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“If anyone can make it, it’s him,” says Ripper. “He’s got skills we don’t.”
There’s a party going on in the clubhouse. Probably celebrating getting one over on Eagle-eye. There’s no sign of it up front, but it sounds like shit’s going crazy around the back of the building. As long as those fuckers stay on that side, we have a chance. Letting the sound of the party cover our own noise, we ghost past it.
The Pit Viper garage is a large building separate from the clubhouse. It’s warm tonight, and they’ve left the main garage door open to let the breeze in. It’s late, but lights are on and shadows move around in there. Something metal clatters to the concrete floor and someone laughs. We’re going to have to deal with them to get our bikes the hell out of here.
Using hand signals, I give Ripper directions, sending him in on one side of the garage, while I take the other. There are so many bikes, stacks of tires, shelves with tools and parts and other shit that there’s plenty of cover.
When Faith starts to follow, though, I put a hand up to stop her. “Honey, stay back and keep hidden, alright? We’ll fucking handle it.”
“But—”
“No. Stay here.”
“I can—”
“Shh.”
“Fine!” she hisses, so loud a moment I worry that the guys inside might hear her. We all freeze until we’re sure they didn’t.
I nod Faith’s way, hoping that’s encouragement for her to stay fucking put and that she’s not going to get too eager and get us in trouble. When she’s not freaked out and overwhelmed, she gets spunky.
Ripper and I edge along our respective walls, closing in on three guys who’re stripping a low rider. Not one of ours, luckily. I’d be pissed if they already decided to scrap them for parts. But no, there they fucking are, lined up. Makes my fucking heart soft seeing my baby again. No thanks to these dickheads. I bet my fucking back wheel that our keys are on the counters behind them. I signal across the room at Ripper again, and he nods with a vicious grin. We’re going to take these fuckers out, and it has to be both fast and quiet.
Sometimes, it’s the stupidest shit that works. Once I’ve got them between me and Ripper, I stand up. “Hey, you got a fucking fuel filter for me?”
The closest of the three doesn’t even look my way, his attention going to one of the shelves instead, probably looking for my damn fuel filter.
One of the other two looks up though. “Hey, what the—”
That’s how far he gets before Ripper is on him, a hand over his mouth as he pulls the guy around to slam his head into a post.
I leap forward and jump the guy searching for the filter from behind, wrapping my arm around his throat and lifting the fucker right off the ground. He tries to yell, but I’m not letting him have any air. All that comes out are some coughs and gurgles.
“Good fucking night,” I hiss as the fucker struggles less and less, until he goes limp in my arms. When I drop him, he doesn’t move. I whirl around, ready for the third guy, just as Faith slams a tire iron into the back of his head. With a grunt, he drops to the ground and doesn’t get back up.
She glares, daring me to say anything. “I’m not going to freaking stay behind.”
“Fine, whatever. Check the counter for the keys while we wheel the bikes to the garage door.”
“Got it.” She hops to it.
Ripper scratches his head. “There’s a fuckton of bikes in here. And a fuel tank over there.”
“Think we can do something about that?”
“These fuckers burned down Faith’s house. There’s a poetic fucking justice in a little fire.” He gestures like he has a grand vision. “Just give me a couple minutes to set it up.”
Faith shows up next to us, holding up three sets of keys. “Do it.” I’ve thought of her as far too fucking sweet. The quiet furor in those two words gives me fucking chills like normally only Blade can. Then again, she’s got plenty to be angry about.
“Sounds like a plan. Just the gate left then.”
“They’re automatic,” says Faith. “There’s a button in the guardhouse.”
Ripper grins. “When the building goes up, there’s no way they’re not coming running.”
“I’m on it,” says Faith.
“The fuck you are. We’re here to protect you. I’m not letting you—”
