Chapter 16
Street followed Diablo down the block where the scouts had located the Ravagers’ new compound. Diablo scanned the entire area with Wraith on his right flank. Would they know the Devil Daddies were coming for them?
The sharp report of a shot echoed off the hard surfaces of the buildings. Instantly, the Devil Daddies scattered to defensive positions in the cross streets. Leaving their bikes, the bikers searched for the source of the gunfire.
Street caught sight of a black leather vest with green embroidery. The shot had come from their side. Dead Eye had warned them of the danger by eliminating a Ravager lying in wait ahead. No one emerged from the shadows to pull the injured man to safety.
The man struggled to drag himself toward the buildings to the right. The Ravagers had to be close. Street melted into the darkness on the opposite side of the street and worked his way closer.
A whisper of fabric warned him a split second before the shovel smashed into the wall behind his previous location.
The ringing metallic thud thundered through the quiet block.
Street swung the wooden bat in his hand, connecting with the shins of the man who’d tried to scramble Street’s brains permanently or knock off his head.
“Fuck!” the man screamed as he collapsed to the ground. The splintering sound of the bones told Street he’d eliminated the Ravager’s potential marathon plans.
Street grabbed the wooden handle of the shovel as the writhing man desperately swung again.
When his opponent held onto the shovel with all their strength, Street delivered a steel-toed kick to his opponent’s splintered shins.
The man lost consciousness. Street took a second to yank the man’s belt from his jeans, looping the leather strip tightly around the jerk’s wrists and securing the makeshift handcuffs over a hook on the dumpster nearby.
He’d never be able to stand to free himself.
Street could hear the slam of fists and groans signaling fights and a few gunshots here and there. No sirens approached. The Ravagers had obviously bribed the local police or politicians to avoid responding in that section of town, allowing the rival MC to do whatever they wished.
He crept forward. Getting rid of one person wouldn’t be enough. The need for revenge burned in his gut.
A zing of a bullet grazed his temple. Swearing silently at the sting and the closeness of that threat, Street dropped closer to the ground. He quickly moved to a sheltered spot and waited to see who came to check if they’d succeeded in taking him out.
When he’d left military service to work in the corporate world, the urge to solve all his problems with violence had almost overwhelmed him.
A vow to only resort to using bullets in a true life-or-death situation had saved his sanity.
His bat worked fine. But he needed something to throw besides his metal weapon. Tossing that away would be suicide.
Brushing his fingers over the area around his feet, Street felt a piece of asphalt move. Thankful he hadn’t rattled that enough for it to make noise. Street decided to use it. Shifting his weight, he glided sideways, carrying the chunk of pavement with him.
A beam of the streetlight winked out for a moment. Street didn’t hesitate. He chucked that block at the center mass of the man who’d foolishly blocked that illumination. Another metallic ping and a grunt answered. This time the bullet ricocheted off the brick wall behind him.
Street lunged forward, swinging the bat to knock away the pistol pointed at him. Another crunch of bone sounded grotesquely loud. Street didn’t feel an ounce of remorse at destroying the biker’s shooting arm.
The gun skittered toward him. Street lifted his opponent’s own weapon over his head and brought the pistol down on the man’s head. The Ravager’s eyes rolled back into his head, showing the whites, for a split second before his body crumpled to the ground.
After shoving the confiscated firearm into the back of his jeans, Street headed for the battle noise. He swung his weapon of choice to his shoulder. The gun in his waistband pissed him off. As he walked, Street battled the need to empty the clip into his opponents.
A low whistle to his right signaled to Street that Wraith had spotted him first. Street eased that way, stepping over the two men Wraith had already taken out with similar injuries.
Wraith tugged three times on the left side of Street’s cut, letting him know the number of Ravagers hidden in the shadows.
A pool of light separated them from the three bikers who waited with guns on the other side of the street.
Street scanned the area, searching for cover to allow them to cross the open space.
An engine gunned, and his head snapped to the side.
Someone had started up a bike. Seconds later, an unmanned cycle sped toward a black patch where their rivals had to be.
Without hesitation, Street raced for their suddenly distracted enemies with a silent Wraith keeping pace with him into the shadows that concealed their foes.
How did that big man run so silently? The crunch of the cycle into the concealed brick wall made Street grimace.
His only solace to the fate of the expensive machinery was that the trike wasn’t a Devil Daddies’ bike.
No one in the club would be caught dead on a trike.
Wraith’s meaty fist thudded dully into flesh, grabbing Street’s attention.
A few minutes later, three Ravagers took an unplanned nap on the pavement.
Wraith and Street silently bumped fists for eliminating them.
The burn of his sliced knuckles told Street his Little girl would fuss over his injuries.
When his phone buzzed, Street shielded the screen as he read the message. A picture of the Ravager’s president, Viper, cowering behind a car popped onto his phone. Street smirked. Diablo would have fun with that.
A single word appeared next. Compound.
Street retreated to his bike and stowed his bat in his saddlebag.
As he swung his leg over the seat, the gun shifted behind him.
Unsecured in a holster, the gun would fall easily out of his waistband as they rode.
Ignoring the engines that raced past, he took a second to empty bullets from the chamber and eject the clip, stuffing those into his pocket.
He quickly stripped the firing pin out of the gun.
Street kicked his bike to life. He slowed next to a dumpster and tossed the now inoperative weapon into the metal bin.
The firing pin landed in a storm drain a couple of miles away.
Street caught up with his MC on the highway.
The flash of grins that greeted him reassured Street that everyone had escaped serious injury as they kicked Ravager ass.
Damn, I love these guys.
The desire to check on his Little girl filled his gut. His brothers at the compound would have alerted them immediately if anything had happened there. But he needed to see Rosa with his own eyes.
Driving into the compound as the sun sent shards of pink and orange across the horizon, Street spotted immediately that every window in his house radiated light.
His heart sank. Had something happened to Rosa?
Gunning his engine, Street passed his MC brothers in front of him.
He hit the garage door opener and roared into the garage.
His brothers swarmed into his driveway as backup for whatever had spooked Street.
He didn’t wait for them but raced inside, leaving the door open for the others.
On the TV screen, a singing koala bear belted out a sad song that almost covered the gentle, deep breathing of the Littles as they snoozed, draped over every soft surface in his family room.
Street skidded to a stop and shook his head as relief cascaded over him.
A slumber party.
Movement outside his picture window caught his attention. He met Razor’s gaze. Of course, Razor would do whatever was necessary to guard his Little girl. Street reversed his path. Exiting much more quietly than he’d barged inside, Street met everyone now standing in his driveway.
“Looks like the girls decided to hang out together while we were gone,” Street said. He shook his head, laughing at himself.
“Triage at our cabin since Honey is safe at your place,” Razor said, stepping in to divert the amused bikers, who enjoyed Street’s panicked reaction to thinking his Little girl was in danger.
“If you have a scrape on you, I want to see it. Vex, you’re first. I don’t trust any of you fuckers to laugh off a gunshot wound as a mere scratch. ”
“Ah, man. It’s really nothing,” Vex told him, moving his hand from covering a dark, wet stain on his black T-shirt.
“How did I guess? Come on.” Razor led the way to his cabin, making sure Vex was following him.
Street glanced down at his bloody knuckles and back at the scene displayed in his window. Holding his Little girl was his biggest priority right now. Maybe Razor would never know.
“Street, you’re second. I see your hand,” Razor called softly as he corralled bikers through his front door.
Street rolled his eyes in annoyance while inside he registered inside that he appreciated Razor checking on him.
“Go,” Wraith told him. “I’ll watch over them.”
“Thanks, Wraith. I’ll return as soon as possible.”
“I’m not going anywhere until Caroline wakes up. Let Razor work his magic. I need you holding onto the steering wheel of that forklift tomorrow.”
Alone with one of those in Lucien’s inner circle, Street asked, “What was up with those storage containers I moved in Warehouse Five?”
Even in the darkness, Street saw Wraith’s expression shift to guarded. “Do you need to know or do you trust Lucien?”
“He’s never shown me he’d do anything to harm the Devil Daddies MC,” Street said carefully.
“Then you need to decide. Ask questions or rely on Lucien to operate in the MC’s interests,” Wraith said. The MC’s Enforcer’s tone was stiff and cold.
Street got the message quickly. He needed to trust Lucien or leave.
“Got it. I’ll stop asking questions if you’ll assure me you’re one hundred percent aware of what’s going on.
” Of all his brothers, Street had worked most with Wraith, both at the warehouse and for MC business.
Wraith stood for all that was good in the MC.
“Lucien hides nothing from me.”
Street nodded and headed toward Razor’s cabin without another word. As the newest member of the MC, he’d watched everyone and everything before accepting his cut. These were his brothers. He passed Vex coming out of the door.
“Razor’s waiting for you,” Vex reported, holding a crumpled T-shirt in his hand. A white bandage stood out on his shoulder, extending slightly under his cut. Vex followed Street’s gaze to his treated injury. “Angel’s going to hover over me for days.”
“You’re going to love it.” Street smirked, and a slow smile spread over Vex’s face.
“Yeah. Congratulations on finding your Little. Make her happy.”
“My personal mission statement now.”
Vex shook his head. “Don’t start talking about dynamic paradigm shifts or I’ll kick your butt.”
“Nah. We’ll leave that to the desk jockeys.”
“Street! I’m waiting. Get in here,” Razor roared through the door.
Offering a hand to Vex, Street kept the grimace from his face as the asshole squeezed his torn knuckles.
He’d steered clear of Vex before, not understanding him.
With Angel supporting Rosa at a stressful time, Street decided that needed to change.
He reached out to whack Vex on his sore arm, drawing a grunt of discomfort from his brother.
“Fucker,” Vex swore.
“See you at the barbecue. Maybe you’ll share your wing recipe with me.”
“Abso—fucking—lutely,” Vex answered and strode away muttering, “What’s the MC coming to? A bunch of softies sharing food tips.”
Street laughed and headed inside.