Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SHORT
Iwake with a start, sure I’d heard something. Bron’s still fast asleep beside me, and I can hear her steady breathing. Reaching for my phone, I use the light to check Trip hasn’t fallen out of bed.
Unsure what had startled me, and unwilling to take any risks, I ease myself off the mattress and pull on my jeans, then bend and slide my bare feet into my boots.
After putting on a t-shirt, I slide into my shoulder holster, then fix my cut over the top.
Armed with three handguns – one at the side of my ribs, one in the back of my jeans, and the last slipped into my boot – I strap the sheath containing my Ka-bar at my hips, and another holding a well-weighted throwing knife around my ankle.
Finally, I sling my rifle over my shoulder.
I’m dressed and prepared for anything in under a minute.
I’d rather be ready than risk being caught on the wrong foot.
The likelihood is I heard nothing at all, and I’d been dreaming.
It’s surely too soon after our warning for the MDMC to launch an attack.
While we’ve got a couple of men outside patrolling on rotation, it’s a formality as we didn’t expect them tonight.
I attempt to tiptoe in my steel-toe-capped boots, but unsuccessfully as I wake Bronwyn.
“Short?” she whispers. “Where are you going?” Her eyes widen as she sees the armoury I’m wearing. “Has something happened?” Even just by the light of my phone, I can see her face blanching.
“I thought I heard something. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m just going to check it out.” I huff a soft laugh. “Probably just the prospects changing shifts and assing around.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just stay here, and try to go back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll be back soon.” Or so I hope, but I don’t want her to worry.
I turn toward the door again, but hear the rustle of sheets.
Bron launches herself at my back. I turn, take her in my arms, making sure the rifle doesn’t hit her.
Her hand comes up and reaches around my neck.
Guessing what she wants, I lower my head and, placing a supporting hand on her back, help her onto her toes so she can place her lips upon mine.
I break the kiss before either of us has had enough.
She understands, lets me go, and stands back. “Be careful, Short.”
I give her a chin lift, a silent promise I’ll do all I can. “Lock up after me,” I instruct. “And stay inside.” Then, taking one last look at the woman I’ve claimed, I open the door, step through and close it, with a sinking feeling of finality I pray is wrong.
“You hear something?” Freak’s coming out of his door, too.
“Thought so.” I lower my voice to the same level as his. “Didn’t know whether I was dreaming, but thought I’d check it out.” I obviously wasn’t imagining things if Freak heard something too.
There’s no need for further conversation. He jerks his head toward the stairs, and I follow him down. We pick our way across the clubroom full of prone bodies, none of whom seem to have stirred. Alcohol had been the choice of a sleeping aid for many last night.
“It has to have come from outside,” I whisper, unwilling to unnecessarily wake anyone up unless there’s a clear and present danger.
Freak’s as cautious as I, as we peer out of the windows that face the front of the clubhouse, but there’s nothing to be seen. The enforcer, and my bedrooms, though, face out onto the back.
Exchanging a knowing look between us, we both head for the kitchen at once, and immediately, through that window, it’s no longer a mystery as to what it was we both heard.
“Fuckin’ assholes.” Freak is no longer trying to keep quiet. Instead, he retreats to the clubroom and rouses everybody with a shout. “Bunkhouse is on fire. Get your asses in gear. The fuckin’ MDMC just announced their presence.”
As men immediately waken around me, I hiss to Freak, “I’ll wake everyone upstairs.”
It’s at that moment that there are loud explosions out in front of the clubhouse.
Followed by pops, which I can only think are exploding tanks, the sounds of shrapnel hitting the windows and shattering glass, make everyone move backward fast, and lets me know they’ve targeted our fucking bikes.
There’s no need to wake anyone. You’d have to be dead to sleep through that.
“Motherfuckers!” I scream, and I’m not the only one shouting.
Bullseye, still fastening his pants and sliding one-handed into his cut, comes racing down the stairs.
He takes out his phone, but before placing a call, starts calling out instructions.
“Snipers, go to the upstairs rooms and start taking out whoever’s throwing bombs at us. Who the fuck was out on patrol?”
Winchester, rifle already in hand, pauses just as he’s about to take the stairs. “Heathen and Paint are outside.”
I swallow hard, but tamp down my fears for them. There will be time later to take stock of our wounded and dead. Now’s the time for me to slip into the persona of a cold-hearted foot soldier and put all emotion behind me.
Tempest starts barking orders, dividing the brothers into groups to exit the clubhouse and carefully ease their way around the outer walls to gauge how many there are and what exactly is happening.
It falls on me to give Prez the bad news. “They’ve set the barn on fire. It’s too far back from the fence for them to have thrown something in. They’re already inside the compound.”
“The fire will have to burn out,” he responds tightly, and loud enough to be heard. “We concentrate on protecting the clubhouse and taking the bastards out.”
“Everyone, take these!” Genie appears and starts handing something out. Coms. We’ve played with them before, but never used them for real. But at least we’ll be able to hear each other and talk.
Saint’s here now, with Pippa right behind him. They’re arguing as they come down the stairs.
“No, I won’t fuckin’ stay behind. I’m trained for this. And so what if I’m pregnant? Haven’t I got more to protect, to live for now? Genie, give me one of those weapons and get back to the monitors.”
Genie refuses to hand anything to her. “Pippa, you’re the best person to monitor the situation and use the communications to tell us what’s going on.”
“And what fuckin’ is?” Bullseye snaps at him.
Genie all but stands to attention. “Compound was breached at three a.m. Alarm was cut, but when I saw the barn on fire, I backtracked through the tapes. Saw at least five men entering. We’ve got a crowd surrounding the front gate, and one of the intruders is on his way to let them in.”
“Five dead fuckin’ men,” is Stalker’s passing shot as he grabs Piston and they take off out the back. “I’m gonna gut them.”
The sudden sound of shots firing from the upstairs rooms shows we’ve started engaging, and if I know Winchester, Rattler, and Woody, they’ll be making their shots count.
Pippa, seeing Genie exit with Saint, throws up her hands, then runs to Genie’s office. It can only be seconds later when I hear her voice in my ear. “Heathen’s down. He’s by the gate. I can’t see Paint. Gates have been breached.”
Bullseye’s face hardens. No emotion shows at all. “Words and Knight, you stay here and make sure no one gets inside the clubhouse. The rest of us, outside. We’ve got a fight to get to, and remember…”
Everyone left in the clubhouse roars with our motto, “Nobody fucks with the Kings.”
Then I’m exiting the back door, keeping close to the wall of the clubhouse. I’m fuckin’ blind going from the light into the night. Thinking night vision goggles must be next on our list of purchases, I’m relieved as Pippa shows her quick thinking and snaps all the outside floodlights on.
That could have been a disaster, but most of us are still protected by the shadow while our attackers are suddenly visible in the harsh light.
Sparing only a quick glance at the row of ruined bikes, I first use my rifle, shooting blindly toward the gate, which is now open, and where a flood of hostiles is streaming in.
For a moment, it’s a game of skittles, and I mow half a dozen down, but more and more are following.
“To your six, Short, Tempest.”
Both of us spin at Pippa’s calm words, and our two would-be ambushers are dead.
Then there’s no time for thinking. It’s simply a case of listening to Pippa, shooting, killing or maiming, and taking on the horde rushing at us.
“Short!” I spin, aim, and take out the man who’s got a bead on Freak, a shot to the heart, then one to the head for good measure.
I see Genie go down, but can’t spare a moment to check on him, as I’ve a man coming at me with a knife. Nah, you don’t bring that to a gunfight. A bullet takes care of him fast.
Fuck. Is that Tempest? But all I can do is leap over him and leave his body in my wake, unable to stop to see whether he’s dead or alive. We’ll all be killed if the ones able don’t continue this fight.
My rifle’s out of ammunition. I’ve no time to reload. I take out my Glock and keep shooting. When that’s empty, I take my next weapon from my back. Bodies are falling around me, but I can’t tell if they’re friend or foe.
They’re trying to gain entrance to the clubhouse. That’s a hell of a fuckin’ no. Though the people inside will have barricaded it, the wood will be no match for the grenade I see one man preparing to throw. He pulls out the pin, brings his arm back… My bullet takes him straight in the forehead.
“Fire in the hole, twenty feet back from the front door.” For the first time, Pippa’s voice carries emotion, and it’s easy to see why.
Saint and Knight are standing too close.
But heeding the warning, they jump back fast. There’s a muted cheer going up from the Kings as the grenade, rather than causing us damage, takes out a number of our enemies instead.
But they still fuckin’ keep coming.
How the fuck could the MDMC have recruited so many?
“Short, coming at you, two o’clock!”
Spinning, I think Pippa’s warning has come too late as I’m faced with a gun pointed straight at my head. But he falls at my feet before he can pull the trigger.
“You’re welcome,” Bullseye says.
Then I return the favour, shooting his attacker dead.
Jesus, how long can we keep this up? How many of us are still standing? The air is misty with gun smoke, and there seems to be no end of them.
“Clubhouse is breached.” Pippa’s back to sounding calm as if she’s a fucking newsreader. “I’m going off coms.”
Saint’s suddenly a madman, spurred into action, trying to get back into the clubhouse, but he’s made himself a target, and I take his would-be killer down.
Getting close to him, I grab hold of his shoulder, yanking him back as I yell, “She knows what she’s fuckin’ doing.” Mentally, I cross my fingers that she and the brothers inside can repel the attackers, else it’s my woman and son’s lives on the line.
Some of the brothers stay out front to stop more wannabe MDMC members from coming in, while Saint, Stalker, and I move around the back, where the breach must have occurred.
We see another man attempting to get in via the kitchen entrance.
Stalker throws a knife and, with an agonised gurgle, down he goes.
Saint almost falls to his knees when Pippa comes back on the line. “Clubhouse secured. Bullseye, watch your fuckin’ back.” After her words, another gunshot fires.
“Prez still standing,” Bullseye confirms into his mic.
“I’m staying here,” Saint tells me. “You and Stalk get back out the front.”
It’s an order. As much as I want to stay to protect the occupants, we’re too few against too many, and I’m needed elsewhere. He reads the agonised glance I send toward him, then I’m rushing back into the fray, and immediately taking a bullet to my left arm for my pain.
I must be fuckin’ dreaming, hallucinating, or something.
My ears tell me, I hear motorbikes approaching.
But it can only be wishful thinking. Our nearest King’s chapter is five hours away, and Bullseye could only have called them when the attack started.
Nah, what’s coming are reinforcements for the fucking MDMC.
While this fight seems to have been going on forever, it’s not the hours New Mexico would have needed to reach us. If so, it would already be dawn.
But the roar of engines grows louder, and our attackers, rather than pressing an advantage, start to retreat, sending worried looks over their shoulders. Is it a mass illusion or something?
No. It’s fuckin’ real, I think as I slash my Ka-bar into a distracted enemy’s throat. They’re not MDMC backup, I realise at last. The cavalry has arrived. And it’s men wearing Kings of Anarchy cuts, who immediately throw themselves into the fight.
Our enemies are trapped between us, and don’t know which way to fire. With Winchester, Rat, and Woody picking them off from the upper storey of the clubhouse, we start shooting them like ducks in a barrel.
One raises his hands to surrender, but I send one of my last bullets into his head without any regret. No way would you have spared me, my woman, or my son if you’d gotten into the clubhouse.
Within moments, it seems, all the fuckers are down, though the night is punctuated by groans from those wounded, and begging for mercy, which they don’t get. Nobody fucks with the Kings and lives to tell the tale.
I take my fair share of doling out our kind of mercy, the ones that send them to meet the Devil in Hell fast.
As the sound of shooting fades, Words and Knight emerge from the clubhouse.
Stepping forward, the funeral director looks around, then complains loudly, “How the fuck is my cremator going to deal with all this?”
“Yeah, and I haven’t even brought my murder van with me, so I can’t help,” Jester, one of our saviours from New Mexico, states ruefully. His prez, Bigfoot, a man I’ve never been so pleased to see, snorts.
For some reason, Words’ and Jester’s drily delivered comments have us cracking up. Soon, all present Kings, from both chapters, are doubled up laughing. We’re hysterical with the relief of tension.
I’m chortling as loud as anyone else, but am one of the first to sober. We’ve fucking won, but we’ve still to count the cost, starting with finding out what happened inside the clubhouse when the intruders made their incursion, and how many casualties we’ve got.