Chapter 11 Judge
Judge
Meadow Falls is worse than how I remember it.
Breathing in, the air is poison, stinging my lungs with a simple inhale. Polluted with the stench of trash, motor oil, and absolute rot, I swallow down the start of a gag.
This is going to take a lot of work to clean up. Fuck, I’m already dreading it.
Lingering in the shadows, we stare at our target. The Crimson Road clubhouse.
It’s a hulking brute of a building, stained brick and a couple of boarded-up windows, but now it pulses with life. Surrounding it, a steel-and-chrome thicket. Bikes. Twenty of them, at least. They’re parked in ragged lines, a promise of twenty riders inside.
Sliding my gaze to Trouble, I know if he’d breathed a word, there’d be double the number. Should’ve believed he was on our side when he didn’t take advantage of us giving him a bike to ride.
Returning my gaze to the building, I’m the first to get off my bike. Next to me, Ripper joins my side. While he scowls at the building, he draws out his blade against his hip.
“Ready to do this?” Curling my fingers at my side, I ignore the ache in my chest. My knuckles itch, missing the crunch of bone.
My VP is back to smiling when his gaze meets mine. “Prez, I’ve been ready for this for years.”
I believe him entirely.
Trouble mentioned members on patrol. No one would have the balls to attack this place, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re as cocky as their president. Counting on them to have their guard lowered, I jerk my chin toward my side.
Ripper, Trouble, and I take one way. Warden, Diesel, and a handful of his prospects head to carefully approach the front.
“Ripper, we need to be quick and silent.” Whispering the words, I know there’s a need to say it out loud. “Use the zip ties.”
When he chuckles under his breath, I already know my words mean nothing. Not to someone who loves blood.
Trouble leads us toward the side of the building. He wearily glances at the cameras up above. “How long can that guy give us?”
I can’t help but grimace. “Twenty seconds.”
Ghost can’t shut down their cameras, but he can freeze them long enough to give us a chance to knock out these guys and get to their main breaker without being noticed. After that, it’s time to attack.
“I can do it in ten.” Ripper pokes his head around the corner and sighs. “Do we really have to hide until they appear?”
Pulling out my phone, I ready my message to Ghost. “Shut up and tell me when they appear.”
“I hope they’re big,” he continues, ignoring me. “I need a little challenge.”
“What the fuck does she see in you?” Trouble hisses his own thoughts. “Crazy asshole.”
God damn it. Should’ve taken Diesel and Smoke. “Focus.”
Ripper grunts, tapping his blade against his thigh. He’s getting impatient. “Where the hell are they? Starting to think you’re full of shit, Trouble.”
Our third growls out his anger and grabs at Ripper’s shirt, ready to give the other a good shake, not caring about how high the stakes are.
Snarling as anger fills me, my hands ball up into fists, one for both of them. “I’m going to kill you both if you don’t—”
An explosion rings out without warning, making all three of us jerk.
We agreed on guns and knives. Who the fuck brought something that explodes?
“You think that was the front door, or the back?” Ripper slaps away Trouble’s grip, his smile growing. “Don’t you love it when things go to plan? God, I bet it was Diesel. Think he’s still pissed about the fire?”
Shoving past both of them, I’m on the move at the sound of gunfire.
Cursing everything that has already gone wrong under my breath, I hunt down the side door. Knowing damn well that there isn’t any point in paying any attention to the cameras up ahead, I reach a steel door. Locked, by no surprise.
Trouble punches in the code in the keypad, his body relaxing when it still works.
Once the door opens, the attack starts immediately. The world dissolves into noise and violence.
Three bikers are already on their feet, chairs scraping back, hands fumbling for weapons. The other three are slower, caught mid-laugh or mid-drink. We have a heartbeat. Just one.
I don’t think. I move.
My fist connects with the first biker’s throat.
It’s a brutal, crushing blow. I feel the cartilage give way with a sickening crunch.
He gurgles, eyes wide with shock, and drops, clutching for air.
Trouble is a blur to my left, a hammer of fists and elbows.
He drives a punch into a second man’s chest, follows it with a savage uppercut that snaps his head back.
Then the guns come out.
A pistol barks, the flash blinding in the dim clubhouse. The bullet tears past my ear, so close I feel the heat of its passage, hear the high-pitched zip of displaced air.
And just like that, I’m not here.
I’m on the ground, blood filling my lungs. Hovered over by Ripper, begging me not to die.
“Judge!”
Ripper’s roar is a lifeline, missing the fear that covered it all those years ago.
He’s grappling with a giant of a man, using the biker’s own bulk against him as he sinks his blade into their shoulder.
Another shot rings out. This one slams into the wall beside my head, spraying splinters of drywall and brick.
Blinking, I shake my head to force the thoughts away. Now is not the time. The blood-soaked concrete bleeds away, replaced by the grimy, beer-stained reality of the clubhouse. The fear is still there, a cold knot in my gut, but now it’s fuel. Pure, undiluted rage fills me.
I launch myself forward, no longer a man but a force.
The biker with the pistol is lining up another shot.
I don’t give him the chance. My fist, hardened by a lifetime of breaking things and people, smashes into his wrist. I feel the bones crack.
He screams, a high, thin sound, and the pistol clatters to the floor.
He’s still screaming when my other hand closes around his face. I drive him backwards, using his own momentum, and slam his skull into the wall with a wet, final thud. He slides down, silent.
Don’t kill them, Judge. You’ll need them.
To my right, Ripper is an artist of carnage.
His knife is an extension of his will, a silver flicker in the chaotic light.
A biker charges him with a broken bottle.
Ripper sidesteps, his blade tracing a crimson line across the man’s forearm, severing tendons.
As the man howls, Ripper’s other hand grabs his hair and pulls his head back, exposing his throat.
“Zip ties!” Growling out the word, I watch Ripper hesitate before letting out his own sound of impatience as he smacks the guy with the end of the handle instead, knocking him out.
Six men to start, and only one remains standing.
He’s big, scarred, and his eyes are wild. He grabs a leg to a bar stool and easily throws it in my direction. I don’t block it. I take the blow on my forearm and side, the impact a dull, satisfying ache, and step inside his guard.
My fist drives into his ribs. Once. Twice.
I feel them crack under the assault. He grunts, his breath exploding from his lungs.
He tries to grapple, to use his weight, but my rage makes me stronger.
I shove him off, and as he stumbles, I deliver a final, piston-like punch to his jaw.
His head snaps to the side, and he collapses in a heap.
“Keep smiling like that, Prez, and you’ll look like you’re having fun.” Ripper pants, his breath ragged as he collects himself.
Reaching up, I discover I am smiling. Fuck… It’s just been so long since I last got to get my hands dirty.
Trouble is leaning against a pool table, knuckles raw and bleeding. Ripper is calmly wiping his blade clean on a dead man’s vest. Busting out the zip ties, they tie up those who are still breathing.
I look down at my own hands. The knuckles are split and already swelling. The fear of meeting death again crosses my thoughts, but it’s fading, drowned out by the pounding of my own heart. The room is clear.
“Huh.” Ripper finds something that makes him giggle. “Found the culprit.”
Ever so casually, he cradles a grenade in his hand. What the fuck? Who just carries those around? Looking at Trouble for an explanation, the brute just shrugs.
Great. So now we have more to worry about explosions.
Knowing Ripper is the last person I want to have carrying one, I take it from him and check the other bodies. Two more of them have grenades at their hips.
“Crimson Road has a lot of enemies. You can’t be too surprised by their firepower.” Trouble takes one and straps it to himself. “Wouldn’t be surprised if the crazies are throwing their lives away to take out your men.”
Perfect. Just what I need to hear.
Pinching my eyes shut, I try to remember the map Ghost gave us. Tracing the path of where we’re needed next, another explosion rings out, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“They’re going to bring the building down at this rate.” Growling with impatience, I’m moving forward.
We need to find Blaze before that happens.
Unholstering my gun, I clutch it tight as we hunt down a specific room. Ripper’s happy to launch forward toward those who stand in our way and Trouble watches my back, prepared to stop anyone who jumps out from behind.
Reaching our destination, I take in the door separating us from the rest of the chaos.
Kicking it open, I’ve got my gun aimed. On the other side, a room that would make Ghost jealous.
Instead of sitting in the chair in front of six monitors, a woman stands against the wall. She’s got a gun in her hand, already pointed in our direction.
My body screams to shoot, to take her out. Before I can pull the trigger, Trouble’s quick to grab my barrel, shoving it away from her direction.
“High rank.” He moves first toward her, not showing a hint of fear as he walks toward her. “Hex.”
Her face contorts into a snarl. She lifts her gun higher, jerking her chin with it. “Traitor. Stop, or I will shoot.”