20. Tank
20
TANK
“ T here,” I say, pointing to a set of tire tracks leading off the main path and disappearing into the brush. The tracks are fresh, the mud churned up and slick from the rain. “Looks like they took her this way.”
We follow the tracks, our boots sinking into the wet ground with each step. The rain makes it hard to see, but the tire tracks are clear enough, winding through the trees and toward the cliff’s edge.
As we push deeper into the brush, the tracks lead us to a narrow trail that snakes along the cliff side.
“Careful,” Hawk whispers, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. “The ground’s unstable here.”
We creep along the edge, the trail narrowing even further. The rain has eaten away at the edge, Two hundred feet below, the tumultuous waters of the Pacific crash against the rocks, a churning mass of foam and fury.
Hawk holds up a fist, signaling Vance and I to stop. He creeps forward, his movements silent and stealthy. He motions for us to follow and I do so, keeping close. Around the bend, I see it. A small wooden shack, lit by a single bulb, clings precariously to the edge of the cliff, leading deeper into some sort of cave.
“This has to be it,” Vance whispers.. “Let’s get her.”
Without another word, Hawk creeps towards the shack, his knife drawn and at the ready.
We step inside, the cave swallowing us in darkness. The air is damp and cold, the scent of salt and earth thick around us. My mind races with thoughts of Izzy, hoping she’s holding on, hoping we’re not too late.
As we move deeper into the cave, the sound of the waves fades, replaced by the eerie silence of the underground. The beam of our flashlights cuts through the gloom, revealing the narrow, winding passage ahead.
Before we can move, a figure steps out of the shadows. It’s not Gunnar.
It’s a new guy, a pledge—just a kid, really. His eyes are wide with fear, but he’s trying to put on a brave face. He holds a knife, hands shaking slightly.
“Not another step,” he says, voice wavering.
Hawk’s gun is out in an instant, aimed steadily at the pledge. “Put the knife down, kid. You don’t want to do this.”
The pledge glances at the knife, his grip tightening. “I have orders. I can’t let you take her.”
Hawk’s expression hardens. “Three seconds, and this is over.”
Before the pledge can react, Hawk moves. It’s a blur of motion—Hawk’s fist connecting with the kid’s jaw, the knife clattering to the ground. The pledge crumples, unconscious before he hits the floor.
“Three seconds flat,” I mutter, impressed despite the situation. Three more come rushing down the tunnel. Two once belonged to our club, the other some Dead Demon fuck. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all dead men walking at this point.
“God dammit,” Vance mutters.
“Looks like it’s time to dance, ladies,” I chuckle, cracking my knuckles.
We launch ourselves at them, fists flying, adrenaline pumping. The tunnel echoes with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, grunts of pain, and the clatter of weapons hitting the ground. It’s chaotic and brutal, but we’ve been through worse.
I grapple with one of the former members, my massive form overwhelming the guy. I deliver a bone-crunching punch that sends the traitor sprawling, out cold. Hawk takes on the other, moving with lethal grace, his strikes precise and devastating. Within moments, the Dead Demon is on the ground, clutching his side in agony.
Vance tackles the last guy, a Dead Demon with a nasty scar, pinning him to the ground with a knee to the chest. The guy thrashes, but Vance’s grip is unyielding. He leans down, his voice low and dangerous.
“You’re going to tell me everything I want to know.”
The guy spits blood, defiance in his eyes, but Vance doesn’t waver. He tightens his grip, making the guy wince. “Trust me, you don’t want to test my patience.”
“You really don’t, buddy,” I say.
Hawk and I stand over the other two, ensuring they’re not getting up anytime soon. Hawk glances over at Vance, who’s still pinning the guy down. “What do you want to do with him?”
Vance’s eyes gleam with a cold determination. “I want to get some info out of this one. He knows something. I’ll catch up with you guys.”
Hawk and I exchange a look, understanding the unspoken agreement. “Alright,” I say. “Don’t take too long.”
Vance nods, his focus never leaving the guy beneath him. “I won’t. Just make sure Izzy stays safe.”
With a final glance at Vance, Hawk and I turn, moving deeper into the tunnel.
The passage narrows before opening into a larger chamber, dimly lit by a few hanging bulbs. The sight that greets us stops me cold.
Rows of marionette dolls hang from the ceiling, their painted faces eerily lifelike in the flickering light. Shelves are lined with art supplies—paints, brushes, sculpting tools. It looks like a twisted artist’s studio, and at the center of it all stands Reynolds, his back to us as he works on something at a cluttered workbench.
Gunnar stands to the side, his eyes flicking nervously between Reynolds and the entrance. He hasn’t noticed us yet.
Then there’s Izzy, sitting in the corner of the room, her hands and feet bound with rope. Her face is bruised and there are tears streaking down her cheeks. Her shirt’s been ripped and I can’t even imagine what she’s just endured.
Reynolds turns, finally noticing our presence. His eyes widen in surprise, and his mouth drops open. He knows he’s fucked. Gunnar leaps forward, drawing a gun from his waistband. “Drop your weapons,” he commands, his finger tightening on the trigger. “Don’t try anything, or I’ll put a bullet in your fucking head.”
“Is this what it’s come to, Gunnar?” Hawk asks with a cold, calm voice.
I can see the conflict in Gunnar’s eyes. His previously unwavering loyalty to Reynolds seems to be faltering. “You always thought you were better than the rest of us! Well, not anymore.”
“Better?” Hawk's voice is low, steady. “No, Gunnar. I never thought I was better. I thought we were brothers. But I guess I was wrong about you.”
Gunnar's grip on the gun wavers, and I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. Reynolds notices too and steps closer, his voice a hiss. “Don’t listen to him, Gunnar. Remember why we’re here. Remember what we’re fighting for.”
Gunnar swallows hard, his eyes darting between Hawk and Reynolds. “You promised me power,” he says, his voice shaking. “You promised me respect.”
“And you’ll have it,” Reynolds says smoothly. “As long as you follow orders. Now, shoot them.”
In that split second, I see the decision weighing heavily on Gunnar's face. Then, he lifts the gun and aims it straight at Hawk’s chest. Izzy lets out a cry in fear.
Hawk’s expression hardens. “You’re just a pawn, Gunnar. Don’t you see? Reynolds is using you.”
Reynolds smirks, his eyes cold and calculating. “Oh, Hawk. You really think you can turn him against me? You’re delusional. This whole operation—Hellfire Riders, the Puppeteer—it’s all mine now. And no one will believe a bunch of bikers over a decorated detective.”
“We’ll see about that,” Hawk replies, his voice dangerously calm. “You think we’re just going to let you walk away with this?”
Reynolds laughs, a cruel, mocking sound. “What are you going to do? Kill me? You’ll be hunted down like dogs. And Gunnar here will testify against you.”
“I don’t give a shit,” Hawk growls. “You’re not walking out of here.”
The tension snaps like a wire pulled too tight. Gunnar raises his gun, but Hawk is faster. He lunges forward, knocking the gun from Gunnar’s hand with a swift strike. The weapon clatters to the ground, and chaos erupts.
I rush towards Reynolds, my heart pounding. He tries to pull a knife from his belt, but I slam into him, sending us both crashing to the ground. We grapple, each trying to gain the upper hand. Reynolds lands a punch to my jaw, pain exploding across my face, but I ignore it, focusing on disarming him.
Hawk and Gunnar are locked in a fierce struggle, their movements a blur of raw power. Hawk’s fist connects with Gunnar’s face, sending him reeling. Gunnar recovers quickly, lunging at Hawk with a snarl.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Vance burst into the room, drenched from the rain but looking every bit the fierce warrior he is. He charges at Gunnar, tackling him to the ground. The three of us move in unison, our actions coordinated by years of fighting side by side.
But just as I gain the upper hand on Reynolds, he manages to free a hidden gun. Before I can react, he pulls the trigger, and a searing pain erupts in my side. I stagger, clutching my ribs, the world tilting around me.
“Tank!” Hawk’s voice is sharp with panic as he breaks free from Gunnar’s grip and rushes to my side.
Reynolds takes advantage of the chaos, scrambling to his feet and making a run for it. Vance moves to follow, but I grab his arm, my grip weak but insistent.
“Go after him,” I blurt out through grit teeth. “I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Tank,” Vance snaps, his eyes flicking between me and the retreating figure of Reynolds.
Hawk presses down on my wound, his face etched with worry. “We need to get you out of here.”
I shake my head, the pain making it hard to focus. “No, get him. He can’t get away.”
Vance hesitates, but then he nods, understanding the urgency. “I’ll get him,” he says, his voice filled with determination. “Stay with Hawk.”
He takes off after Reynolds, leaving me and Hawk in the dimly lit room. Hawk tears off a piece of his shirt, pressing it against my wound to stem the bleeding.
“You’re not dying on me,” Hawk mutters, his voice a mix of anger and fear. “Not today.”
I manage a weak grin, trying to lighten the mood despite the pain. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Not the first time I’ve been been shot.” I glance over at Izzy, who's crying and squirming. “Help her. I’m fine. I promise.”
Hawk looks torn for a moment but then nods, realizing the urgency. “Hang in there, Tank.” He moves quickly to untie Izzy, her sobs filling the room as she’s freed from the chair.
“Tank, oh my God,” she cries, rushing to my side as soon as her bonds are removed. Her hands hover over my wound, her eyes wide with fear and concern.
“I’m okay, Izzy,” I manage to say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Just a scratch.”
She gives me a watery smile, but the fear in her eyes doesn’t diminish. Hawk finishes untying her and turns his attention back to me, checking the makeshift bandage he’s pressed against my side.
“We need to get you out of here,” Hawk says, his voice firm. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah,” I grunt, pushing through the pain. “Let’s go.”
Just as Hawk and Izzy help me to my feet, Vance bursts back into the room, his expression dark and frustrated. “He got away,” he says, anger lacing his words. “Slipped through a side tunnel before I could get to him.”
Hawk swears under his breath, his grip tightening on my arm. “We’ll deal with him later. Right now, we need to get Tank somewhere safe. I refuse to let Reynolds take another one of my men.”
Hawk effortlessly lifts Izzy into his arms, her small frame cradled protectively against his chest.
We make our way out of the tunnel, each step sending a jolt of pain through my body. Vance supports me as we go.
“We’ll get you to the hideout first,” Hawk says, his voice steady. “We have supplies there. We can patch you up there.”
I nod, too exhausted to argue. I rummage through the pack on my bike pulling out my first aid kit, ripping gauze off with my teeth and Vance helps wrap it around my side where the damn bullet is lodged.
“Are you going to be able to ride?” Vance asks. I glare at him.
“There’s no way I’m leaving my bike.”
Hawk and Vance move quickly, helping me get secured on the bike. Izzy climbs onto the back of Hawk’s bike, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her face pale but determined.
“Ready?” Vance asks, his eyes flicking to me with concern.
“Yeah,” I grunt, my voice strained. “Let’s get out of here.”