The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (28 page)

Trask sighed. “Cecil and I are the only ones left who know it.”

Faith looked around. “I don’t give a damn if we lost every last dime the club earned. Just don’t let anything happen to any more of my boys.”

Trask nodded. “I’ll call one of the Sons to come with me as backup. We’ll hit the safe and get some cash for people to get out of town.” A pained look appeared on his face. “Trigger was a true Son, Gunner. He was a Rising Son through and through. If there’s anything you need, you let me know.”

“Of course, brother.” Gunner gave a solemn dip of his head.

Raven smiled. There was something nice about seeing her man and Trask working together. She was worried about Gunner, because he seemed to be taking his little brother’s death in stride. She knew bikers, and Gunner especially, were masters at hiding their emotions.

She turned to Faith. “I’ll get on the phone to the rest of the bikers. We can have everybody ready—”

“You’re not doing a thing, dear.” Faith put on the kind of stern mother’s tone that you didn’t disobey. “I’m sure you haven’t had a good night sleep in days. I see the same look on your face when I look in the mirror. You get home and get some well-deserved rest. I can make the calls and start arranging things.” Raven started to protest, but Faith wasn’t having any of it.

“It’s not a damn request. Keep your phone on, but for the love of God, get some sleep.”

Outside the hospital, Gunner held Raven against him. They were both facing the impending sunrise. “She’s right, you know.”

“About what?” Raven turned her head up to Gunner.

“About sleep. Those cots suck. Go home. We’ll take care of things here. Trask and whoever he calls will get the cash from the safe, and we can send Hope, Jenny, and all the wives and girlfriends on a little vacation. They won’t know the difference.”

Raven thought of Sam’s wife, who had cooked for them the first night they stayed at the bar. She thought about who would tell her, and how she would begin to grieve. The sisters and mother that had lost family—had they been told yet? Who would do it? Her thoughts came and went without cause, melting and forming from one to another.

“You’re right. I am beyond beat. I know this is going to sound morbid, but I liked our time together tonight.”

Gunner kissed the top of her head, “Me, too. It…” Raven watched Gunner as he struggled to find the words. “It helped me forget about Trigger for a few. As soon as things calm down, we’ll go somewhere that didn’t used to be a meth lab. Deal?”

Raven laughed. “Deal.” She turned and bent up to kiss Gunner. He squeezed her ass and held her close for a few tender seconds.

“All right, get home. Be careful. Seriously. Don’t go weaving all over the road or nothin’.” Raven could see the love in Gunner’s eyes as he spoke. Maybe it had been there before, but he had disguised it well enough for her to miss. Maybe because she was always pissed off at him she didn’t bother to see it, but in that moment, there was no way to miss how much he cared for her.

“I live five minutes from here. I think I’ll make it, Gunner.” She flashed him a warm smile, then mounted her Harley. He was already heading back inside for his shift outside Bear’s door when she rode out of the parking lot.

Raven was kidding herself. It was only a five-minute ride, but every time she blinked, she lost a second or two. The last mile was a fight against exhaustion. She rode through a red light after scoping out both oncoming directions. She saw no one and barely slowed down through the intersection. When she spotted her place, she let out a sigh of relief.
 

Leave your phone on.
Faith’s words echoed in her head. It was the last thing she wanted to do. If she got one more interruption in the middle of a great night’s sleep, Raven figured that she’d have an aneurysm and wind up next to Bear.

For the first time in days, Raven fell into her own bed. She managed to get her dirty jeans and bloodstained t-shirt off before sleep overtook her. Then she fell hard into blissful blackness.

“Don’t look at me. If your hired guns had done their job, we’d have the money in our hands right now.” Vegas smiled at Carlos, knowing it was the last thing the Mexican man wanted to see.

Carlos threw his hands up. “I sent ten guys.”

“I guess that wasn’t enough, was it?”

“What do you want me to do? Send them all? Because eighteen is all we have, now.”

“You didn’t believe me. I mean, I told you, but you didn’t believe me.” Vegas’ gravelly voice rang out through the small bodega. Far in back, hidden behind aisles of groceries, Vegas and Carlos sat in a booth. Vegas had a Dos Equis in front of him. Carlos was drinking sweet tea.

“Let me tell you a little bit about biker culture, jefe. Bikers live for three things. Booze. They love drinking. They can drink more than Russians. You put it in front of them and promise an altered state of consciousness, they’ll drink it. Bear was at that bar six nights a week. Take away their whiskey and you bring death upon your house. No bueno.

“Next is pussy. Bikers love to fuck. I don’t know how they do it so much, but they do. Women literally line up outside the bar for a chance to get with a Rising Son. It’s not just there—it’s all over California. If you’re a biker, all right, but if you’re in a club? Shit, better start taking antibiotics now, because you are going to be riding your fair share of sweetbutt.”

Carlos sat back and took some of the information in. He didn’t care much about the bikers. He cared that four men had died in the attack, and the others came back with no money. He hadn’t heard all sides of the story, but something had to have gone wrong. Ten guys should have been enough, especially with the element of surprise. Still, Carlos would nod at the appropriate times while Vegas talked.

Vegas went on, talking more for himself than for Carlos. “And the number one thing they’ll never give up? Their bikes. They’d rather lose the booze and bitches before they have to stop riding. I mean, these guys die for their bikes. I’ve seen it happen, Carlos.”

“No offense, but that doesn’t mean a goddamn thing to me if I can’t pay the men I hired.”

Vegas shook his head. He threw three pain pills into his mouth and knocked back his beer, washing them down. “No point now. They’re probably on their way to the bar right now to empty the safe. That was the one shot to clear them out of cash.”

Carlos stood up from the table. “What the fuck do we do now? I promised my guys money, boy.”

The smile vanished from Vegas’s face. He pushed himself upright at the table. The pills hadn’t kicked in yet, and the last ones were wearing off, so he grimaced as he stood. “You watch your fuckin’ tone, or I’ll bury you myself. The money is there. We just need a bargaining chip. Tell your guys to grab anyone close to the club. Girl, wife, brother—it doesn’t matter. We just need someone to trade.”

Trask decided that staying off the motorcycles would be a better route, especially with cops crawling all over the area since the fire.
 
Trigger agreed.
 
Gunner had a pickup, so they headed to his place to pick it up.
 
As the dawn was coming up, Trask and Trigger headed back to Los Bandoleros to dig through the ruins.

On the way, Trigger was on the phone most of the time.
 
He contacted many of the bikers, telling them as much of the plan as the emergency executive board had come up with.
 
As soon as they had a location for Vegas, they would strike with iron and fire. Until then, everyone was on lockdown for safety.

They drove past the bar once, to make sure the police department hadn’t left anyone there to guard the shell of a building.
 
On the second pass, Trask killed the lights and pulled into the parking lot.
 
Part of the eastern wall had collapsed, and they parked right at the edge of the crumbled cinder blocks.
 
The other three walls were sagged inwards and broken near the top.

The two men got out and surveyed the damage in the early morning light.
 
The place was unrecognizable.
 
Trigger kicked at a piece of wood that had belonged to the rafters.
 
“Fucked up.
 
I can’t believe it’s gone.”

Trask walked around to the back of the bar.
 
“The bar is gone.
 
That’s all.
 
The club is alive and well. We can rebuild.
 
We can start from scratch.
 
Grab the shovel and axe from the bed.”

Trask was already at the back door when Trigger handed him a shovel.
 
The stainless steel kitchen resembled airplane wreckage.
 
The floor was soaked from the firefighters, and creaks and groans came from the metal inside.

The two men navigated over the fallen wall and roof, which had collapsed inwards.
 
They stepped with care, measuring each step before putting their weight down.
 
It took them ten minutes to get from where the back door used to be to the bar area.
 
From there, it was another twenty minutes of hard labor.
 
Trask and Trigger had to cut through the collapsed roof, then shovel out all the burnt remains of the bar.
 
Charred wood, broken bottles, wires, and insulation were shoveled and kicked from the floor.
 
Trask and Trigger were sweating by the time they got to the trap door.

“Jesus.
 
Fucking finally.”
 
Trigger panted the words out, wiping his brow.
 

Trask laughed at the lack smudge that Trigger dragged across his forehead.
 
“Wide your forehead, dummy.”
 
Trask tossed him his bandana.

The two leaned against the wall that used to be the back of the servers area.
 
Trigger pushed a piece of drywall off of a cooler and pulled out a tallboy.
 
“They’re warm, but it’s better than nothing.”

Trigger tossed a can to Trask.
 
He caught it with a light touch, but even still, when he cracked the pop top, foam shot out.
 
Trask held the can out as the foam drained down the side of the can.