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The ground practically vibrates under my feet, and I don’t know what, but something tells me to turn around. When I do, I see four more headlights aimed at our backs.
“They called for backup,” I shout and shoot at the first fucker I see. Nogales. He falls off the bike, but like the goddamn devil, the fucker isn’t dead yet.
Half my MC turns to face the incoming bikers, guns aimed and ready to inflict maximum damage. Two bikes fall over, and the Iron Kings use them for cover while they send bullets flying our way.
Two shots ring out behind us, and when I glance over my shoulder, Joaquin’s face is covered in Iron King’s blood spatter, the whites of his eyes and teeth the only visible light with all the blood dripping down his face.
“The best King is a dead King.”
Two down, eight more to go.
Ace charges at Nogales, who’s gripping his arm, grunting and swearing as he lifts his bike and jumps on it.
“How did we miss fucking up Nogales’s bike?” I yell to Ace.
Nogales doesn’t hear me. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he shouts, but his words are barely audible over the gunfire, over the sound of bones cracking against soft human flesh. “Now!”
Ace takes aim, but Nogales is on the street and speeding off before another bullet touches him.
“Damn, that fucker is slippery.” Ace shakes his head, and our gazes connect. I spot another unknown biker behind him and raise my gun, setting up my shot as I advance toward my Prez.
“What the fuck?”
“Get down,” I shout, as I pass him, and half a second later, I double-tap the motherfucker in his chest and one in his head for good measure. His warm blood soaks my skin. The fucker takes forever before falling to his knees and then flat on his fucking face.
Ace gets back to his feet, smiling as I turn to face him. “Thanks, brother.”
“Anytime.” I ignore that flash of anger I saw because we’re all on edge with this fucking mole in our midst.
More and more bikes roar to life, and we realize the Iron Kings are cutting and running on some of the fucked up bikes.
“Fuck,” Ace roars.
Stone strolls up between us with a grin splitting his face. “Watch this, kiddo.” He lines up his shot Texas style, with one eye closed, and takes aim at a retreating biker with long red hair. A shot rings out, and the biker falls over, his bike causing mayhem for the bikers behind him, crashing into him or his bike, making a mess of the road.
“Impressed?”
“Kind of, yeah. You’re not a Viking; you’re a fucking cowboy.”
Stone’s deep laugh rings out louder than the retreating bikes.
“Fucking right I am, brother.” He claps me on the back and aims again, shooting out a few tires for shits and giggles. “Whoo boy!”
“Good to see you’re having fun,” Ace says in a half-amused tone.
“I am. Three bodies is child’s play, but as my daddy says, it’s a damn good start to an evening.”
At Stone’s words, Ace looks around and nods at the three lifeless bodies lying around the parking lot. He sighs and shakes his head.
“It’s not enough, but, at least now they know we mean business.”
I nod and step beside Ace. “They’re dead and injured, brother. They got the fucking message.”
Sirens blast out through the night, and instinctively, we all head to our bikes.
“All right, brothers, let’s get the fuck out of here. Back to the clubhouse,” Ace shouts as he mounts his bike. With another sharp whistle, he starts up his bike, and we leave Smitty’s in our rearview.
Chapter Thirty-Three
