Chapter 9
Mad Dog
She’s nuts. That’s the only conclusion I can come to as I watch her peeking out of the upstairs window of my room.
Well, suite is more like it. I have a small kitchen, living area, bedroom and bathroom.
That’s all I need as a single man in the club.
Maybe if I had a woman I would look at joining the rest of my club brothers and build a cabin on the property, but until now I’ve been happy in the clubhouse with Pops, Debs and Niko.
“Yippee ky yi ay, mother fuckers,” spills from Willa’s plump lips as she leans out the window, shotgun angled just so, as she gently squeezes the trigger.
She must hit her target because she pumps her fist before reloading.
“Are you going to help or just stand there staring at my ass?” she asks, not even looking at me.
I let out a snort as I settle down beside her at the window, catching her gaze as I side-eye her. “You’re a fucking firecracker, you know that?”
“Yup. It’s good you know that now too. I can’t have any soft old man catching my attention.”
I snort in reply, eyes roving the yard, looking for enemies. It’s quiet. But that doesn’t mean a thing. It could be them regrouping.
“Does this type of stuff happen all the time?” Willa asks, her throaty voice hitting me right in the dick.
I never thought I’d meet another woman who would intrigue me in the way Willa does.
The last woman I met that hit me like a bolt of fucking lightning was Molly, Rhodie’s mom.
Figured that was a once in a lifetime thing.
But as I crouch down, next to this soft, curvy woman with a steel fucking spine I wonder if perhaps, I’m lucky enough to have found it again.
Clearing my throat, I shake my head, the lady is asking me a question. “Would it scare you away if I told you it happens regularly enough that we have protocols?”
A small smile starts to stretch her lush lips. “Would it scare you away if I told you that I wouldn’t mind doing this again with you?”
A chuckle bursts out of me and I shake my head. “You’re kinda nutty, you know that?”
“Yeah, but I figure that’s why you like me.” She winks at me from her position beside me, guns resting on the windowsill.
Fuck me, I think she might be right.
Switch
It’s quiet. Too quiet. This is when life or death mistakes are made. Lower our weapons too soon and we risk a second wave ambush.
“Did you hear that?” Rider asks through gritted teeth as he peers out of the window.
A cackle. Not a giggle or a guffaw. No, a spine tingling cackle that seems to amplify until it sounds like more than one cackle. Or some shit.
“Chewy! Give me status!” Marx barks through the comms, almost blowing my damned eardrum out.
“Sounds like Marx is hearing the same thing we are. “ Rider murmurs.
There is radio silence and I know that the women are into something they shouldn't be, and I swear that if they’ve dragged Joy along heads will be rolling.
“Chewy? Babe?” Rhodie tests out, before he too growls directly into my fucking ear.
Thundering footsteps sound out, all headed for the door to the basement which leads down to the club's safe room and that's when we hear it.
Screaming. Sharing a look with Rider we head toward the front door, meeting up with the rest of our brothers in the entrance, Mad Dog and Willa standing on the stairs looking down at us.
“Two teams. Rhodie you lead Switch, Tav, and Savage out back. I’ll take the rest and have eyes out front until intel changes. Wire and Judge, check the status of the women. Everyone shoots to kill.” Marx orders before stomping toward the door, gun drawn.
“We will join you. We are armed and ready,” Roman nods, Sasha at his back as usual. Marx gives them a hard look before dipping his chin.
The same screams can be heard again and then cackling joins the cacophony. I share a look with my brothers and we follow close behind Rhodie, pulling up short as soon as we step foot in the backyard.
“What the fuck?” Savage whispers as we take in the scene. “How the fuck did they get out of their enclosure?”
“Ummm,” Savage hums, coming to a stop next to where we’re standing.
I stare at the carnage and hesitate to get any further. There, circling three men on the ground are the fucking bobcats that some of the Ol Ladies got for Valentine’s Day. Out in the open and not in the cage that Savage took two fucking weeks to build.
“Think fast, there are seven armed men coming from the rear, east side. That’s the last of them by my count,” Chewy says over our comms before laughing and mentioning something about “bobcat chum”.
“You heard her,” Marx says over comms, his breath coming in pants until he materialises beside me. “Go high,” Marx murmurs over his shoulder at me, Tav, Savage and Rhodie, indicating the kids' tree house.
We drop low and run as fast as we can in the general direction of where the Big Littles’ treehouse is. From down here it’s fucking hard to see, Elio and Cove having camouflaged the fuck out of it. Tav manages to find the lever to bring down the ladder, thank fuck, and we hustle our asses up it.
“Holy shit,” escapes me as I take a quick glance around the space.
“This ain't like no treehouse I’ve ever seen,” Savage says.
This thing is huge. Me, Tav, Rhodie and Savage aren’t small men, but we’ve got room for at least three more brothers.
“Did you see this?” Savage says, pointing out binoculars fitted into a small window.
In fact, taking a look around the hexagonal shaped space, there are small windows with binoculars attached to every wall. They also have electricity up here somehow, because I bump into a tablet that flares to life, showing us a six screen set up of the backyard through surveillance cameras.
“What the actual fuck?”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s right, I gave the kids some outdated cameras and shit,” Tav says like he didn’t just provide full surveillance for fucking 9 year olds.
“Well, that made our job easier,” Savage says, hands on hips.
“Hey guys,” a voice calls out from somewhere and I about shit my pants.
“Chewy? What the fuck?!” Rhodie growls as his woman comes out of some fucking hidey hole, pushing her laptop along in front of her, Remy at the rear. “What the fuck are you two doing up here?”
“Who do you think let out the bobcats?”
Rhodie’s eyes are huge as he stares at his woman. His pregnant woman. He runs a hand down his face and drops his head back on his shoulders, staring at the roof of the tree house.
“You got eyes on?” Marx’s voice comes over our comms.
“Yeah, Prez,” Remy and I answer back, before sharing a grin. I get all nice and comfy in a beanbag in front of the tablet screen.
“I’ve got eyes on you all,” Chewy adds. “Pops and Jules, change location to the rear. Incoming should hit in 30 seconds.”
Savage, Tav, Rhodie and Remy all take up posts at the various binoculars and windows around the tree house and we hunker down and wait.
It’s all we can do. Wait and watch. So far we’ve taken out four men in the front yard, three managed to get around the back and are now being eaten by those damned bobcats, and by Chewy’s count there are another seven about to hit us from behind.
These guys were sent to test us. See how we work, how hard we are to get to.
Well, they’re about to find out that the DRMC are fucking hard to get to.
The first gun shots ring out and I scan the tablet in front of me. Fox, Nitro and Tank have managed to take out three in quick succession, not even making a sound before their bodies hit the ground.
“Fuck, they made quick work of them,” Savage mutters, in a weird squat position, peering through the binoculars.
“Two more down, fuckers,” Pops says, rifle shots ringing through the air.
“We’ve got two more by Chewy’s calculations. We just gotta find the fuckers, “ Rhodie says, gun poised out the little window, eyes darting.
“I don’t have eyes on,” Chewy says in her monotone voice. “Anyone else see where they went?”
I check the small tablet in my hands, gaze flicking over the live camera feed I’m getting. “Not seeing them on my end,” I mutter. My eyes do another pass and there it is, a dark blob, “Marx, 6 o’clock!” I yell out.
My blood runs cold as I watch Marx turn in slow motion, the barrel of a gun pointed directly at him.
My breath is trapped in my chest, fear at watching Marx face down the enemy freezing me in my place.
I vaguely register Rhodie roaring out his brother's name, my eyes glued to the tiny tablet screen as Roman steps out of nowhere then jerks backwards, his bulk taking Marx to the ground beneath him.
A flurry of gun shots have me snapping out of my stupor and I’m moving.
Thundering through the treehouse, down the ladder, the ground softening my landing as I leap that last few rungs.
I don’t have my first aid kit on me, but it doesnt fucking matter.
All that matters is that I make it to Roman and Marx, check their wounds and make sure they’re stable.
“Ambulance is on the way, and I’ve alerted Moss who should be here in five.
” Chewy’s voice is the voice of calm as she continues to narrate what is happening.
All enemies have been neutralized. Tank and Judge to tow their vehicles, strip and then wreck them.
Savage, Fox and Nitro are on body recovery.
Pops, Jules and Gus are on body disposal.
Wire and Remy on tracking down who is giving the orders.
She goes through all the motions just as one would go through their usual work admin and I have to admit, the way in which she gives everyone their tasks helps put me in the zone.
By the time I skid to a stop next to Roman and Marx, both are still on the ground. Tank, Judge and Wire are surrounding Fox and Marx.
“I am fine, Lyubov moya, It’s just a graze, help Marx,” Roman grits out as Sasha presses down on his side. His eyes wild and slightly panicked, unsettling.
“Fuck, it’s a gut shot,” Fox whispers, hands pressing against Marx’s belly, hands covered in blood.
“How far away is the ambulance, Chewy?” I yell into my comms. I don’t wait for her answer, not when I can hear the sirens bearing down on us.
I nudge Fox out of the way for a split second, enough for me to see the mess that the bullet left behind.
“Fuck. Penetrating abdominal trauma, massive hemorrhage.” I run through my ABCs. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. “More pressure Fox, I need you bearing down on that wound. Someone elevate his legs!”
My brothers jump into action and I check his vitals again.
Both for his benefit and for mine. To keep me calm.
To help me not lose my shit in the few seconds it takes for the ambulance crew to run into the scene, to lift Marx onto a stretcher, to cover his wound with their gloved hands and get him in the back of the vehicle.
“You coming, Dr. Manning?” the young paramedic asks, brows raised.
“Fuck yes, I am.”