Chapter Fifteen
P at pulled up outside of M-Mechanics. Ava was right, it hadn’t taken him long to find the place. Grant, Rip, and Bud had come with him to check the place out.
For some reason, as soon as Ava asked about the garage and mentioned this place, something hadn’t sat right with him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but after what his dad had told them in church, he felt it was important to check it out.
“Wow, this place looks like a fucking dump,” Grant said. “Are you wanting to grab an engine or some shit that doesn’t work?”
Grant was always saying dumb stuff.
Pat looked at the gate to see the chain wrapped around, keeping it locked up tight.
“What are you thinking?” Rip asked.
“The cartel is known for not doing their dirty work, right?” Pat asked. “Well, what if they decided to pay someone to do it for them? Someone who was tired of a little competition?”
“Get down!” Rip said. As they hit the ground, the sound of a large gun went off, and the bullet hit close to Pat’s leg. It didn’t hit him, but it came close.
“Son of a bitch,” Grant said, as they scrambled on either side of the gate. They were all crouched down. “Cover me.” Pat got up and shot his weapon in the general direction. Grant got the chain off by firing his gun, and within seconds, they were on the grounds.
Rip and Bud took cover behind rusty beat-up cars. He was with Grant, behind some kind of sign.
“Do you think he’s pissed that we have the better garage?” Grant asked.
Pat didn’t say a word, just looked around the sign, only to pull in again as a bullet whizzed past.
“What do we know about this place?” Rip asked.
Grant laughed. “The guy in charge is a shit shot, and is clearly pissed with us.”
Pat had enough of this. It reminded him of being back in the war zone, and he yelled out for them to cover him. Without taking his time to second-guess what he was doing, he charged forward and went straight toward the building.
Rip, Bud, and Grant were taking the heat. He kicked in the door and aimed his weapon, firing at one of the guys. He didn’t go for the kill shot. Another guy was there, and he shot at him, then spotted another taking off out the back. He was tall, muscular, but slow.
Pat was able to get to him, take him to the ground, and the guy had a knife, trying to jam it into part of his body.
He blocked the knife, aiming for his gut, with a grunt.
He couldn’t fucking believe this. They ended up rolling over, until finally Pat threw a punch without holding anything back, and he was sure something cracked.
“Ouch, fuck me, that looked like it hurt,” Grant said.
While he’d been tackling the guy on the ground, Grant, Rip, and Bud had contained the other men they had shot. The man beneath him screamed, and it was a fucking ear-piercing sound that grated on his nerves.
The man keeled over in pain and wasn’t going anywhere, so Pat got to his feet. Nudging him with his boot, the man rolled over, however, within seconds he was suddenly pointing a gun at Pat. Only, he didn’t get to shoot, because Grant had already fired his gun, sending a bullet into the man’s hand.
Pat turned toward his club brother and nodded at him. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Gone was the playful asshole Grant portrayed, and standing before him was a man who had his back. There had been a few times he did wonder if Grant would have his back, or allow him to die.
The man on the ground drew his attention and Pat reached for him, and lifted him off the ground. He was not a small man by any means, and he stared at him. “You know who we are,” Pat said.
“They told me ... they would ... it ... ugh, you shot me, and I ... can’t breathe.” The man started to cry, and Pat couldn’t believe it.
“What’s your name?” Pat asked.
“Tommy.”
“We don’t give a fuck about his name!” Grant said.
“Who came?” Pat asked.
“They said I didn’t have a choice. I had to do it, if I didn’t ... they’d kill my family,” Tommy said.
“The cartel?”
Tommy went to open his mouth, only he didn’t get the chance as within the next second, a bullet came whizzing through the air and landed square between the man’s eyes.
Pat dropped him and took cover, screaming at the men to do the same. That was a professional hit. Pat had seen that happen several times before, and he knew there were only a few people in the world that could make that kind of shot.
Crouched down behind some of the used and trashed pieces of cars, he looked toward Grant, who was a little too exposed for Pat’s liking.
Usually, that kind of hit got the job done. However, if the guy had been told to take out any of the Chaos and Carnage MC, then they were truly fucked.
Pat looked around him, and he saw the small piece of mirror left in one of the side wing mirrors. Extracting it, he used it to look around the building, to see where the bullet could have come from.
He’d been holding Tommy, and the bullet had come from the front, which meant Pat had his back to the sniper. There were only a couple of empty buildings behind him, and as he looked through the mirror, he saw the glint of a gun.
With Fall deep in their midst, the sun had been hit-or-miss. However, today, even though it was cold as fuck, the sun was out as if mocking them, as it wasn’t warming their asses up. Most of the frost on the ground hadn’t even thawed.
Seeing where the gunman was, Pat knew he could get to that space.
“Stay here,” he said, looking to Grant. Rip and Bud also acknowledged they had heard.
Pat crawled around the cars, being careful not to draw attention.
The guy had to be ex-military. His position on the roof of the building across from them, which was an old abandoned factory, spoke volumes of military training, or training of some kind.
Once he was clear, he found a break in the fence, probably made by kids or teenagers, thinking it would be cool to break into another man’s property.
He took off across the street, and he knew the moment the sniper saw him, as a couple of bullets came rushing toward him, but Pat didn’t hesitate.
He was across the road and crashing into the building within a matter of seconds.
The elevator in the old building was dead, and Pat saw the boot prints.
Without any doubt, he followed that path, knowing there was no chance for the sniper to escape unless there was an exit off the roof. His heart raced.
The cartel was hiring ex-military now. Was that shot just for Tommy, or was there a reason he was lurking, to take another shot at the club? This shit was getting real, and it was getting dangerous. His father did warn them all.
Pat heard footsteps coming toward him, and instead of waiting, he charged toward the sound. He and the sniper collided. The man dropped his weapon, and Pat hit out, slamming his fist against the man’s face.
Without a second between the attack, the other man struck out, but Pat blocked him, crossing his arms, and then jamming him in the side.
After several hits, where the sniper was blocked, Pat shoved him hard, landed a blow, and stepped back.
When he did, he saw a man he’d not seen in a very long time. Solomon. That was all he knew him as.
During his stint in the army, Solomon had been known as The Ghost. He could move in and out undetected, taking out enemy leaders before anyone realized what had happened. He was the one the men relied upon. Solomon had saved his ass a few times.
“I know. I know,” Solomon said. “I still look pretty.”
Pat panted as he looked at someone he had considered a friend. He couldn’t let his guard down, because he had attempted to shoot him.
“You could have missed,” Pat said.
“I don’t fucking miss. Damn, Patty boy, you certainly have pissed a few people off, haven’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pat said.
Solomon laughed, but it was a forced sound. “You’re so full of shit. You said you were part of a club, Pat, you never said that club made a shit ton of enemies, including the fucking cartel.”
Pat looked at him. “And they hired you?”
“Dude, what more is there to life than fucking and killing?” Solomon shrugged. “They kicked me out because I wouldn’t follow their fucked-up rules, and then I decided to go my own way, and surprise, surprise, they didn’t like that.”
Pat stared at a man he had once considered a friend. Someone he would die for. He always knew Solomon rarely followed orders. He went with his gut, and if it told him to make the kill, then he would make the fucking kill without any questions asked.
“What happened?”
“Got cut from the draft. Dishonorable title or shit.” Solomon shrugged. “Saved a lot of men’s asses back in the day, but they didn’t care about that. They only cared about what their superiors wanted to know.”
“And now you’re in the cartel’s pocket,” Pat said.
“I’m not in anyone’s pocket, Pat. I make my own way. Rich too.”
“Why did you kill that man?”
“He was a target. He did his job, and it would seem the cartel doesn’t like to reward the people who do their dirty work for them.”
Pat knew Solomon was waiting for the right time to attack. He already had his hand on his gun. His other one had fallen down the stairs during the collision.
He and Solomon were two very different people. Solomon didn’t like to follow the rules. Pat hated to follow the rules, but he did what he had to do.
“Is your next hit the club?” Pat asked.
“No, not yet. The cartel has me taking care of unfinished business right now.”
Pat smiled. “And you’re your own man?”
Solomon took aim, but Pat was already there, and he fired his gun, hitting him right between the eyes. Just as he fired his weapon, Grant was there.
“You knew him?” Grant asked.
“Served with him in the army,” Pat said. “He was ... a good man.”
“I guess he’s not anymore,” Grant said.
Pat moved closer and crouched down, looking into the past. He reached out and slowly lowered the man’s eyes, sending up a prayer. He had become the enemy, but he hadn’t always been the enemy.