Forseti’s leather jacket hid the colorful tattoos down his arms, but the black ink on his hands and fingers was visible when he carded them through his mess of sandy blond locks.
They finally nodded like they’d come up with a plan, and then they were gone, disappearing into stacks of multicolored containers that, mostly, kept them hidden.
Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I glanced on top of one of the containers where a Soul snuck along, an automatic rifle clutched in his arms as he maneuvered his way toward Modi and our brothers and sisters. I yanked my Glock out of my shoulder holster and pointed it at the motherfucker. With a steady breath, I shot. The bullet got him in the arm, and he spun from the impact, falling from the container and straight in front of Modi, who finished him off with a potshot to the forehead.
He gave me a wave in thanks, and I bowed dramatically, earning me a flipped middle finger.
Thor yanked at my jacket, hauling me back and out of sight. “We need a plan, Loki.”
I shrugged with a grin. “You’re the VP. You usually come up with good plans.”
Thor snorted and mumbled, “Fuck it. The cops will be here soon. Let’s go out in style.”
Sounded like something he’d do. Thor enjoyed a good fight and always chose the option with violence, as long as he knew we’d get out on the other side.
“I like this idea.” I waved my Glock at him. “Let’s rock and roll, baby.”
He grunted in the way he usually did when he thought I was a little crazy and grabbed his Smith & Wesson 9mm from his hip holster. Glancing around the stacks of wood, he made a hand gesture we knew as wait and be ready.
Modi pressed the butt of his AR-15 against his shoulder, pointing it at the ground, eyes trained on Thor as he waited for a signal. The warm afternoon air was tense, the sounds of bullets impacting wood and ricocheting from the metal of the containers reaching our ears, but the shots slowed. The Souls must’ve realized we weren’t shooting back.
Thor raised his hand, and I grasped my gun tighter, the familiar rough texture of the grip a comforting sensation against the palm of my hand. A bullet hit the wood beside us just as the white van with our drugs came roaring out from between two shipping containers, nearly rolling as Syn yanked the wheel to turn the vehicle. It went barreling toward the Souls’ bikes and the satisfying crunch of metal hitting metal made me grin.
Hel stuck her head out of the window, firing bullets as she shouted in her strong Mexican accent, “Hijo de puta.”
Thor sliced his hand down, giving us the signal to go wild. Modi spun out from behind his hiding spot, the automatic rifle pumping one bullet after another out in the direction of our rival club. I did the same. My other brothers and sisters let loose, firing as many bullets as they could as we backed away, heading toward our bikes.
There was a howl of pain and a curse, and I quickly glanced to see Hati had taken a hit to the shoulder and collapsed to the ground, clutching at his injury. His face contorted in pain as he wiped the back of his hand over his bronze forehead and bared his teeth as Tyr—a muscular Hawaiian man with a dark crew cut and thick eyebrows—grabbed him under the arm and wrenched him back to his feet, half dragging him down the dirt road. Now that the Souls’ bikes were out of the way, we could get out of here in a hurry, it was just a matter of reaching our rides.
“Move,” Thor yelled, and we took off, our feet barely hitting the ground as we raced toward our motorcycles. Thor and Modi had our backs, firing in the direction of the Souls. A couple of the bastards came out from our right, but Tyr and I dealt with them with bullets to the gut and leg. A thrill chased through me at the sight of them falling to the ground, groaning in pain, and adrenaline pumped like fire through my veins. A bullet whizzed past my ear and I ducked, cursing the fuckers as I finally made it to my Ducati Monster, a 1200 S model in glossy black. She was sleek and pretty, with gold shock absorbers and dark paneling.
I jumped on her and she roared to life when I hit the start button. I left the key in her for moments like this, the kind that were all about living or dying, something we were used to as Lords. I sped out of the shipyard, my back tire drifting across the dirt in a skid as I veered forward. Engines rumbling at my back told me my family was right there with me as we raced past the wreckage of Souls’ motorcycles and out the gate. I glanced behind me, relieved when my gaze met Thor and his Harley Breakout bringing up the rear. The dark Snake Venom paintjob—deep violet on top and green on the sides—glimmered on its frame under the afternoon sun. If something had happened to that beauty, I might cry. No one had a prettier bike than Thor, as far as I was concerned, not even me. I loved my Ducati, but there was something extra nice about the Breakout, and maybe the man riding it had something to do with it.
We avoided the main roads, taking the backstreets until we entered Ridgeford, a fancy suburb in Pleasant Beach with tall, wide houses, big yards, and snotty residents. How Odin thought it was a good idea to live here, I didn’t know, but even though most of the people here were rich, they kept to themselves when it came to us.
By the time we got home, the sun had all but disappeared, leaving behind the last lingering trails of light through the giant trees down near the end of the street.
The mansion doubled as our clubhouse and was filled with darkness by the time we got home, which was odd because Odin usually switched on the lights as soon as it reached late afternoon. The bikes rumbled in the quietness of the driveway, lighting up the black shadows with our headlights, and the van pulled to a stop in front of us. Syn and Hel hopped out of the front and walked around to the back, yanking open the doors to reveal Forseti and the cases of MDMA we’d loaded before it all went to hell.
We stopped our bikes behind the white van and turned off the engines, and Odin chose that moment to open the front doors of the mansion, stepping out in nothing but a pair of jeans. His chest was bare, the shadows of his home casting darkness across his side. He looked like he’d gone a few rounds of fucking, sweat gleaming and shining on his skin under the setting sun that managed to hit his other side. It was ironic, a man of both good and evil—an angel and a devil in one body.
He grinned and opened his arms. “How did it go?”
Thor winced and straightened his shoulders, ready to take all the blame, but I wouldn’t allow that. It wasn’t any more his fault than Odin’s, who hadn’t even been there, too busy on a call with Thiago Reyes, one of our business partners. Obviously that conference ended early if his looks said anything.
“We fucked up,” Thor said, but I shoved him, and he spun a glare on me.
“We didn’t fuck up. Someone fucked us up,” I snapped, turning my attention to my adoptive father. Odin was a handsome older man with gray hair and a strong face. He had money, was charming and attractive—the perfect trifecta. A silver fox women wanted and men wanted to be. Then there were people like me who knew the truth about his past and how he was just as fucked up as the rest of us. There was a reason he was the president of our club of misfits.
His enigmatic charisma was a sparkly façade covering a pile of unresolved emotional shit he preferred to ignore rather than deal with. I had a shrink as a kid. Mom had forced me to see him, and if I was still seeing him today, I imagined he would tell me Odin’s issues would explode one day and destroy everyone nearby, and I could choose to stick around or leave before it got to that point. But fuck it, we were all the same kind of person. Fucked in the head. Odin had raised me when I should have gone into the foster system.
Odin’s smile slipped off his face, leaving behind a scowl. Storming toward us with bare feet, he stopped right in front of us, settling his narrowed eyes on Thor. “What happened?”
“The Souls were there,” Thor grumbled, shooting me a glare to keep me quiet. That never worked, so I didn’t know why he tried. I rolled my eyes. “We got there earlier than what we’d arranged, but those fuckers showed up at the exact time the meeting was planned, like they knew what we had agreed with Costello. Someone must have told them, Odin.”
“Costello?” Odin asked.
“Ran off like the dickless cretin he is,” I grumbled.
