Chapter Twelve
The sound of motorcycles filled the night as the Knights rolled up to the clubhouse.
Danger cut off his Harley and climbed off.
Heat crawled up his neck as he looked over the building.
It wasn’t much damage, but it was enough.
More than anything, it was the audacity that infuriated him.
Glass littered the pavement from the shattered clubhouse windows, and bullet holes scarred parts of the brick exterior.
The others’ moods shifted as well, the high from celebrating their President’s special day quickly fading.
Everyone climbed off their bikes, ready for war.
The two Knights who stayed behind were already outside waiting.
Both were armed and pissed off, still riding the adrenaline from everything that had gone down.
Danger ripped his helmet off. “What the fuck all happened?”
Chris, the member who called him, stepped forward.
“Shit happened fast, D. Black Mustang. Blue headlights. Whoever it was ain’t really get to do much damage, though. We bust back and they pulled off.”
“Black Mustang with blue headlights?” Smoky repeated, thinking to himself.
“Yeah. Bright bitches, too.”
Danger’s face darkened even more. “Y’all see who was inside?”
“Nah,” Chris answered, frustrated. “Couldn’t see shit through the tint. 5% all around.”
The second Knight, Pluto, spoke up next.
“I even hopped on my bike trying to run ‘em down, but the Mustang cut through the back street behind the pawn shop then hit Pierce. You know Pierce stay packed. I ain’t wanna bring that kind of heat over there. Crown would’ve wanted me to stand down.”
Danger nodded, knowing that was true. Crown ran a strict program. Because of his leadership, they all knew when to apply pressure and when to fall back and catch a nigga another day. And anybody from the Hills knew Pierce Street stayed crawling with cops trying to meet their quota.
“Fuck,” Danger spat, rage sitting heavy behind his eyes. Shooting at the Knights’ clubhouse wasn’t just disrespect. That was a declaration.
“Niggas getting bold.” Domo said behind him.
“Then we gon’ remind them.” Danger spat before jerking his chin toward the entrance. “Come on.” He told Smoky.
Inside, the two men headed to the back, making a beeline for the security office while the others remained behind, collecting shell casings.
“Besides that retarded muthafucka Nico, who the fuck got enough balls to shoot at us?” He asked once Smoky shut the door behind them. “See what happened to that bitch ass nigga and most of his club.”
Smoky rubbed his beard slowly. “I honestly don’t know. Ain’t nobody been moving openly hostile lately. Not even the Ravens.”
“That’s what got me fucked up.”
Danger dropped into the chair in front of the surveillance monitors and started running the footage back.
Eventually, the grainy cameras showed the black Mustang flying down the street seconds before flashes erupted from the driver’s side window.
And just like Chris said, he and Pluto instantly bust back.
They shot it out for a few seconds before the Mustang peeled off just as fast as it came, Pluto eventually taking off behind it on his bike.
Danger replayed the footage, this time slowing it down. His eyes narrowed as the image blurred momentarily before sharpening just enough.
“No plates,” he confirmed; he wasn’t surprised.
Smoky nodded, equally unfazed. He knew no nigga was spinning on somebody while displaying plates.
Silence filled the room as Danger continued to replay the footage. He went over it at least ten times. His gut told him to be patient and keep assessing. And just as he thought, something eventually caught his eye.
“Wait. Hold up.” He leaned forward, rewinding the footage again before pausing it.
“What?” Smoky stepped closer to the monitor, trying to catch whatever he caught.
Danger smirked devilishly as he studied the Mustang. The streetlight caught the body just enough before it disappeared down the block.
Custom widebody conversion. Riveted fender flares. Vented hood. Aggressive front splitter. One-of-one work.
“I know who touched this muthafucka. It’s only one nigga in the Hills doing body work like that.”
Danger tapped the screen with the barrel of his gun; he knew because that same body shop had done work on his Hellcat. “I’ma find you, bitch ass nigga and when I do...it’s up.”