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Spider pocketed one and handed the other off to one of his thugs who headed for the driver’s side of the open van.
“Freemont got the girls. He’s handing them off to Spider,” Ryder said into the phone.
“Spider couldn’t get the girls, so Freemont got them for him.” Gate growled.
Freemont’s man got out of the van and Spider’s thug took his place, laughing with his buddies while he started the engine.
“Shit’s going down now, Gate,” Ryder said. He watched the men arguing and figured they were calling dibs on the girls. “They have our protection.”
“And you and Smoke can’t do shit against that many men,” Gate muttered. “At least wait for Brick,” he said.
A shot rang out, and Ryder watched one of Freemont’s men clutch his shoulder and fall.
“Smoke’s going in. I’ve got his back,” Ryder said, ending the call and pocketing the phone as he pulled his nine from his jeans.
When Ryder started shooting from the opposite direction, Freemont’s men dove into the SUV, but the younger man stayed in the firefight.
Spider’s guys scattered.
Women poured from the open van, their screams echoing through the night.
Ryder got the young suit in his sights and fired. The man’s head snapped back, and Ryder thought he had a kill shot.
Smoke kept firing from the other direction, but the thugs regrouped fast and pulled AKs from the Chevy trunks, spraying shots in every direction, bullets pinging off metal shipping containers, shattering glass, and tearing through the women who ran for safety.
Freemont’s men locked down the SUV and hurtled past the Hummer, leaving the kid bleeding on the pavement.
Ryder heard the roar of a Harley in the distance, but he knew the help would be too little too late.
He ran between containers, hugging the iron walls.
One phone buzzed in his pocket, and then the other started, but he ignored them both.
Ryder used the cover of the container and aimed, providing more distraction than anything else, considering his position sucked.
He searched the shadows for Smoke and couldn’t find him until gunshots from the top of a container clued him in.
Smoke picked off men from his position up top, and Ryder laid down enough cover fire to keep the AKs from Smoke’s direction.
Until one thug got wise, rolled under a van, and hit Smoke while he was exposed.
Ryder’s heart lurched as he watched his brother fall, arm hanging over the side of the container.
Once the thug had a solid target, he opened fire, tearing Smoke’s arm to shreds.
Smoke didn’t move.
Brick plowed into the clearing, laid his Harley down, and fired from two nines while he and his bike slid into the middle of the gunfight.
By the time Nine rolled in next, Brick had emptied both clips and was reaching for a third.
The roar of Harleys echoed through the yard, and the thugs that could, piled into the Chevys and spun out.
One driver stopped, the body of the car shielding his open door, gunfire spitting from the back windows, and dragged the kid into the car with them before they sped toward the back entrance of the yard.
Nine checked the damage, a Sig in each hand.
The place was a bloodbath.
