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Looking to my left, I nodded at Grasshopper. His silhouette was barely visible in the dark. “That question is irrelevant. I’m ready. Been ready for a long fucking time.”
There was something to be said for just getting a job done. Dagger Rose had lived eight years longer than they were entitled. I should’ve slaughtered them the night I got out of the slammer. Why didn’t I just do it? Why bother forming an elaborate scheme to destroy them piece by piece? Dead was dead.
Because Wallstreet had bigger plans and you agreed.
I gritted my teeth. That was true, but it’d also kept my mind off Cleo’s death. If I hadn’t had something so intricate to puppeteer, I didn’t know if I would still be alive. I might’ve drunk myself into a coffin, or willingly been reckless, trying to follow her to the underworld.
Luckily, I had no wish to die. And Wallstreet’s plans had finally aligned with mine.
It’s time.
Grasshopper looked behind us. “We’re ready when you are, Prez.”
I swung my leg over my bike, unstrapping the semiautomatic and holding it high. There was no time for battle cries or courageous speeches. Each man knew what he was here for. We’d all done what was necessary to prepare.
The entire Club, minus two guards at the compound and one watching over Cleo, was present. They all copied me, climbing off their bikes and arming their weapons.
“Say whatever prayers you need. Tonight there are no half measures. Got it?”
The men nodded, jaws tight.
Mo handed me a pair of bolt cutters. I felt like a fucking senator about to cut a city’s ribbon. Handing Beetle my semi, I wedged the cutters through the metal links holding the flimsy gate together.
The chain snipped apart, slithering to the dirt, resting beside the pathetic padlock.
The gates swung open.
The Crusaders had tried to guard their home, but the barbwire on top of the fence was merely decoration when they chose to lock their gates with something as useless as a fucking chain.
I paused, glancing around the compound. We’d all studied blueprints, courtesy of a disgruntled Club bunny who’d been raped and left for dead by a prospect of the Crusaders. She’d spent a year as their slave before managing to escape. Now she wanted nothing more than revenge.
I understood her wish completely.
Pointing at the unprotected Clubhouse, I took the first step. Instantly, a ripple of action ferried through the men. We drifted forward as one.
Our boots crunched over twigs and dandelions. The moon remained hidden as if it didn’t want to witness what would happen.
My eyes narrowed, seeking out weaknesses or problems.
This was no longer a Clubhouse but a battlefield. Luckily, there would be no civilian victims. The compound was out of the city limits, built illegally on an abandoned refuse site that no one touched due to chemical waste. Didn’t they give a shit about their health?
I smirked in the darkness. Not that they’ll have to worry about their health tonight.
Motioning in the air, I signaled the men to spread out.
Silently, our group thinned, forming a moving wall, ready to surround the building like gift wrap. Extra bullets were palmed, safeties flicked, and grenade pins pulled.
We’d come prepared for Armageddon.
Once we’d finished, there would be no Club, no compound, no nothing.
My father and brother would be pieces of meat.
I would finally find salvation.
Reaching the bricked wall, my men pressed up against it, fading into the night. Grasshopper’s blue eyes narrowed, waiting for my next command.
Hefting the weight of my gun, I glared at my Pure brothers. “We all know the plan. Kill every motherfucker but leave the women and children alone. Anyone comes across Rubix or Asus, you leave those bastards to me.”
Men smiled, pressing their fingertips to their lips in an age-old oath.
My word was their law.
Mo flanked me. “Perimeter check complete. No sign of life. Either they’re all fucking high or complete assholes to not fortify.”
“You take the left; I’ll take the right. Kill can go in through the front door.” Grasshopper slapped my leather cut. “After all, it’s about the fashionable entrance.”
Mo chuckled quietly. “You good with that, Kill?”
“Yep. You take a third, Hopper takes a third, and I’ll meet you in the middle with the rest.”
Mo didn’t hesitate.
Slipping back into shadows, he darted down the lineup of bikers. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a third to go with him. His army disappeared around the side of the building in the first flank.
With a salute, Grasshopper summoned his third and moved in the opposite direction. We’d already discussed how we would attack: all at once from all fucking angles.
It would ensure swift victory. We would win.
I waited until Grasshopper disappeared with his group, before glancing at the remaining men. There were ten, eleven including me.
Each man bristled with armament, their eyes cold and focused.
They waited wordlessly, ready to begin. Looking at Matchstick then Beetle, I slinked forward.
I stayed hunched and low, fondling my semiautomatic. The safety was off. Tempers high. Adrenaline flowing.
Men deserved to die. My father deserved to die.
Boggy mud squelched around our boots as we inched around the building.
Beetle reached the front entrance first. He inspected the metal-reinforced door, seeking weaknesses.
I climbed the stoop. “Can you do it?”
Along with Beetle’s past of shoplifting and anarchy as a kid, he was also a magician with locks.
