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Drake
Drake picked up his phone late that night and saw Ace’s number. He frowned before hitting answer and snapped a ‘what’ into it.
“Hospital now. Gunner’s down,” Ace snarled down the line before hanging up. Drake’s stomach sank. Gunner, his brother, one who stood by his side through the shit, Gunner wasdown.Drake turned on his heel and bellowed for his brothers as he jogged from the clubhouse. He slung a leg over his Harley, and the bike roared as Drake pulled out fast, Apache on his heels.
???
“What the fuck happened?” Drake snarled into Ace’s face.
“Dunno. Found Gunner behind the bar. He was unconscious and beaten to shit. He had to have been jumped. Gunner ain’t easy to take down,” Ace muttered, his eyes searching for someone.
“Anything from the street?” Drake snapped, turning to Hawthorne, who had just entered. The fact Hawthorne was here so fast meant the man had received intel that Rage had taken a hit. Hawthorne shook his head.
Rage had arrived five minutes ago and was told Gunner was in surgery while they battled to save his life from the three bullets Gunner had taken. One hitting his thigh, the second going through and through his shoulder. Someone then beat the shit out of Gunner before shooting him a third time. In the heart. Gunner was barely alive when Ace found him.
Drake tasted ice-cold fear. Fear of losing his brother. Drake called Hawthorne, and was told he was on his way. He’d phoned Artemis; she was out hunting. A silent presence, Ramirez stood by Drake’s side; Ben was out chasing leads. Drake saw the doors open, and Silvie came running towards him wearing pyjamas and, of all things, pink fuckin’ fluffy rabbit slippers. Tears streamed down Silvie’s face as she paused and found Drake. Her legs sped her across the floor, and she flung herself into his embrace.
“Nothing. No one knows shit about a hit on Rage,” Hawthorne replied, running his hand through his hair. Drake had a feeling nasty shit was going down.
“Find something,” Drake demanded before turning to Silvie. She was paler than he’d ever seen her.
“He’ll live?” Silvie whispered.
Drake couldn’t find much comfort to offer at the moment, anger blurring lines, but that scared face burrowed deep into him. Drake reached out, roughly yanked her to him, and held Silvie tight as her slender arms slid around him.
“Gunner will fight,” Drake murmured. Hours slipped by as brothers, old ladies, and friends arrived. Artemis came, informing him that her team was out. Hawthorne confirmed his was too. That buzzing sensation of something wrong got worse, and Drake searched the room. They were all there, the prospects, the old ladies, Hawthorne, Ramirez, except…
“Where’s Jett?” Drake demanded, realisation cold in his stomach. One of his prospects was missing.
“What?” Texas asked, looking around.
“No one call him?” Apache growled and pulled his phone out. Drake listened into the silence as it rang out.
“I’ll call the house and store,” Phoe interrupted, dialling Sinclair. Zoe answered at the shop and said, no, Jett, Sin, and Amelia weren’t there. Zoe was worried because Reid hadn’t shown up for work either. Penny had opened the Reading Nook. Drake rang their house phone, which went unanswered.
“Hunter, Lex, get your ass to their home now. They’re still at their old one,” Drake demanded. “Rock, Mac, go with.” Drake sent his hounds after the prospect. Lowrider ran his hand through his hair and looked down at the floor.
“Got a bad feeling about this.”
“Someone declaring war on the club,” Ramirez replied. Drake fired him a look. “Drake, I stood with you when Phoe was snatched, when Ace got shot to shit, protecting her. I remained with you when shit went south fucking fast with Artemis. Don’t give me that death stare. Yeah, I’m a cop, I’m clean, but I’ll stand with you,” Ramirez hissed. Drake nodded.
“See if your snitches can find anything,” he muttered.
“Already done. Someone declaring war on the club. Who?”
“Not heard anything. This is beyond silent,” Hawthorne reported, tapping something into his phone. “My guys got nothing and ain’t finding anything.” Hawthorne shook his head.
“Ben, return to the scene, double-check everything. Go back over it, find me a lead,” Ramirez ordered, turning to his partner, who was approaching.
“Will do. Any news?” Head shakes met Ben’s question. Silence fell, and Ben sent Drake a sympathetic look and left.
“Fuck,” Drake thundered and slammed his fist into the wall. Who the hell was it? Drake’s phone rang half an hour later. He answered on the second ring.
“Reid’s on his way to emergency, beat to shit and tied up. Signs of a struggle. No sign of Jett, Sin, and Amelia,” Mac said. Drake’s bad feelings intensified, and his gut clenched. Another one missing, his prospect and his prospect’s family. No one touched the innocent. It was the rule, one on one, but innocents stayed out of it. Someone broke that law, and he’d rain hellfire down on them. Drake hung up.
“Phoe, take the girls, stick together, don’t leave the hospital and get coffee,” Drake said. Phoe’s eyes filled with fear.
“Drake…”
