Page 36 of Always My Fate

Horse gave a sharp nod, blood on his face but eyes blazing. “Prez! They’re tryin’ to break through to the house!”

“Not on my watch!” Blackie snarled. He moved like a force of nature, big, brutal, and precise. He dropped another attacker with a vicious elbow to the throat, then put two rounds in the man’s chest before he hit the ground. “Rook! Close the trap! Cut off their retreat!”

The battle turned ugly and personal. Blackie took a hard hit to the ribs from a wild swing but answered with a headbutt that dropped the man like a sack of shit. Blood roared in his ears. Every punch, every shot, every barked order was fueled by the same thought:

Peaches. Daniel. The kids. My family.

He wasn’t just fighting for the club.

He was battling for the life he’d bled to build.

“Push ’em!” Blackie roared, voice carrying over the gunfire. “These MDMC ghosts and that traitor Roscoe don’t get to touch what’s ours!”

The Freed Riders surged with renewed ferocity, Blackie was the head of the spear, slicing up in between groups of MDMC. He was bloody, profane, and unrelenting.

The fight for Belle raged on, but with their president in the fray, the tide was finally turning.

***

The last MDMC member broke and ran to get on a nearby bike, tires screaming as he followed the two other survivors who’d fled into the darkness. Blackie stood in the middle of the churned-up field near the Belle ranch fence line, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles and a burning graze along his left arm. The night fell strangely quiet except for the groans of the injured and the low crackle of dying fires.

“Secure the perimeter!” he roared, voice raw. “Nobody chases ’em alone! Horse, let’s get your wounded inside!”

They’d won. The immediate threat was broken. But the cost was written across the ranch in blood and bullet holes.

Blackie moved through the chaos, checking on his men. Two of Horse’s patches were down with gunshot wounds to the leg and shoulder, alive but hurting bad. One of his own prospects had taken a nasty hit to the side and was being loaded into a truck for a discreet run to a friendly doctor. Rook was limping, a deep gash across his thigh from a knife fight. He also had a split lip and what looked like a broken nose but was still on his feet, barking orders.

“Fuck,” Blackie muttered, wiping blood from his face as he found Horse leaning against the barn, pressing a rag to a bleeding cut on his forehead. “You good, brother?”

“Been better,” Horse grunted, but his eyes were steady. “We held ’em, Prez. They wanted the ranch. They didn’t get it.”

Blackie clapped a heavy hand on Horse’s shoulder, pride and exhaustion warring in his chest. “You did good. Real good. Glenna safe?”

“Safe. Shamu didn’t let anyone near her. She’s shakin’ but tough.” Horse lifted one hand, pointing to a member. “Roge, take two and scan for MDMC carcasses. We’ll bring ’em back and deal.”

“Yeah, boss,” the tall, lanky man said and turned to the two men closest to him. “Let’s go, boys.”

Blackie nodded, the adrenaline crash starting to hit. He looked out over the damaged fences, the bullet-riddled vehicles, and the brothers helping the wounded. Victory tasted bitter tonight.

He pulled out his phone and dialed home. Peaches answered on the first ring.

“Blackie?”

“I’m okay, Peaches,” he said, voice rough. “We pushed ’em back. Belle held. But we got injured, couple of Horse’s guys shot, Rook’s cut up, a prospect hit. Nothin’ fatal, thank fuck, but our win ain’t pretty.”

He heard her exhale shakily. “Come home.”

“Soon as I can. I love you, Peaches. Kiss that belly for me. Tell Daniel his old man’s comin’ back.”

Blackie ended the call and stood there for a long moment, staring at the stains on his boots. They’d won this round, but Roscoe and the MDMC ghosts had drawn first blood. The war wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. No, the threat and exposure had only sharpened.

He thought of Peaches waiting for him in their bed, round with their son. Of Randi, Tater, Possum, Punkin, and Lil Bit sleeping under club protection. Of the legacy he was fighting to protect.

“This cost too much,” he muttered to himself, jaw tight. “But I’d pay it again if I have to. For them. For all of ’em.”

Blackie squared his shoulders and listened to Horse giving orders to clean up and reinforce. The night wasn’t over yet.

But he’d be damned if he let the bastards win the next round.