Chapter 19 Axel #2
I nodded, wiped the blood on my jeans, and ducked out into the cold light.
The bar noise swallowed me whole, but I was already somewhere else, plotting escape routes and body counts.
Every second ticked like a land mine. I’d seen a lot of women get swallowed by darkness.
I wasn’t going to let Darla be one of them.
Red’s voice trailed behind me, softer than a prayer: “These places break people. They don’t come back the same.”
That was the part that scared me the most.
***
I busted out of the closet like a rabid animal, zeroed in on the back hallway, and shouldered past the new guy with the teardrop tat who barely got his feet under him before I vanished up the stairs.
The chaos of the bar faded with every step; in my room, the silence was clinical, surgical.
I went straight for the duffel under the bed, the one I told myself I wouldn’t need until the shit truly hit the fan.
It was hitting now, and the fan was set to full blast.
I dumped the bag out on the mattress—Glock, magazines, buck knife, roll of twenties, spare shirt, and a bottle of oxy I’d been rationing since the Louisville job.
I checked the pistol, flicked the slide, and snapped in a mag.
The sound was clean, honest. The only thing I could trust. The knife went on my belt, the cash in my inside pocket.
Last, I yanked the phone charger from the wall and jammed it in the bag, more habit than hope.
Every movement felt frantic and precise at the same time. I barely noticed the blood on my knuckles until I zipped the bag, leaving a streak across the nylon. Whatever. I could bleed later.
I was halfway down the back stairwell when the wall of muscle that was Vin materialized at the foot, arms folded like a goddamn marble statue. The clubhouse might have been built around him, for all I knew. He looked at the duffel, then at me, his face a granite slab.
“Going somewhere, Prospect?” he asked, voice so calm I almost missed the threat underneath.
“Move,” I said, pushing forward. I didn’t have time for a dick-measuring contest. Not now.
Vin didn’t move. He just raised an eyebrow, then blocked the last step with one tree-trunk leg. “You even know what you’re doing?”
“Yeah. Saving her.” I bared my teeth, stepped down so we were eye to eye. I was taller, but only by a hair. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
He stared at me, silent, letting the moment stretch until it threatened to snap. “You wearing Royal Bastards colors yet?” he finally asked, eyes flat.
I spat at the floor. “You know I’m not.”
“Then you take orders. You want to blow your brains out for some preacher’s daughter, do it on your own time. You fuck up and bring heat down here, it’s all our heads.”
“You think I care? I’m not leaving her in that hellhole.”
He shrugged, almost lazy. “Didn’t say you couldn’t go. Said you couldn’t go alone.” Then he jerked his chin toward the main room, where the bar had gone dead quiet. Every face was turned toward us—Red’s, the old-timers, even the teardrop kid, all waiting for which way the wind was gonna blow.
I felt the anger boiling over. I stepped into Vin’s space, tried to shove past him, but he caught my chest with one massive palm and pinned me to the wall hard enough to pop the air out of my lungs.
“You want to die, do it out in the street. You want to get her back, you do it with the club.” His face was so close I could smell the toothpick in his teeth, the sweat, the underlying stink of cigarette withdrawal. “We protect our own. Even you, dumbass.”
I struggled, fists swinging, but he was a fucking bulldozer. “Let go!” I snarled.
Vin grinned, and for a second, it was like looking in a cracked mirror. “Not until you get your shit together.”
I went limp, more out of strategy than surrender. He released me, and I sucked in a ragged breath, feeling my ribs realign.
“Meeting room. Five minutes. Don’t make me repeat myself.” He jabbed a finger at my chest, then turned on his heel, leaving me in the wreckage of my pride.
I staggered out, ignoring the eyes tracking me. At the bar, Red gave a little nod, like she already knew the outcome. I grabbed a bar towel, wrapped my bleeding hand, and limped after Vin.
Inside the meeting room, the table was already packed. Vin stood at the head, arms crossed, king of the hill.
He waited until I took a seat, then spoke. “Maple’s making his play. He wants leverage on us; he takes the girl. Axel here’s got history, but this isn’t about one of ours. It’s about sending a message.”
The room bristled with agreement. Moab spat into a Solo cup. “Preacher thinks he runs this town. Time he got a lesson in humility.”
Vin’s eyes flicked to me, then around the table. “We hit the retreat before sunrise. Clean, fast, no collateral. We get the girl, we torch their backup. Anyone got a problem with that?”
Nobody did. Not tonight.
Vin turned to me. “You got skin in this, you lead the op. We’ll back your play. But you go off-script, and I’ll put you down myself. Clear?”
I felt a surge in my chest, some ugly mix of gratitude and dread. “Clear,” I said, voice steady.
He clapped me on the shoulder, hard enough to hurt. “Get your shit ready. We roll at 0400.”
The meeting broke up. I lingered, fingers tracing the patched-up bar towel, staring at the blood soaking through. Red sidled up beside me, quiet for once.
“Didn’t think you’d live this long,” she whispered.
“Me neither.”
She squeezed my arm, just for a second, then drifted off.
I looked at Vin, who was already mapping out the next day in his head, eyes cold and bright.