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Picking up the axe, I walk up to the glass doors. Looking inside, I hear Frost behind me as I try the door and open it back. The room is empty, but a heavy scent of alcohol permeates the air.
Walking towards the main door of the room, I open it slightly to glance down the corridor. I hear shouting coming from downstairs, but it seems quiet upstairs. “There are two more doors down the corridor and one on the other side of this one.”
“Let’s do this,” Frost states as I open the door wide and step out. I immediately open the door before this one and find that it’s a bathroom.
“I’ll take the left; you take the right,” I state as we make our way down the corridor. Turning the door handle, I find it locked. Behind me, Frost opens his door.
“Empty,” he updates.
“This one is locked.” Holding the handle, I place my hip and shoulder against the door, and then with a strong thrust, I hear the lock crack and the door pushes in.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I rush towards where Gunner is lying on the ground, unconscious. “Gunner?” there is no response. “Shit, we need to carry him.”
“I need to find Myst,” I grunt, my anger rising over seeing Gunner like this.
“We’ll close the door again and come back for him,” Frost says.
“They will want to hold him against us. Maybe we should move him into the bathroom?” Frost nods, placing his arm under one of Gunner’s shoulders as he starts lifting him. I slot my shoulder under the other as we drag him towards the bathroom, placing him in the bath and closing the curtains so no one sees him unless they come and bathe, which by the looks of them, I wouldn’t say happens often.
Closing the door behind us, we make our way to the top of the stairs and see King and Cobalt at the bottom, holding the men there at gunpoint.
“Anything?” I ask.
King looks up and shakes his head.
“Gunner is in the bathroom,” I update, “but they shot him up and he’s high as a fucking kite.” That is going to mess up with his wolf. Hopefully, he will be able to get over this quickly, but we know that our wolves don’t do well with drugs. And, by the way he was, it’s obvious that they have given him enough drugs to knock him out, which isn’t easy because shifters kick out alcohol and drugs out of our systems within minutes.
“Fuck!” King growls. “Cobalt, go see to him.” Now that there is someone to look after Gunner, I make my way downstairs. Pulling one of the Hades men up off the ground from where King has injured him, I raise him up until we are at eye level.
“Where is my woman?” I ask.
“Fuck you.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I am letting go of him, pulling a gun from the back of my jeans, and pointing it at him before I shoot. He falls back and the bullet hole appears right between the eyes. I’m tired of these fuckers messing with us. Turning to another asshole who is holding his hip from where he has already been shot, I point my gun.
“Where?” I ask, seeing the fear fill his eyes.
“Out back,” he screams, lifting his hand as if to ward off the bullet. Grunting, I lower my gun as I turn, making my way towards the back of the Club. I see Hawk at the end of the corridor, about to break down a door there, when I approach.
“Are they there?” I ask before I stop next to him.
“Yeah,” he replies just as he lifts his leg and kicks the door, which bursts open against the wall.
“Hawk!” Onyx cries when she sees her mate.
“Myst,” I call in relief when I see my mate sitting on the ground, her hands tied behind her. Her eyes widen when she sees me walking in. I can only imagine what kind of state I look like right now, covered in splatters of blood and dirt with an axe in one hand and a gun in the other.
Sliding the gun back into its place at my back, I drop the axe as I hurry over to her, pulling her into my arms I hug her close.
“This is not my lucky week,” she murmurs against my chest, which has me shaking my head at her attempt at amusement.
“I’m sorry they were able to get to you, but the Hades MC will end today,” I promise
“I can’t feel my hands, please untie me.”
I grunt in anger at myself for not untying her immediately. When her hands are finally free, I pull them forward, gently rubbing at her chuffed wrists.
“How’s your wound?” I ask when I see marks of blood on her T-shirt.
“I think I tore the stitches when I had to run,” she replies, looking down at her t-shirt. “Or when they dragged me out of my hiding spot.
