Burning Daylight (A Devil's Cartel MC Series Book 2)

by Skyla Madi

  I parted my lips to speak. “You—”

  “Damon! Stop!” A frantic and familiar voice squealed through the barn and bounced off the walls.

  Frowning, I turned to see Blondie storming down the center toward me. What the fuck was she doing here? Like a decayed tooth, this clusterfuck of a hole grew deeper the more it was opened. She stomped her little white flats, her pale blue summer dress bounced around her thighs, and no one made a move to grab her. I had a handful of America’s most ruthless men under this roof and every single one of them feared their VP’s little blonde nightmare because of the shadow that followed her.

  Blondie closed the distance and shoved my chest before Creed finally intervened, grabbing her by the waist and cussing her out. He covered her mouth before she said anything that could get her tied to a chair beside Yasmine, and he dragged her ass out. Modo whistled and snickered and I’d reached my limit for one morning.

  “Get the hell out,” I boomed. “All of you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Casino said. “Not until she’s dead.”

  I cocked my knife back and sent it flying in his direction. Lucky for him, it embedded itself in an old wine barrel beside his neck. My nostrils flared. If he refused to leave, I’d kill him. Armi grabbed Casino by the cut and dragged him out, trailing behind everyone else who had no problem leaving. When the barn door closed, I waited a beat, then hung my head and exhaled. In the silence, I was free. There was no pressure to deliver the swift and brutal punishment my men expected.

  “You lied to me,” I said an eternity later.

  “I never lied to you,” she replied, the words quick to fall from her lips, as if she knew what I was going to say. I slowly turned to face her. “Not when we first met, not the night in the backseat of that truck, not last night when we…” she moistened her lips. “I’ve never lied to you, Damon.”

  “You’re a cop.”

  “I was. In another life, it feels like.” Her eyelids fluttered as tears welled. “I loved my job, and I was good at it, but that’s not me anymore. I’m a shell of the woman I once was.”

  “A shell?”

  She shook her head as if clearing her thoughts. “I’m less. Just less.”

  My heart pounded in my chest and I clenched my fists against the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her hard. She wasn’t less. Less would never be enough to hold my attention—and she had all of it.

  “I want to know everything.”

  “You read it.”

  “I want to hear it.”

  She pursed her lips. I waited and waited for her to say something, to give me a fucking reason to let her walk out of this building, to let her live. I waited some more. Nothing? She had nothing to say?

  “You betrayed me!” I shouted and if Minnie weren’t tied down, she’d have hit the ceiling.

  “I didn’t,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t.”

  I stayed rooted in my spot as she hung her head and cried. Every sniffle made my temple pulsate, and every sob sent a chill down my spine.

  I gritted my teeth and spoke through them. “I said I wanted to know everything. So, speak.”

  She dragged air through her nose and out through her mouth before she glanced up at the ceiling. “I was assigned to Elias Vergara and it blew up in my face.”

  “How?”

  “Elias figured out I was a cop pretty early on, but I was none the wiser. He went above and beyond to make me fall in love with him…and I fell so easily. After months of having no information to give my superiors, and after the news of our engagement broke, they stripped me of my titles and my badge.” Her stare found mine. “They turned their backs on me when I needed them the most, Damon. I have no loyalty to the law.”

  Do I believe her? I don’t know. Turning away, I crossed the floor and yanked my knife out of the empty wine barrel. Yasmine kept her attention on the blade as I approached, visibly deflating with every step I took. If I let her live and it ever got out, it would put me on shaky ground with not only my chapter, but every chapter. There was only one way around this clusterfuck.

  “I could kill you,” I told her, pressing the tip of the blade into my index finger. “Or you could prove your loyalty.”

  Her plump, lower lip trembled. “H-how?”

  As I opened my mouth, an ear-splitting bang sounded not far off in the distance and it shook the ground, seemingly tilting the world off its axis. My gaze met Yasmine’s terrified eyes.

  “Was that—”

  Another explosion roared, followed swiftly by the sound of shattering glass and hoarse shouts of my men. Adrenaline tore through my veins, as aggressive as heroin, and I dived at Minnie to cut her ropes.

  “Hide,” I told her, glancing around the barn as I crouched to cut the ties at her ankles. “there’s an old tornado bunker down the back of the barn. Get in it.”

  “Do you think it’s him? Elias?” she asked and the panic in her voice stood the hairs up on the back of my neck.

  “Could be anybody.” As she lifted herself out of the chair, I shrugged out of my cut, pulled my hoodie off, and handed it to her. “Here.”

  Without thanks, she grabbed it and slipped it on over her head. I picked up my cut and pulled it on over my black tee, then I stormed to the nearest gap between two wooden slats. I peered toward the clubhouse and caught black smoke billowing over the hill. Fuck! The barn door flew open and crashed into the wall. I whipped my handgun from the waistband at the back of my jeans and pointed it at Blondie as she stumbled through the door, Creed hot on her heels.

  “Iz? Creed?” I started forward as he slammed the heavy door behind him. “What the hell is happening?”

  “We’re under attack. They’ve got rocket fucking launchers, assault rifles, and at least fifty men.”

  Shit. “Where’s Armi?”

  “Went in through the back of the clubhouse to get to the armory.”

  “Good.” The sooner we got him on a weapon, the better our chances. I looked at Isabelle, who stood beside Creed. She was as stiff as a board, her face a sickly pale shade, and her chest rose and fell a million miles a minute. “Put her in the old bunker with Yasmine.”

  Creed took Isabelle by the wrist and tugged her closer to him. “No.”

  I didn’t have time for this shit. I shouldered past him. “It’s her funeral.”

  Y A S M I N E

  I stare at Isabelle’s blank face. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so pale. Her blue eyes are dark and stormy, as if she’s watching scenes from her past play on her retinas.

  “Isabelle,” I whisper, pushing strands of her long, blonde hair out of her face. I’m worried for her. I’ve said her name eight times since Creed brought her down here and I’ve got nothing back. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m sorry,” she finally responds, her eyes welling with tears. “I can’t right now.”

  I let out a gentle sigh and sit back on an old milk crate. I’m thankful Judge’s hoodie covers my backside since there aren’t any comfortable places to sit save for the mesh cot where Isabelle resides. I startle as the sound of close gunfire punctuates the silence, sending my heart up my throat. It goes on and on until my knee aches from bouncing my leg so hard, and I’ve bitten my nails down as far as they’ll go. Screw this. I can’t just sit here and do nothing. If it is Elias’s men out there, then they’re here for me.

  I lift myself off the crate and move toward the rickety shelf against the back wall. Cans line most of the shelves, their labels faded and illegible. I grab the old pair of men’s sneakers and bang them upside down against the cracked concrete floor to make sure nothing sinister is hiding inside. Then I slip my feet inside and wiggle my toes in the extra space before pulling the frayed laces tight. Nerves eat away my stomach lining, but I need to do something. I refuse to die in the bunker of an old barn, like a sad mouse in a shoebox.

  “I can’t sit here and wait,” I say to Isabelle, spotting a lead pipe against the bunker’s stairs, and straighten my post
ure. “I can close the hatch, but you’ll need to lock it.”

  She doesn’t budge, not a nod of her head or a flicker of her eyelids to acknowledge what I’ve said. I feel bad for her. Whatever happened between her and her father must’ve been bad. I saw her feet when we went to the spa, I saw how scarred they are. Right now, she’s as shut up as a clam, as if there’s nobody home. Exhaling, I make for the stairs and grab the lead pipe. As I climb the stairs, I spare Isabelle one last glance before I push on the hatch and slip into the noisy darkness. I gently close the hatch behind me and shuffle forward, crouching as low as I can. The bulbs that previously hung on cables from the rafters are out, and deep, pounding thuds of flesh slamming flesh sounds in the near distance. Masculine and pained groans fill the air, a sickening symphony in my ears.

  “Fuck off,” I hear Creed growl, followed by the snap of a bone and a howl of pain.

  Then a bang and a flash of light to my left. Finally, as my eardrums ring, my eyes adjust and Creed is storming toward me, a plank of bloodied wood in one hand, and a handgun in the other.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he booms, towering over my crouched form. He points toward the hatch with the gun. “Get back in the bunker!”

  I stand tall, clenching the cold lead pipe in my clammy palm. “No.”

  Creed leans in close, so close I feel his warm, labored breath skitter across my cheeks. “If you die, you die. I’m not helping you.”

  As the last syllable leaves his lips, the barn door is thrown open and a handful of men dressed head to toe in black rush in. The door falls closed behind them and they gasp into the darkness. Creed takes me by the wrist and squeezes, a silent demand to remain quiet and still. In Spanish, one of the intruder’s commands to know if anyone is in the barn. Another requests light from a flashlight. Where’s Damon?

  I swallow hard, and whisper, “Is it just you and me?”

  “Yes. Scared, little piggy?”

  When was the last time I fought multiple people? Or the last time I disarmed someone? I haven’t worked out in years, so my muscle mass and endurance levels are minimal at best. The sweat in my palms multiplies tenfold. Maybe I should’ve stayed in the bunker. “Yeah.”

  The dark barn flashes with blaring golds and blinding whites before I feel the heat at my back and a deafening bang cracks through the air, making my ears ring louder than ever.

  “Shit!” Creed shouts, pulling me to the floor.

  He crushes my small body beneath his, the pit of his arm shielding my face. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the bright light of day intrudes on the darkness as splintered wood and shrapnel cascades over us, mimicking heavy rain and hail on the old concrete floor.

  I let out a rush of air as Creed lifts his body off me, every movement dropping pieces of wood on me, and rushes forward, his arm outstretched. I roll onto my side and draw in a large breath, inhaling dust and God knows what. It tickles my throat and burns the sensitive lining of my lungs, and I cough until my lungs hurt as I lift myself onto my hands and knees. I focus on regaining my balance, my equilibrium, as gunfire tears around the room—short trigger bursts, then long, automatic roars. The world around me hisses and crackles, and sparks flicker around the barn as bullets hit rusted metal objects.

  I turn my head and peer through the gaps in the ancient rowboat frame to my right. Creed fights two men, both now disarmed, and he’s getting the beating of a lifetime. Shit. I grab my lead pipe and force myself to my feet. I head toward Creed as quick as I can. Ten feet out, he shoves the smaller attacker off his feet, sending him sliding along the floor in my direction, and focuses on fighting off the bigger guy. The one on the floor spots Creed’s handgun to the right and scrambles for it. My heart leaps into my throat, pumping me with so much adrenaline my fingers tremble.

  And I freeze.

  The goon grabs the handgun and lifts himself to his feet. My lips part, my world slows as he points the gun at Creed, his forearm perfectly extended. He waits for his chance, waits for a clear shot at the club’s vice president and I watch, helplessly, as Creed growls, his handsome face contorted with a mix of anger and exhaustion. He thrusts forward and the fabric of his attacker’s hoodie splits in half. Whatever Creed pushes through his chest rips out his back, dripping blood all over the floor. Creed lifts his dark gaze and spots the gun. He looks at me, then shoves the impaled body away. I’m already moving. As if my body is on autopilot, I shoot forward and grab the guy’s lean arm and he shouts as I yank it to the side. He squeezes the trigger and the vibration from the shot ripples up his arm and into my palm. I gasp as the smoking bullet embeds in an old plank of wood beside Creed’s head. The vibration from the shot ignites something in my veins—something I haven’t felt in a long time. It bubbles along, mixing with the adrenaline already coursing through me, and—God—it’s powerful.

  Addictive.

  I shove him forward and lift my pipe as he whirls on his heel. Our eyes lock and my lead pipe meets his face. His body hits the floor with a thud.

  “Jesus,” Creed says on exhale, then flicks his head in my direction. “They’re all yours.”

  All mine? I turn as two more of Elias’s men enter the barn through the massive hole blown in it. Thankfully, they don’t carry any guns and the smug relief on their faces when they see me without a gun myself tells me the feeling is mutual. I gently swing the heavy pipe in my hand, feeling more like myself than I have in a long time, then I bring it up around my head and bend my knees as if I’m going to bat.

  “Elias isn’t happy with you,” the lanky one on the left says, his foreign accent thick.

  “What’s new?” I reply, clenching my pipe.

  They dive at me, gaining more distance in a single bound than I anticipated. Shocked, I drop my pipe and duck a flying fist as it’s thrown toward my face. My stomach drops, but my heart picks it back up again and I ball my fist, push down on my legs, and drive my knuckles into my attacker’s ribs. He stumbles back, clenching his side. Surprised, the second guy whips a handgun from his waistband and points it at me. Creed booms my name, but I’m already on it. I zip to the left, then the right, before gripping the thug’s hand and wrist. I snap it back, turning his gun on him and I push forward. Trapped, he squeezes the trigger and unloads two bullets into his chest. I take the gun as he falls like a tree and turn it on the other guy. He dives forward, grabbing me around my thighs, driving me back with his powerful shoulder. My feet come off the floor and I’m slammed onto my back. The back of my head hits the ground, and shooting stars disable my vision as air is forced from my lungs. He climbs on top of me, his weight too much for my frame, and wrestles me for the gun. If he gets it, I’m as good as dead. I shoot at nothing, emptying the clip before he can use it on me, and it makes him mad. My vision returns just as I catch a fist to my mouth. My lip splits and burns against my teeth, my head is tossed to the side, and my vision goes again.

  “Minnie!” Creed shouts, and the weight on my body is lifted.

  I roll onto my side and cough, hating the way my mouth throbs and my lungs burn. I lift myself onto my hands and knees as flesh pummeling flesh thumps around me. Blood drips from my mouth and darkens the concrete beneath me. I spit, then purse my lips and lick my teeth. They’re there—loose—but there.

  I sit back on my heels. Click. I freeze as the awful sound of a hammer being pulled back ticks by my ear.

  “Shoot him,” Creed demands, his tone firm, but kind.

  Relief seeps through my bones and I lift myself to my feet and turn around. Creed extends a gun toward my chest and I take it, then look at him. His whiskey eyes soften, their gold hue a soothing liquid swirl. In his other hand, he holds a dazed enemy. I take the gun and Creed kicks the man behind his knee, dropping him to the floor.

  “Will it change anything?” I ask, not wanting to kill the man unless it makes this whole morning go away.

  “I can’t speak for everyone, but you’d be okay in my book.”

  Good enough for me. I tread forward, my legs
slow, my hands shaky, and I press the barrel to my enemy’s temple. Without pause, I pull the trigger. The gun fires and its powerful frame kicks into my palms. I drop the gun, suddenly nauseous as my spine quivers under my weight. I try not to think about the tightness squeezing my chest or the pain seeping up the back of my neck as I swipe at the scalding blood on my cheek. Creed touches my shoulder, but I can’t bring myself to look at him.

  “Stay in the bunker. Keep an eye on Iz.”

  He brushes past me and heads toward the smoking hole in the side of the barn. His big boots echo around the space, crunching wood and glass under his soles, grinding debris into the concrete floor. I turn toward the bunker only to be stopped by a heavy slam hitting the side of the barn, and a grunt. Damon? My heart rate spikes as a gross prickle spreads under my skin. I whirl on the spot, looking for a gun, or something. Tucked underneath a slab of plywood, I spot the skinny barrel of a rifle and I rush for it. I shove the plywood away and grab the gun by its body. I tuck the butt of it against my shoulder and exit the barn. Outside reeks of gunpowder and smoke, making the heavy stone of anxiety grow heavier in my chest. If this chapter of the Devil’s Cartel falls, where do I go? What do I do?

  I peer around the sharp corner. Judge is pinned against the decaying wooden wall, a knife at his throat, and I recognize his opponent the second my stare finds the side of his pointy face. Antonio, Elias’s brother. It’s strange seeing him unkempt and wild, his straight, jet black hair a mess on his head instead of his usual slicked back look.

  My heart drops into my bare feet. Judge’s nostrils flare and his breathing is labored.

  “Where is she?” Antonio demands, pressing the blade into Judge’s skin.

  Judge spits blood in his face and smirks when Antonio straightens his long, wiry body. Although Antonio is skinny, he’s incredibly strong. He spends most of his time in his expensive foreign villas fucking trending supermodels, only coming to his brother’s aid when he absolutely has to. Antonio is the last resort before Elias does it himself.