40. Paul
40
Paul
C omplete and utter pandemonium. Screams echoed off the walls as pops and flashes from gunfire filled the open space of the motorcycle club. Paul stepped over a body as he fired at the brute running toward him. Fights broke out among the people fleeing. Dodging them, wearing night vision goggles, he did his best to search for Harper amid the chaos. She was his only priority. There were enough of his men around to take care of the bikers.
He had to keep his focus. Giving in to the surrounding panic would only make him careless. Once he knew Harper was safe and out of here, they could put all this bullshit behind them.
Ducking behind an overturned table, he crouched and took stock of things. He needed a plan. Finding her in the frenzy was impossible. There were just too many people running around. She could dash right past him with the other scared women, and he wouldn’t even know—if she hadn’t done so already.
He needed a better view. Glancing upward, he noted that there was a catwalk-like hallway circling the main room. To his right were the stairs.
Perfect.
Darting out from his cover, shooting as he went, Paul charged toward the steps.
Harper
In all her years of being connected to the motorcycle club, Harper had never been caught in anything remotely like the bedlam that was a gunfight. Of course, she’d seen squabbles here and there. Bruised egos meant fists flew. Sometimes, even the knives came out, but nothing like this. It’d be a miracle if she made it out alive.
Most of the action was down below. Did she really want to risk running straight into danger? She’d been shot once already, and that was enough for her. Getting struck by another stray bullet wasn’t high on Harper’s priority list. Unfortunately, the only way out was downstairs. At least up here, on the second floor, her only threat was a man bleeding out from the dick.
Glancing over her shoulder, she couldn’t find Dwight in the pitch-black despite her eyes adjusting. Even the flashes of light from the lower level weren’t enough for her to spot him. Which meant he was on the move.
Blowing out a breath, she knew she couldn’t risk staying put. Turning, she considered hiding in one of the bedrooms. There was no way anyone was in any of them. They wouldn’t just stay back while their brothers were getting massacred.
A pained roar sounded from behind her. She couldn’t wait anymore. If she was going to get anywhere, she had to go now. Dwight hopped up on whatever he’d taken was feisty. He didn’t even have the common decency to just lie down and die.
Stubborn fuck.
Stumbling, Harper rounded the corner as she scrambled to get away from him. Keeping her hand along the railing as a guide, and as a little support considering her injuries, she did her best to keep going.
If she ducked into a bedroom, Dwight would find her. She couldn’t be a sitting duck for him. She had to escape this hell.
When she reached the top of the stairs, Harper’s heart flipped. She’d made it. Panting, she paused, studying the rumble below. Her only saving grace was that the exit was mere feet from the bottom of the steps. She could do it.
The animalistic cry behind her was far too loud. Startled, she reflexively turned toward it in time to see Dwight’s crazed bearded face as he launched himself toward her. As his crushing weight slammed into her, her hand slipped off the railing and she fell backward, tumbling down the stairs with him on top of her.
After everything, this was how she would die—falling down a flight of stairs in Dwight’s arms.
Fuck my life.
Paul
Paul threw his head back, his left leg buckling as a bullet tore through his flesh. His back arched, and he screamed through his gritted teeth. He had to keep going despite the pain.
As he reached the bottom of the staircase, he looked up and jumped. A tangle of arms and legs was rolling down and headed right for him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t that nimble and was bowled over by the pair.
With a heavy grunt, he fell back and bounced off the floor with two people on top of him, and his night vision goggles went flying.
“You fucking bitch,” boomed the guy. Diesel.
“Dickless twunt,” she snapped back. Thank Christ—Harper.
Diesel and a very scantily clad Harper brawled atop him, seeming to be completely unaware that Paul had cushioned their landing. Blinking, he gasped, trying to scramble out from beneath them.
“I’m going to kill you,” Diesel snarled.
Harper wheezed a scoff. “You don’t have the balls. Literally .”
She laughed. In the middle of a goddamn gunfight, Harper not only mocked but laughed at the guy trying to actively murder her.
Shit. I love that woman .
This was absolutely absurd. Harper had some attitude for sure. Diesel was actually crushing her, and she questioned his manhood. There had to be nothing sexier than that.
The two of them twisted in their struggles and finally rolled off Paul, giving him an opportunity to get the weapon he’d intended for Diesel. From the sheath under his coat, Paul pulled the long, narrow, and extremely sharp ice pick with the thick wooden handle.
Curling his fingers around it, he sprang to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his calf, crouching to avoid getting hit with another stray bullet, and let out a war cry as he charged toward Harper and Diesel.
Diesel had his hands wrapped around Harper’s throat. She jammed her thumbs into his eyeballs. It was time to end this nonsense once and for all.
As he approached, Paul swung the ice pick and jabbed it right into the side of Diesel’s neck, burying it as far as it would go. He yanked it out, blood spraying outward, and did it again, this time leaving it in as Diesel reared back, swung his arms clumsily, and missed Paul. More blood gushed from the wounds, and Paul took the opportunity to hook his hands under Harper’s armpits and drag her out from under the biker.
As Diesel continued to stumble forward, the lethal gash in his neck spurting and draining him far too slowly, Paul grabbed the Glock in his ankle holster. He lifted, aimed, and squeezed the trigger. Diesel’s head jerked backward and his arms flailed out before he finally dropped face-first onto the ground. It had to be the most satisfying shot he’d ever taken. Quickly, he stuffed the gun back in its place and focused on Harper.
The front doorway was blocked, so Paul tugged her toward the bar for cover. Once behind it, he sat her down and tried to take stock of her.
Wearing next to nothing, with her tits hanging out, she was an absolute mess. She was covered in blood. It was impossible with the low light to discern if it was hers or Diesel’s.
“How bad are you hurt?” he shouted.
She shook her head. “I’m fine,” she lied.
He didn’t have time to argue with her. They needed to get out of there quickly. Shrugging his jacket off, he tossed it aside before undoing the Velcro of his tactical vest.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“It’s bulletproof.” Yanking it off, he shoved it in her direction. “Put it on.”
“But—”
“Do it, Harper!” he demanded, cutting off her protests. “I worked too hard to have you die on me. I’m the only one who can kill you. Do you understand me?”
Reluctantly, she stuck her arm through the open side and pulled the vest on. As he tugged at the straps securing it to her, he couldn’t help but catch each flinch.
“What hurts?”
“My ribs,” she answered in a strained tone. “It’s fine.”
No, the fuck it wasn’t, but they couldn’t really get into that right now.
Reaching for his discarded jacket, Paul gestured with his chin. “Grab those bottles off the speed rail.”
She furrowed her brow at him as he ripped his suit jacket apart.
“What are you doing?” she asked as she took a bottle of vodka and another of rum from the shelf.
From his pants pocket, he pulled out the little silver lighter and held it up for her to see. “It’s about to get lit.”
Shaking her head, she groaned. “Oh my God. Don’t say stuff like that.”
He glared at her but couldn’t help but smile. “Here.” He offered her strips of cloth. “Stuff them in the bottles.”
Quickly, the two of them prepped every bottle they could with the pieces of Paul’s suit jacket. Somehow, this gunfight continued far longer than it should have. The bikers had Paul’s crew substantially outnumbered.
The purpose of this fight was to create chaos and cover for Paul to go in and retrieve Harper. It should be over by now, but by some miracle, they were still going at it. It was time to end it. They had to get out of here. Paul wanted to take out as many of those sleazy, leather-wearing assholes as he could before they left.
Not that he thought the cops would show up. There were less than five hundred people who called Boynton home. The bikers had set up shop in such a remote area, it would take weeks for anyone to notice anything had happened here.
The reason Paul wanted to get out was so he would end the risk to his men. While their little Dixie Mafia syndicate was profitable, they were still growing. They had numbers, but not enough to rival any of the other families. They remained the babies on the block. Which meant shit like this was definitely not in their favor.
“It’s time to leave,” he announced as he flicked the lighter, running his thumb along the wheel. The spark lit the flint, and Harper brought the liquor-soaked cloth to the flame. With a whoosh, it caught quickly.
Paul got a look at her in the orange glow. One of her eyes had swollen shut. Her face was covered in blood, and she had a fat lip. She was in rough shape. He’d need to get her some medical attention, and soon.
With a grunt, she launched the Molotov cocktail into the crowd. Together, the two of them threw bottle after fiery bottle out. The gunfire ceased almost immediately as the room glowed with the flames. A stampede headed for the doors.
Turning to the right, Paul noted a large window with several panes of glass. He gestured toward it. “That’s going to be our best bet,” he said.
With a stiff nod, Harper agreed.
Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet with far too many groans. He didn’t like it, but he’d have to deal. Limping himself, he led her toward the window just as someone else threw a chair against it. The glass shattered, and three people made their way out the window. Eddie was one of them.
Paul called out to get his attention. With a wave, his brother ducked down, and Paul hoisted Harper up and out. She landed in Eddie’s arms. Turning to look at the damage one last time, Paul jumped through the window. He wasn’t sure what this would mean for the bikers, and quite frankly, he didn’t care.
Harper was safe. The rest would be worked out later.