11. Braxton #2
“So, are we really going to drive to Michigan? It’s been hours, man,” Cash says from the back.
We don’t have a bike with us this time, so Linc, Jude, and Cash are sitting in the back with me and Ozzy up front.
Barrett and Wyatt stayed behind just in case the Russians planned on starting shit while we were gone.
They’ve already proven they aren’t above going after our women and kids, and none of us wanted to leave anyone unprotected.
“If we do, we’ll stay a couple towns over from the Iron Disciples,” Ozzy says, then looks at his side mirror. I do the same. There’s a car coming up behind us pretty fucking fast without any signs of slowing down. “Stay alert, boys. Let’s see if they pass.”
When they do, I spot four men in the vehicle, but they’re going too fast to make out their faces.
They’re several feet in front of us before they slam on their brakes.
We nearly run into them from behind, but Ozzy makes a hard right and we drive off the side of the road, narrowly bringing the van to a halt before slamming into the trees lining the road.
The four men jump out of the dark sedan with weapons drawn.
“Fuck,” Ozzy barks. I open my door, and we both jump out.
We haul ass to the back of the van just as the doors swing open and Cash, Jude, Linc and Knox jump out. The other men fire a few gunshots in our direction, but don’t hit any of us. Cash and Knox open fire toward the men, and we hear one scream out in pain.
“I’ve had enough of this shit.” Jude walks around the side of the van, a gun in both hands, and heads straight for the car with the four men inside. He’s unloading round after round into the car as we cover him with a spray of bullets from behind.
“Come on, you fucking fucks!” Jude yells maniacally.
“Oh, for chrissake. That damn Englishman thinks he’s bulletproof,” Ozzy gripes as he grabs another gun from his holster and begins firing.
“Let’s go,” one of the other men yells, and they jump back in the car as we continue to pepper it with bullets. Smoke fills the air as their tires screech, and the car shoots down the road, leaving one man bleeding in the middle of the highway.
We head over to the man lying on his back—his breath coming out in hard pants.
He’s got a bleeding bullet wound in his shoulder, and it looks like one of us got a lucky shot off, because he’s holding his bloody knee while trying not to scream in pain.
His gun is lying a few feet away, and Jude picks it up and points it at him.
My heart nearly stops when the man turns his face toward mine. I recognize him from the footage of Vanessa and him in the VIP room.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, and Ozzy looks at me with something akin to sympathy in his gaze. I don’t need to tell him. He can tell I recognize him.
“Some friends you have there, asshole,” Cash says.
“Fuck you,” the man spits out.
Cash nods a few times then walks straight up to the man and kicks him in the side of the head. “Actually, fuck you.”
The man is lying dead still, and Linc bends, checking his pulse. “He’s still alive.”
Jude grabs a syringe from his pocket and leans down, plunging the needle into his neck.
“What the hell was that?” Knox asks.
“A little concoction my brother made. This will keep him nice and knocked out for a few hours. Let’s bandage his bullet holes so he doesn’t bleed out on us on the way home.”
“I recognize him,” I tell my brothers.
“What? How?” Jude asks, looking from me to the man.
“He was one of the men who came into the club the other night. Vanessa danced for this asshole, and Sylvie let me know that something seemed off on the cameras. But this is definitely the guy who was in the VIP room with Vanessa.”
“Fuck,” Linc says.
“Yeah,” is all I can manage to say back.
My brothers are silent as this new information sinks in.
This asshole in the club.
Vanessa acting weird.
This fucker obviously saying something to her that upset her.
Vanessa is involved.
I shake my head, not letting the thoughts run wild. We’re too out in the open right now. Another car could come this way—or the guys who ran off and left their friend here might have an attack of conscience and decide to come back for him.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, turning and walking toward the van.
Once we have the man laid out in the back, Ozzy grabs the first aid kit and opens it.
In no time, we have a tourniquet around his leg, and his shoulder is wrapped tightly to stop the bleeding.
Since we aren’t actually transporting anything, we open the hidden latch to the compartment we usually carry the guns in.
It’s a tight fit, but we get the piece of shit inside and shut him in.
The ride back to Shine is mostly silent. I’m sitting in the back this time—my gun at my hip. The clawing urge to open the compartment and unload the rest of my bullets into this man’s skull is strong. But our need for information has to come first.
When we’re outside of Shine, about ten minutes from the clubhouse, Ozzy’s gaze catches mine in the rearview.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Not in the slightest,” I answer honestly, and he doesn’t respond. No one has to. It’s clear as day on my face. I was falling for a woman who betrayed my club.
Who betrayed me.
I’m far from okay.
Danny opens the gate when he sees the van pull up. Ozzy stops before rolling into the parking lot and rolls down his window.
“Thought you guys weren’t going to be back until morning,” Danny says.
“Vanessa here?” Ozzy asks.
“Yeah, she hasn’t left all morning.”