Chapter 3 - Blade
Her answer surprises me. *Good*.
One simple word with nothing soft or hesitant about it. Most women—hell, most men—would be vomiting in the corner after watching me take down two men. Instead, she sits in her torn wedding dress, blue eyes steady, telling me it's "good" that I'm about to kill more of them.
Interesting.
I move back toward the warehouse entrance, checking my gun. Three rounds left. Should be enough. If not, I have my knife. The blade that gave me my name isn't just for show. It's bathed in more blood than most have seen in their lifetime.
The two Vultures MC outside are making this too easy. Rather than maintaining position by their vehicles, they're approaching the warehouse, flashlights sweeping across the gravel yard. Amateurs. Charles must be scraping the bottom of the barrel these days.
I press myself against the wall beside the door, listening to their footsteps grow closer. They're speaking, their voices low and tense. I can’t hear everything, but I catch enough to know they're pissed that their comrades haven't radioed back.
They're about to find out why.
The door creaks as the first one pushes it open. Flashlight beam sweeps left, then right, illuminating the pool of blood from the man whose face I smashed. He mutters a curse, stepping further inside, gun raised.
I let him pass me, waiting for the second man to follow. When both are inside, their backs to me, I make my move.
The first shot takes the rear man in the back of the head. He drops without a sound, brain matter spraying across his partner's jacket.
The second guy spins, firing wildly in my direction.
Amateur. I feel the burn as a bullet grazes my upper arm, but it's nothing, just another scar to add to the collection.
I return fire, catching him in the chest. He stumbles backward but doesn't fall.
Tough motherfucker. My second shot hits him in the throat.
That does the job. He collapses, making wet, gurgling sounds as he drowns in his own blood.
I approach cautiously, gun still raised. No need to take chances. When I reach him, his eyes are still open, pupils dilated with shock and pain. He's trying to speak, blood bubbling between his lips.
"Charles sends his regards," he manages to choke out.
I press the barrel of my gun to his forehead. "Send him mine."
The final shot echoes through the warehouse. His body goes slack, eyes still open but now empty. I holster my weapon and begin searching the bodies, looking for phones, IDs, anything useful. The club needs intel on Charles's operation, and dead Vultures MC are as good a source as any.
I find two burner phones, some cash, and a knife with an ornate handle. I pocket it all, then check outside to make sure there are no more surprises waiting. The yard is empty except for their black SUV.
When I return inside, I find Kelly standing over the body of the first guy I choked out. Her white dress is stained with dirt and blood, though none of it is hers, and in the moonlight streaming through the broken windows, she looks like some vengeful ghost.
"Is he dead?" she asks, not taking her eyes off the corpse.
"Yes."
"Good." There's that word again. Simple. Final.
She finally looks up at me, and I see something in her eyes I didn't expect. Not disgust or horror, but a cold satisfaction that matches what I feel after a successful kill. It's an expression I've seen on my brothers' faces, but rarely on civilians, and never on women who look like her.
"You're bleeding," she says, nodding toward my arm.
I glance down. The bullet graze has soaked my sleeve with blood, but it's already slowing. "It's nothing."
"Don't be an asshole. Let me look at it."
Her sudden shift from frightened runaway to commanding nurse catches me off guard. I find myself shrugging out of my cut and pulling my t-shirt over my head before I even think about it.
She tears a strip from her wedding dress—seeming to take particular pleasure in destroying the garment—and approaches me. Her hands are steady as she examines the wound, using the fabric to wipe away blood.
"It's not deep," she confirms. "But it should be cleaned."
"Later." I pull my shirt back on and slide into my cut. "We need to move. More might be coming."
She nods, understanding immediately. "What about them?" She gestures to the bodies.
"Not our problem."
A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "You're going to leave four dead Vultures MC in an abandoned warehouse?"
"You have a better suggestion?"
She considers for a moment, then shakes her head. "No. Fuck them."
Again, she surprises me. There's steel in this woman that I didn't see at first, hidden beneath the fear and the torn wedding dress.
"We need to ditch their vehicle," I say, nodding toward the door. "And take anything useful from it. Then we go to the clubhouse."
"Clubhouse?" She raises an eyebrow.
"My club. Outlaw Order MC. It's the safest place in Pine Haven, especially for someone running from the Vultures MC."
I don't tell her that bringing her there might be signing her death warrant if she's not what she seems. The club is in the middle of a war, and strangers aren't welcome. But she's connected to Charles somehow, and that makes her valuable, assuming she's telling the truth.
If she's not, well... Reaper will decide what to do with her.
She follows me outside to the Vultures MC's SUV. I pop the trunk, finding two duffel bags. The first contains weapons: handguns, ammo, a compact shotgun. The second is filled with cash. A lot of cash.
"What the fuck," I mutter, counting quickly. There's at least fifty grand here.
Kelly peers over my shoulder. "That's a lot of money to send after one runaway bride."
"Unless you weren't the only reason they were in Pine Haven tonight."
She meets my gaze evenly. "I don't know what other business they had. I was just trying not to become Mike's punching bag and cum dumpster."
The crude words sound strange in her mouth, but I appreciate the honesty. Fear makes most people lie or sugarcoat things. She's done neither.
I zip the duffel bags and hand them to her. "Hold these."
She takes them without question as I search the rest of the vehicle, finding a laptop in the backseat. This just gets more interesting. The Vultures MC don't usually travel with this kind of hardware unless they're planning something big.
"Do you know how to drive?" I ask her.
She nods.
"Good. Take this to the pond about half a mile down the road." I toss her the keys. "Drive it in as deep as you can, then get out and walk back. I'll follow on the bike to pick you up."
"You trust me not to just drive off?" There's a challenge in her voice.
I glance at her. The torn dress, the scratched legs, the determined set of her jaw. She's running from something worse than me.
"If you wanted to run, you'd have tried already."
She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then nods. "I'll be back."
I watch as she climbs into the SUV, adjusting the seat to reach the pedals. She's small, but there's nothing fragile about the way she handles the vehicle, reversing smoothly and then driving off down the gravel path.
While she's gone, I do a final sweep of the warehouse, making sure we've left nothing that can be traced back to us. The bodies will be found eventually, but with any luck, it'll be days rather than hours. By then, it won't matter.
Ten minutes later, I hear the crunch of gravel under boots. Kelly emerges from the darkness, the duffel bags slung over her shoulders, her now wet white dress almost entirely brown with dirt and blood.
"It's in," she says. "About fifteen feet out. You can still see the roof, but the rest is underwater."
I nod, satisfied. "Let's go."
As we walk to my bike, I notice she's shivering. The night air has grown colder, and her dress offers little protection. Without thinking, I shrug out of my cut and hold it out to her.
She stares at it, then at me. "You're giving me your cut?"
"Just until we get to the clubhouse. You're freezing."
She takes it slowly, as if handling something sacred. In a way, she is. A man's cut is his identity in the MC world. Letting someone else wear it isn't done lightly.
She slides her arms into the leather, which swallows her smaller frame.
The bottom of my cut reaches almost to her knees, covering most of the ruined dress.
The sight of her in it does something strange to my gut, something I immediately shut down.
This isn't about that. It's about keeping a potential intel source alive.
We mount the bike, her arms wrapping around my waist with more confidence than before. I feel her press against my back, her cheek resting between my shoulder blades. It's been a long time since a woman has been this close to me without it being about sex. I'm not sure I like it.
The ride to the clubhouse takes longer than usual. I take a circuitous route, doubling back several times to ensure we're not being followed. Kelly says nothing, just holds on, her body relaxing against mine as exhaustion overtakes fear.
By the time we pull into the lot behind the Outlaw Order clubhouse, it's nearly 3 AM. The building is dark except for the security lights, but I know someone will be awake. We never leave the place unguarded, especially not with the Vultures MC trying to move in on our territory.
As expected, the door opens as soon as I cut the engine. Ace steps out, rifle in hand, eyes narrowing when he sees I'm not alone.
"The fuck, Blade?" he calls, keeping his distance until he can identify my passenger.
"Need to talk to Reaper," I reply, dismounting. "Got something he'll want to see."
Kelly slides off the bike, standing awkwardly beside me. In my oversized cut, with her blonde hair tangled and her face smudged with dirt, she looks nothing like the scared bride I found by the roadside.
Ace's eyes widen slightly as he takes in her wedding dress beneath my cut. "Jesus Christ, man. You kidnapped a fucking bride?"
"She was running from the Vultures MC," I say flatly. "Found her on Route 16."
That changes things. Ace's stance relaxes slightly. "Vultures MC, huh? Reaper's gonna want to hear this. He's inside with Ghost."
I nod, then turn to Kelly. "Stay close to me. Don't speak unless spoken to."