper, and Luke saw the back of his leather cut.
“Wait.” Luke glanced at Ben. “The Devil’s Renegades are working with the Black Jacks?”
The Black Jacks were the MC’s main rivals from Salem, Massachusetts.
“Apparently so,” Ben said in a dark voice. “Do you want to make a trade or not, Crow?”
Crow held out both hands in fake supplication. “You want to trade the flash drives and run? Because that ain’t going to happen, brother. Not today.”
Luke stepped forward, waving the drives like bait. He was tired of the bullshit and wanted to go back and see Holly. “You want it or not, asshole?”
Ben’s low curse sounded exasperated.
Crow nodded toward the vans. “We’ll need to verify the flash drives.”
Luke took the map from Ben and kept his voice cool. “Take the drives. Take the map.” He tossed them all at Crow’s feet. “And get the hell off our land.”
Crow ignored Luke and motioned to one of the Black Jacks standing near Ripper—the one with long red hair braided down his back—who retrieved the map and flash drives.
The red head opened the map, studied the ink, and nodded. “All good, Crow.”
“Wait.” Ripper stepped forward and took the flash drives from the red head. “We need to confirm these.”
Another biker, this one Luke remembered who went by the name of Grimm, hurried over with a laptop. He set it up on the small stage that made up the bandstand and shoved in the first flash drive.
While Grimm did his thing, Ripper reappeared in front of Luke. “Now. About the women. We only need them until tomorrow night. Once we make our deals, you can have them back.”
“So now we’re supposed to trust you?” Luke spat on the ground, near Ripper’s black motorcycle boots. “The only way we’re giving you our women is if one of us stays with them at all times.”
“Yeah?” Ripper shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
Luke heard chatter in his ear and motioned toward the left, where the black car was pulling up. Even from here, one could see a blond and a brunette in the back seat, with Abe driving.
Luke just hoped that Ripper wouldn’t look too closely. He might not know what Holly looked like—unless her photos were pasted all over social media, which is a situation he should’ve considered before now—but everyone in town knew Eve.
He pointed toward the car. “You take the women with me. Or no deal.”
He just hoped Ripper wouldn’t call his bluff. Because the only other option was an actual fight.
Grimm shut his laptop and pointed at Luke. “The flash drives are fake!”
* * *
Holly braced herself against the dashboard of Izzy’s truck. It bumped along the gravel road leading into the old fairgrounds, and Holly’s stomach coiled tighter with every passing second.
Once Izzy had told all the women what the men had planned, which she’d found out about because she’d been eavesdropping, Holly had made the decision to fix this.
A lot of what was going on was because she’d found those stupid flash drives, and she wasn’t about to let Luke and his brothers get hurt because of that mistake.
“This is not a good idea,” Izzy said as she gripped the wheel. “I told you because I was mad at Hawk. We should be in that apartment above the café drinking mimosas. But I’m not sure why we’re doing this. And have I told you I hate this MC nonsense?”
Actually, Izzy had mentioned that multiple times since they’d left Eve’s house. At least Izzy had offered to drive since Holly had no car and no clue where she was going.
“I’m sorry we’re doing this on your wedding day, but I can’t let anything happen to these men. To this family.” Holly’s voice sounded tight. “Besides, if anything goes wrong, I’ve heard you’re scrappy.”
“I am scrappy,” Izzy admitted with a sharp grin. “But I’m also wearing sandals and a backless bra. If we have to run, you better carry me.”
They crested a hill and the abandoned fairground sprawled before them. Half a dozen decaying outbuildings, a rusted Ferris wheel frozen mid-turn, and the looming shadow of a barn-shaped pavilion near the tree line. Izzy steered toward it.
“I wonder where everyone is?” Holly studied the area, expecting to see FBI vans and Luke’s white truck.
“Maybe we’re on the wrong side of the fairgrounds.” Izzy parked the truck behind a thicket of pine trees and turned it off.
Holly’s heart began to hurt from discouragement. “This place is huge.”
“This is so not in the wedding planner’s handbook,” Izzy whispered. “And when Clara finds out I’m not where I’m supposed to be, she’s going to fire me and find another bride—the kind who listens—for Hawk.”
Holly laughed, grateful for the release of tension in her chest. Then she grabbed her purse/medical bag, followed Izzy out of the vehicle, and crept along the side of the barn. They moved as low and fast as they could.
“Why are you carrying that huge bag?” Izzy whispered.
“In case someone gets hurt.” She hiked her purse/medical bag on her shoulder, paused near a service door, and tried the handle. Locked.
Suddenly, she heard the distinctive click of a gun behind her head.
“What do we have here?”
She shifted to see a biker, in a black leather cut and tattoos covering his face, pointing a gun at her head.