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Hurricane nods his head. “I’ll work it all out, don’t worry. I’ll make sure the plan is flawless. There is too much ridin’ on this for us to fuck it up.”
“In the meantime, what do we do about this fucking Bratva problem we seem to have?” Grudge asks.
Hurricane grimaces. “We call in reinforcements, and while they’re here… we kill two birds with one stone. Literally speakin’.”
“You want Houston to help us with the Bratva?” I clarify what we’re all thinking.
“What better way for Six to go out than in a club war as a hero?”
We all glance around the room at each other.
This might actually work.
Bayou nods his head slowly. “Okay, so we call Houston down to help us take Anton and these assholes out, then what?”
“Then, while we’re fightin’ to get rid of Anton and his men, a stray bullet finds its way into Six. It’s a battle. Shit happens,” Hurricane states.
City nods, so does Grudge, and the rest of us join in.
“I think it’s the only way wecando this, Pres,” Grudge replies.
Bayou sighs. “So the next question is, who’s taking the shot?”
A deathly silence falls over the Chapel as everyone goes stone-cold still. No one wants to volunteer for the murder of a club president. Hurricane goes to say something, but his cell beeps with a message as he does. He furrows his brows because most of the people who would text him are in this room. We all tense as he reaches for his cell. Pulling it out, he glances at it, flipping the phone open. Furrowing his brows, confusion crosses his features. “The fuck?” he murmurs.
The way his face shifts from curiosity to panic within a micro-second sends my stomach plummeting through the floor
Our president stands dramatically, his chair falling back from the force.
“Pres?” City asks.
Hurricane doesn’t say anything. He just starts punching something into his cell, then puts it to his ear.
We all wonder what the hell is going on.
But it’s Bayou who’s the first to push. “Hurricane, talk to us.”
He growls, slamming the cell down on the table. “I got a text from the burner I gave Kaia to use in case of emergency. All it said was ‘SOS.’ I tried to call her, but it rang out. Boys, we need to get to that bunker. Right fuckin’ now!”
We stand faster than you’ve ever seen a group of bikers get up, and we race out of the Chapel, grabbing whatever weapons we can snatch on the way.
“Jesse, we’re headed to the bunker. Take the van. We don’t know what we’re walkin’ into,” Hurricane calls out to the prospect, who has no idea what’s happening. But without missing a beat, Jesse grabs the keys from behind the bar and races out with us.
We hightail it as fast as possible to our bikes, jump on, and take off, not making our usual formation, just racing off in whatever way we can.
We need to get to the girls.
I hammer down hard, my mind running like crazy at the thought that Ingrid could be in danger.
I’ve only just found her.
We’ve only just started whatever this is.
I can’t lose her now.
Not like this.
Not to the damn Bratva.
