Chapter 11
If you feel like you’re losing everything, remember that trees lose their leaves every year and they still stand tall and wait for better days to come. - Japanese Legend
P lague
We left as soon as I received the address. Of course, the fuck sent it at four a.m. He probably thought I wouldn’t see it until mid-day and not have enough time to plan, but the jokes on him. I didn’t open the message, just screenshot the address in the small preview bubble that popped up on my phone. As far as he knows, I still haven’t read his text.
The guys and I got to Dallas; it took about two and a half hours from central Texas, but we made it. Rented a few hotel rooms so the brothers could take turns napping while those of us awake made sure we got everything we’d need. It gave us plenty of time to rent some vehicles and do an in-person recon on the club and the area surrounding it as well in preparation for nightfall.
Having Angel around has been an advantage for sure. He’s a scary fucker, especially with how easy he makes it all seem to garner the information we need. The night club is guarded all day. They make it appear like it’s closed for business with random employees around, but we see them for who they are. Mexican soldiers, watching one of their hot spots. I’d bet they have some drugs somewhere in that big ass building, along with women they’re selling. We should’ve brought in the Oath Keepers, as they’re the ones known for rescuing women, not us.
“Ready?” Ripper asks, glancing around the group of us.
We nod, yanking the balaclava into place on our faces. The fabric against my skin in the heat paired with the black combat style attire instantly makes my balls sweat in this Texas heat. Even at nighttime it’s ridiculous and the heavy clothes don’t help one bit. Prez was insistent we had to wear this if we were going in guns blazing like I want to. We’ve got the black fatigue pants with each pocket filled with replacement magazines, knifes, zip ties, and other shit we might need. Each of us is in a thick bulletproof vest over our plain black T-shirts with ATF stamped on it in bold white, so no one knows who the fuck we really are and norms will hopefully have enough sense to get the hell out of the way when we’re coming through.
I shift the strap over my chest of the new-to-me Yugoslavian M70 AK-47, getting used to wearing the weight of the weapon across my back versus carrying it. I won’t need it until we’re out of the bulk of the club goers and facing off with the cartel soldiers. We managed to pick the AK-47s up on our last run. We were only able to get enough to outfit the fully-patched members in our chapter, but getting caught with any extras would possibly bring down a distribution charge in a hot minute versus us being a group of mere ‘collectors.’
He continues, “Remember, move in two’s and watch each other’s backs.”
We nod and shift over to our respective partners we’ll be branching off with. I’ll have Powerhouse with me, which I’ll gladly take as he knows his weapons and can easily beat a man to death with his fists if needed. Angel insisted he stick with Prez, which I get, because we need Ripper protected. Wrench got stuck with Lunatic, the prospect, since he’s the newest patched member aside from Richardson. Blow had to stay back with the rented vehicles, much to his irritation, but Ripper was adamant one of them stay back and since he’s the prez, the choice is his.
Once we’re in position, we’re moving, just as we’d discussed in the hotel room, following the plan to a T. Wrench shoves his crowbar in between a wooden picket while Lunatic, Powerhouse, and I do the same. With a nod from Wrench, we pop them at the same time, grabbing and yanking the wooden planks back, as one unit and tossing them out of our way. Angel ducks in first, and we all have to go in sideways or we won’t fit with our gear on.
Powerhouse gets stuck and has to shoulder his way through, cracking two additional boards in his path. The outdoor smoking area we determined to be the weakest link turned out to be the perfect spot as there are two couples making out and all of five people actually smoking. Everyone’s into that vape shit now, like it’s supposed to be any healthier for you. I know more people whose shit has exploded on their person than I do people catching themselves on fire from a cigarette.
As soon as they see us, I expect them to scream, but instead, they quietly cower in fear. The moment we pass them, they take off running and escape through the opening we just used to get inside. Angel walkies Blow, telling them to catch the people and warn them this is an undercover investigation or some shit, and to really sell it so they don’t call the local cops and fuck our chances up. It ultimately means our clock starts right now with everything, and the notion brings a sense of panic and peace over me all at once. I’m going to kill someone tonight. I may end up in prison for the rest of my life, or I may bring Seth home and get away with everything. I won’t know until this is over and we’re safely back on our bikes.
“Watch your fucking heads,” Ripper grits as we file in through the heavy door leading inside. We may have vests on and be loaded down with weapons, but we have nothing protecting from a headshot. If one of these soldiers has any idea of what they’re doing, it could be a one and done for us if we’re not vigilant. I won’t forgive myself if my brothers end up in a body bag because of me. I know this mission of vengeance was voluntary and all, but I’d have figured out a way to come by myself. I may’ve not gotten far, but they’d all stay alive at least. They wouldn’t let me go at it alone, which is the true depth of our brotherhood.
The first thing I notice as the crowd of people begins to part from us is a woman on a goddamn horse. She’s in the middle of the room, in a sheer white outfit, riding a white horse with a spotlight shining down on them. The horse’s eyes and ears are covered, keeping it calm. It’s probably drugged to be in its state, surrounded by bodies in a massive room eclipsed by loud as fuck music from a DJ on a platform. I instantly want to kill whoever put that poor animal in the position; it deserves to be in a peaceful pasture somewhere living a comfortable life.
More women in sheer white outfits hang from the roof suspended in oversized rings, spinning and moving around them, reminding me of puppets. It’d be sexy if it wasn’t so goddamn trippy. I can only imagine what this would all look and feel like if I’d popped something before coming in here. I can also understand why the place is this popular, I’ve never been anywhere like this before and people love that sort of shit.
We immediately head to the right, Angel and Ripper going to the lower level, Wrench and Lunatic head towards the main office on this floor, while me and Powerhouse head to the upper level. There are multiple VIP lounges and private glassed offices up here, and not being sure where this motherfucker is, we’re all forced to split up into our partners. Our plan is to alert the other by walkie if we find who we’re looking for.
As we pass people, they quickly move out of our way, but then suddenly the fire alarm is activated. Screams overtake all other noise as people freak and try to get outside. They begin to shove and plow through others and out every door they can find. The shrill blaring of the alarm sounds over and over, and it seems like every single light in the place flashes while people do whatever they can to escape.
The pandemonium is enough of a distraction to the employees that they don’t notice us at first, as they attempt to figure out what to do. They can escape with other patrons and live to see another day if there’s a serious fire like the alarm suggests. The other option on the table for the staff is they can leave the club in a hurry, while all their cash potentially gets stolen, and then they’re forced to have to run and hide as the cartel hunts them down like wild boars. It will get ugly for them fast, as the cartel will kill the men and ship the women away to the highest bidder to recoup their lost income. If they don’t choose option one or two…well, the third could possibly be being burned to death if they remain at their stations.
I don’t envy them. I also don’t pity them. They should know better than to work for these fucks in the first place.
“Hey!” someone shouts as we pass and rather than shoot them, House double backs. He plants his fist in the dude’s temple, knocking him out cold. I swear he has that shit down to a science. He’s a big, goofy fucker, but when it comes to kicking some ass, he’s the smartest person I know. It’s why I always place my bets on him, because if he ever goes down, then there’s a decent chance he’d already bet against himself to put more money in his pockets with the results than with the payout for winning.
Employees take in our vests with the bright ATF stamp and either begin radioing for their bosses, or they take off to escape. I figure the ones radioing for backup will end up with a bullet in their heads while the ones running away must believe there really is a fire or something and have a good enough reason to bail. The people leaving are the only smart ones, the rest seem to have a death wish if they’re willing to go up against who they believe to be is law enforcement. Dumbasses.
“It’s been called in. We’ve got about twelve minutes before the fire department arrives on scene and sixteen for the cops,” Blow lets everyone know through the group channel that our earpieces are linked to. “If they get SWAT, it could be sooner, so move it.”
Angel and Lunatic were looking up all kinds of shit early this morning, comparing response times to different locations, traffic patterns, the time of day, and everything else under the sun. Collectively, they were able to come up with an idea of what we should expect once law enforcement or emergency services are contacted. We also got lucky in that area, being in a big ass city that has a terrible track record of showing up to the scene quickly. Especially being it’s the weekend and plenty of people are out partying. There was a game earlier tonight too, so more people are in town for that, adding numbers and driving up the need for the cops and EMTs even more.
I can’t help but wonder if Carlos Montoya believes we’re a club full of dipshits or if he’s stopped long enough to consider the potential consequences if we show up with a legit plan? Either way, it’s too late now, we’re here and ready to fuck shit up. He never should’ve underestimated us enough to think we’d willingly fall into a trap set by him.
He must have an inkling at this point that I’ve seen the location he sent and I’d be on my way before long. I just took the option of him knowing when my arrival would be completely away from him. Well, surprise motherfucker, we’re here.
A drunk chick falls to my feet, distracting me. As she sobs, tears track down her cheeks, and she begins to throw up. Fucking gross. I step over the chick, because I’m not here to rescue her. I’m only here for Seth, then to get the fuck out alive and with my brothers.
I never said I was a hero, only that I plan to be Lacey’s. I don’t give two fucks outside of her, my club, and my family. My mom’s nearly dead, and she’ll be the last of them to go, leaving me alone, so not much to think of anymore where family is concerned. I still fight the devil on a daily basis, not being able to save her or do anything to help her, for that matter. You have any idea how fucking difficult it is to have a parent (and not a shitbag human, but an honest to God, good parent) on hospice and she won’t let you do a single thing for her? Not only that, but nothing-not even offering your own life up to whoever will listen, will save her?
Yeah, I’m bitter inside.
I’m well past the sadness of knowing I’ll lose her soon, past the bite of denial, and the relentless bargaining I was willing to do to save her. I can’t change the outcome, which is the one thing in the world I would ever ask for. I don’t have to like it or be fucking a-okay over it either.
Thinking of her only brings my simmering rage to the surface, and the first guy to pull his gun I notice, I send a bullet to his chest, then another, and another until Powerhouse is jerking me to keep moving. Carlos Montoya has no idea who he’s up against if he comes for Lacey after this, because I’m not one to sit by idly for the people I care about. Just ask my shriveled up, bleeding black heart—it gets broken each and every time someone I love either leaves me or dies.
“Here,” my brother holds his palm out to me. A light green tablet rests right in the middle of it. Any other night and I’d pop it without a second thought, but that’s not tonight.
Shaking my head, I divulge, “I don’t want to be too calm for this. They need to feel all of my rage.”
“And they will, but you have to be able to focus in order to deliver it. You completely zoned out back there, killing that guy. I kept shouting at you because a few others came up behind you.”
My forehead wrinkles as I try to process and think back on anyone else being around me. “The fuck do you mean they were behind me?”
He nods, ordering, “Chew this shit up, snort it, or whatever the fuck, so it hits you right now. You need to see everything, not only what’s in front of you.”
I’m going to die if I don’t reel my shit back in. Without any further hesitation on my part, I toss whatever he’s given me into my mouth and begin chomping it up, knowing it won’t be as strong as it would on others since I partake in pharmaceuticals far more often than not. Anything to help numb the pain or blur shit enough so I don’t have to think about anything outside the club.
“You’re dangerous and in danger if you can’t focus.”
I nod, swallowing the disgusting, chewed-up, tangy shock of whatever he gave me as well as leaving a small bit under my tongue to soak up faster, wondering if it’s going to hype me up or bring me down. With renewed clarity from him calling me out, I allow him to lead, so I don’t get us both killed tonight.
We make our way to a wall of lightly tinted, blue glass offices. There are a few people inside that we can easily see, sitting on two dark green, plush, velvet couches. One faces us, while the other looks out a giant window toward the now empty dance floor. Both men appear relaxed, one arm spread along the back, their opposite hands each filled with guns, while someone sits at their feet, blindfolded, gagged, and tied.
“Seth,” I murmur to myself as I realize who the man on the floor is. I’ve been friends with him for too long to not be able to recognize him, even blindfolded and gagged. Part of me believes I’m making it up in my mind, that he’s actually dead, and I’m projecting that this person is him.
“Looks like him,” Powerhouse agrees. I’d showed everyone some pictures of Seth ever since I told them what was going on, so all my brothers have seen his face several times at this point.
“Fuck,” I mutter, not sure if it’s good or bad that he’s in there.