The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (43 page)

She nodded, and the two of them split off to pull the Rising Sons out.

Everyone poured out the backdoor, and when one of the new recruits started asking a question, Trask cut him off. “Shut the fuck up. Head back to the trailers. Get ready to head back around to the front door.”

Without another word, the bikers stationed outside headed into the maze of shipping trailers. Trask stayed behind, listening to Carlos and his men as they got closer to the front door. He waved everyone back to the trailers. He had his gun out, holding it up just beyond the closed back door.

He nodded to Gunner, hoping that he would understand. Trask was the only one that could hear inside the warehouse. He
had
to stay. Flipping the safety off on the gun he’d scrounged from the floor, he worked to control his breathing. Then the bullets started flying. Trask had anticipated some more talk from Carlos, but apparently, Vegas’ boy was impatient.

Waving the bikers around the building, Trask kept his back planted to the wall. He could hear the bullets tearing through the sheet metal, and round indents were appearing on the outside of the back door. Most bullets tore through the door, though, sparking and ricocheting off of the cargo trailers.

Trask was down on his knees, watching his brothers weaving through the trailers to the roadside and the front of the warehouse. The shots in the warehouse died down, leaving Trask anticipating the next round. If any of the mercenaries spotted the Rising Sons flanking them, he’d hear shots ringing out in that direction. He thanked God for the silence.

He heard people stepping through the front door, and he held his breath. Trask wanted to peer through any of the holes in the door, but he stayed put.

Carlos’ voice echoed inside the building. “Oh, goddammit. I’m getting so fucking sick of dealing with you shit-eaters. Search the fucking rooms.” Trask heard feet falling on the wooden floor. He closed his eyes and pictured Gunner, Raven, and the others keeping low but moving fast along the front of the warehouse. If all the mercenaries were inside, they’d have an easy time of it—

Then shots rang out again.

Gunner grabbed Kyle’s AK-47 and sprayed the mercenaries, keeping an eye on Carlos. The man was easy to spot. He wore an all-white suit and stood out like an impeccable thumb attached to a dirty hand. Gunner took out three of the men to the left of Carlos. By the time they had time to turn around, he aimed the automatic rifle at the men on the other side.

Emptying the clip, Gunner stepped forward. When the AK clicked empty, Gunner dove to one side. Two recruits stepped in with pistols held high. They put down two more men. As Gunner stood up, he saw mercenaries dropping their weapons. Raven stepped in from behind the two recruits, a shotgun in her hand. Gunner and Raven saw Carlos reaching into his jacket at the same time, and she pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The white of his pants turned to red as Carlos dropped to the floor. Rising Sons poured in behind Raven. Gunner directed them to get the weapons away from the remaining mercenaries. Carlos was grunting and swearing up a storm.

Walking up to the leader of the group of mercenaries sent to kill every Rising Son, Gunner spit down onto Carlos. “Quit bitchin’. You’ll live.”

He turned back to Raven. She still stood strong with the gun firm in her hands. He kissed her on the cheek. “Good shot, babe.”

“What do we do with the rest?”

“Get the wounded from the basement and then throw this trash where they were keeping Faith. We’ll figure out what to do with them later on.” Gunner walked back into the shot-up room where the Rising Sons had first made their attack. He pounded on the door. “Trask, we got things under control. Come on in, brother.”

The door opened, and Trask stood there smiling. “It’s about time things swing in our favor.” He came through the door and into the main area of the warehouse where Rising Sons were clearing the carnage that Gunner had caused with the AK.

Carlos was lying on the floor. One pant leg had been shredded from the shotgun blast, and it was beginning to soak through with blood. Gunner tore the fabric away to make sure there was nothing life threatening. After seeing only oozing blood, he stood up.

“Didn’t hit any arteries. He’ll bleed out in a day if we let him, but he’ll stay awake long enough for us to get what we need.”

Trask stood over one of the men responsible for multiple deaths and the destruction of Los Bandoleros. “This ain’t your day, asshole.”

“He’s a fucking psycho. All he ever talks about is how the club betrayed him. He threatened my cousin into building him that bike. That’s how he got in touch with me. He told me to get a crew together. He promised us three hundred grand.”

Carlos was leaning over, tearing his good pant leg into bandages. He was sliding the fabric beneath his wounded leg as Gunner and Trask stood around. The four mercenaries were locked in Faith’s former cell.

Gunner nodded. “You’re doing a great job of painting yourself as an innocent here, Maldonado. You sent men to kill us, so don’t play that shit.”

No one could get any emotion from Carlos. He didn’t seem to care about his situation, even if that meant his head. He didn’t make eye contact with any of his hired guns or look at the bodies as the Rising Sons cleared them from the warehouse. He was stone cold, and it was getting on their nerves.

“I was doing a job. Sometimes my job means breaking fingers, other times it means killing. The price is all I’m interested in. Your gang isn’t some Boy Scout troop out cleaning up the highway. You know exactly what this life means.”

Gunner planted a boot into Maldonado’s side. The man doubled over with pain. Gunner bent down, hissing, “We are
not
a gang. We are a club of motorcycle enthusiasts. Beyond that, I don’t know what to tell you. We came out here for Mrs. Rivers and some information. We have half the package deal, so why don’t you tell us where the fuck we can find Vegas?”

“Don’t know,” Carlos coughed out. They’d heard it too many times.

Gunner looked up to one of the recruits. “Bring up a prisoner.”

Carlos let out a pained laugh. “Kill them all, I don’t give a fuck.”

Gunner shrugged. “You heard the man. Better bring them all.”

Carlos held out through two of the executions—they were men he barely knew. When he saw Bernardo dragged into the warehouse, though, he broke down. Carlos was old friends with Bernardo’s father, and the thought of his best friend’s son dying through his inaction was too much.

“Okay, okay. Stop. I’ll tell you where he is. Just stop killing these men. Let them go.”

Gunner looked down at Carlos. His clothes were drenched in sweat and blood. He was a beaten man. “Where can we find Vegas?”

“He’s holed up in some motel in Silverado Ranch, outside the strip. The Hideaway, ironically. I think he’s in room eight.” Carlos hung his head, defeated.

Raven already had her phone out, charting the directions from East St. Louis Street to Silverado Ranch.

Gunner spat on Carlos again. “Drag him and this one,” he pointed his gun at Bernardo, “back down to the cell. Lock them up. You know, in case this one gave us bad information.” Leaning down, Gunner lowered his voice. “If you
did
give us bad info, I’ll take all the time I need to find every one of your family members. Now, as that sets in, are you sure that’s where we should head looking for our old friend?”

Carlos nodded, a tear mixing with the sweat on his face.

“All right, boys. We ride.” Gunner grabbed Raven’s hand, pulling her toward him. “You’re not gonna like this, but it’s gotta be done. I need you to take Faith back to Bakersfield.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Gunner cut her off. “We’ve got wounded. I’m sending them all back, and I need you to take the point. If anything happens to us, it’s just a few more white trash bikers in the dirt. But you and Faith, my God, you two are angels for men like us.”

“Gunner, I want to fight beside you.” Raven’s voice was higher than usual, and he knew she was fighting back tears.

“It’s not your fight. End of story. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.” Gunner met her eyes. He knew full well why she was tearing up. It wasn’t about keeping her from a fight, and it wasn’t about him ordering her around. They both knew that he might never return to California.

Raven threw her arms around him. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, and she didn’t care who knew it. She cried into his shoulder as his strong arms squeezed her close. Gunner was the one fighting back his emotions. He wanted her forever, and he knew she would be in agony until he came back from Las Vegas, if he did at all. He held her tight, the world around them fading out of view.

He whispered to her, “I love you.” He said it over and over again, knowing it would only make her cry that much harder. He turned away from the light of the doorway as a tear slid down his face.

A few minutes went by, and Raven’s pain began to ease. She wiped her face and looked up at him. “You come home to me. There’s so much we haven’t done. Just promise me that you’ll come home.”

Gunner held his biker girl’s face in his hands. She leaned against his rough skin, and he marveled at just how soft hers was. He shook his head and closed his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, laying her hand over his.

He opened his eyes. “I’m thinking that when we get back, we’re gonna have us a wedding.”

She stared at him, no reaction on her face. He laughed, pulling her in for a hard kiss. His lips engulfed hers before tracing her jawline to her neck. When he pulled back, she still seemed stupefied. “Well, goddamn, is that a no?”

“It’s… it’s…” She shook her head. “It’s…I’ll answer when you get back to Bakersfield.” She pulled his hand from her cheek. She gave it a kiss and then let it go.

“Really? You’re going to play things like that?” Gunner couldn’t get angry with her, but he was thinking that they’d get caught up in the moment. He figured it was a damn romantic gesture, but he wasn’t going to let it get to him. “All right, fair enough. You answer me when I get back to Bakersfield.”

She turned around. “Faith, let’s get the wounded ready to travel.”

Bear’s wife and Trask’s mother, a powerful spirit on her own, made her way to Raven. Gunner turned away, pretending to occupy himself, but he wanted to overhear. He wanted to hear his woman’s voice as much as he could before she rode away. He was torn between the club and his own heart, something he’d never felt before.