by April Lust
He would put money on William against Michael any day. Michael was an easily intimidated, big talking pussy. But Bear wasn’t. At least not from what Ethan had heard through the grapevine. He went plunging into the room after William. Maybe he could deescalate the situation before it got too out of hand.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Michael demanded, his voice so comically high pitched with fear that Ethan wanted to laugh. “You’re not supposed to be here!”
“No, that’s you,” Ethan said, surveying the situation in Stratton it came down to a fight. “You’re the one who’s not supposed to be here, Michael.”
Michael blocked the door and normally that wouldn’t have been a problem. But he held a Molotov cocktail in one hand. He was shaking slightly and the gasoline sloshed around in the bottle.
Bear was behind them, standing at the desk, a fireproof box in his hands. Just before he slammed the lid shut, Ethan saw bags of white powder. He wasn’t exactly up on the price of the stuff, but that was a pretty big box. It was probably more cocaine than he could pay for with his full year’s pay.
“What the fuck is this about?” William demanded. “And just who in the hell are Miller and Brewer?”
Michael’s face blanched ghost pale. “What? How did you...How do you know about them?”
“I guess they heard us talking,” Bear said, casually situating the box in the bottom desk drawer. “But, hey, that’s why I brought a gun.”
“I don’t know, man.”
“Would you rather let Brewer get ahold of you?” Bear snapped. “You heard what he did to that guy in Colombia. That’s one jigsaw puzzle no one is gonna put back together.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think we was gonna have to kill anyone,” Michael said, the Molotov cocktail in his hand sloshing even more. “I didn’t...” He turned back to Ethan and William. “Why the hell are you here?” he shouted. “You weren’t supposed to be here!”
“It’s our goddamned club!” William shouted back.
Ethan repressed a crazy urge to laugh when Michael shrank back in the face of William’s roar.
“Okay, look,” he said. “Let’s not get crazy. No one has to get hurt.” Christ, he sounded like an after school special.
“Actually, you do.” Bear moved out from behind the desk, leveling the gun at them. “And if you don’t shut your fucking mouths, I’ll let you burn up instead of making it quick with a bullet to the head.”
William snarled. “Get fucked you piece of--”
Ethan felt like things went in slow motion as William began his insult. He saw the gun come up, aimed right in the center of William’s chest. He lowered his shoulder, knocking the Sergeant at Arms off of his feet. He barely felt the pain of the bullet when it went through his left shoulder, but there was a lot more force than he’d imagined.
“Shit, you shot him!”
Ethan heard Michael’s voice dimly over the ringing in his ears. Then he smelled the gasoline.
“Did you drop the fucking bottle?” William yelled, sounding completely disgusted in spite of everything. He shoved Ethan to a sitting position just as Bear pulled a lighter out of his pocket.
“Don’t you fuckin’ do it!” William shouted, but the man ignited the flame and tossed the lighter casually into the puddle of gas.
William lunged to his feet, but he didn’t go after Bear. Instead he grabbed Michael, getting him easily into a headlock as the fire began to spread in front of the main exit. The only other way out was the door through the garage and the man with the gun blocked it now.
Bear laughed. “No skin off my nose, old man,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt.
“Shoot him!” Michael demanded, frozen in place as the flames spread. Ethan braced himself to dive for Bear, but he didn’t so much as twitch his trigger finger. “Wait, what are you doing?” Michael asked, and Ethan could tell by the fear in his eyes that he was beginning to catch on.
“The rest of my damn job,” Bear said with a grin. “Guess it’ll be a slow one after all, boys.”
With his gun pointed right at William’s face, he walked backwards out of the door. They heard him shove one of the toolboxes in front of it, sealing them in. Smoke was already filling the air. Ethan’s arm was throbbing, blood pooling on the floor by his fingers.
“We’re gonna die,” Michael shouted. “Jesus Christ, we’re gonna die like fucking...fucking...” He couldn’t seem to come up with an analogy.
William yanked Ethan to his feet, both of them ignoring Michael for the moment. “What about the bathroom window?” William asked, gripping Ethan’s arm so tightly that he had to catch his breath.
“No way in hell we’ll fit through it,” Ethan said through clenched teeth. His vision was swimming. “How long do you think we’ve got?” William was a firefighter. For a second, Ethan had thought he could get them out of it, but then he really got a look at the other man’s face.
“Not long,” William said grimly. “The only good thing is that the smoke will knock us out before we burn up. We probably won’t know it.”
“That’s cheerful. You know, I was gonna ask you if you wanted to take over The Angel’s Keepers. Be the president.”
“I woulda said yes,” William answered seriously.
“Can you two shut the fuck--” Michael didn’t finish the sentence.
William hit him as hard as he could and the man flopped down, completely unconscious on the hard floor. “Well, hell, I’m not gonna spend my first and last few minutes as president listening to that shit,” William said when Ethan raised an eyebrow at him. Something shifted above them with a creak and a groan. “The roof is gonna come down soon,” William said almost conversationally. “Shit, this ain’t gonna be a pretty way to go.”
“Then let’s make a run for it,” Ethan said.
“Run where?” William asked incredulously.
“Well, out.” Ethan gestured at the door with the arm that still worked.
“You can’t run from here to the door bleedin’ like that.”
“Hell, I’d rather get it over with than wait for it,” Ethan argued. “He didn’t secure the front door.”
“Yeah, ‘cause there’s a fire in front of it!”
“And?” Ethan didn’t think he was going to manage to stay upright much longer. His legs were getting shaky and there was a lot more blood on the floor than he felt like it was healthy to lose. “We’re wearing leathers and I remember how to stop, drop, and roll.”
“Fuckin’ A.” William rubbed his chin and eyed the door. “We might as well, I guess.”
“You’re gonna have to get him,” Ethan said, nodding to Michael, who was starting to come around. “It’d probably be better to do it before he wakes up and starts screaming again.”
William knelt and grabbed the other man, getting him into a fireman’s carry. “Well,” he said, eyeing the flames and the door, clearly planning what he was going to do. “See you on the other side. Or not. There’s gonna be some blowback from the air if I get the door open. Stand back and wait for it to settle down before you follow me. Wish you could carry him, but with that arm there’s no way you could.”
Which was William’s way of saying that he’d let Ethan go first if he could. Ethan held out his hand. It was bloodstained and mostly numb, but they shook anyway.
“Just in case...tell Amelia I’d appreciate it if she considered the name Marcus if the kid turns out to be a boy. And it’s been a pleasure, William.”
“I know it has, kid. And you’ll tell her yourself.”
And with that, the older man was gone. Ethan pressed his hand to the bullet hole in his shoulder, feeling his blood trickle out around his fingers. He waited for a whoosh of air to indicate that William wasn’t burning to death. It came in a blast of heat and sparks and his heart lifted for a second. Then the rafters began to creak above him. If any of them fell, the door would be blocked for good.
He was gathering himself for the rush to the door when he saw the
flames inching toward the glass cabinet and his father’s jacket. He could remember the smell of that jacket and the way it felt. He didn’t have time to save everything, but there was no way he was leaving it to burn with everything else.
Ethan glanced around, but he couldn’t find anything to break the glass with. And there was no way that he could get to the keys to the case. And there wasn’t time.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. What was a little more blood?
He punched the glass door as hard as he could and it splintered, cracks like spider webs feathering out over the glass. One more punch and he was through. The glass sliced his hand open in several places when it finally shattered, but he had the jacket and the case of military ribbons and that was all he cared about. He yanked them out and dove into the flames just as the roof came down with a crash around him.
Chapter 27
Amelia
“We’re bringing you breaking news tonight from the headquarters of local motorcycle club, The Angel’s Keepers,” Marta Waters said. “As you can see behind me, the fire that broke out a few minutes ago is being extinguished now, but firemen don’t believe there will be much of the building left when they’re done.”
The camera panned the flames. Amelia saw the silhouettes of men armed with water hoses and clad in bright yellow, their reflective tape glinting in the reddish lights as they worked to put out the blaze.
“However, the drama doesn’t end with the fire here tonight,” Marta went on when the camera went back to her. “Police will be interviewing two members of The Angel’s Keepers who were caught in the blaze once they are released from medical care. President of the club, Ethan Billings, was shot in the arm in addition to sustaining other wounds and Sergeant at Arms William Hanley suffered mild smoke inhalation while carrying one of the men allegedly responsible for setting the fire out of the building. All three men are currently hospitalized and in stable condition.”
Amelia gasped. “Ethan got shot?” She pressed her hand to her stomach when it cramped with nerves. That wasn’t the first time she’d felt that today. It wasn’t quite pain, but it wasn’t comfortable either.
Gregory was staring at the television, his face white and his mouth pressed into a thin line. “How in thehell...” he began, but then his phone rang. “Amelia, go to your room,” he snapped before answering the call, looking almost terrified.
She walked out of the living room, but she didn’t head up the stairs. Instead, she hid just out of sight. The guards were patrolling different areas, watching the entrance and exit points of the house. They wouldn't see her there.
“What do you mean you’re here?” she heard her father say. “No, I am not going to let you come in! I have guards, I--”
Amelia jumped when she heard a very heavy knock on the door. Her father’s voice stuttered into silence.
The caller didn’t knock again. The stained glass panel in the door shattered when the door was shoved open. Amelia stayed where she was, her heart pounding. She could see Warren Miller standing in the doorway, accompanied, as always, by Richard Brewer. The smaller man had a strange smile playing around his mouth.
“Your office, Gregory. Now,” Miller said.
“What the hell are you thinking, showing up here?” Gregory hissed. “After what happened earlier? This is the worst place you could be!”
“We have things we need to talk about,” Brewer said quietly.
“There’s nothing to say,” Gregory answered, his voice shaking slightly. “It didn’t work and we’ve got to let it die down before we try again. We could even try with another club--”
“Another club?” Miller stared at him. “Are fucking kidding me? Ethan Billings just came out of this looking like a goddamned hero! There’s no other club that matters nearly as much! It’s got to be them. He put the target on his back with that charity drive and you promised that you would take care of him.”
“And then you hired some idiots behind my back and moved without my permission! How do you expect me to get to him now?” Gregory demanded.
“It’s not him that you need to worry about getting tonight anyway, you idiot,” Miller answered. “It’s the little junkie biker we hired to torch the place.”
“Michael,” Brewer supplied. “He needs to understand what will happen if he opens his mouth.”
“He wasn’t the only one,” her father said. “What about his buddy?”
“We’ve got him,” Miller said. “And we’ll be hanging onto him until this is over.”
Amelia’s stomach tightened again at the quiet smile on Brewer’s face at his partner’s words. She pressed her hand to it. Now wasn’t the time for something to go wrong.Just hang on, baby.
“Your office,” Miller repeated. “So we can see whether or not we need to hang onto you, too.”
“Why...” Gregory’s voice trailed off and he cleared his throat. “Why would you think you needed to?”
“Because we’ve just discovered that your daughter is pregnant by the biker,” Brewer said. “Maybe family loyalty won out over the money we gave you. We’ve seen it happen. Once the money’s been spent, people start to rethink...until we refresh their memories.”
Miller grabbed Gregory’s arm, twisting it up behind his back. Amelia barely bit back a cry.
“I didn’t warn them!” Gregory said, breathing heavily, clearly in pain.
“Then why were they there?” Brewer asked, casually drawing a switchblade from the pocket of his designer suit. “We could play a little game. One finger for every time you lie. Or should we do one for every time I think you might bethinkingabout lying to me.”
Amelia’s knees went weak and dark spots swam before her eyes. She couldn’t afford to pass out. Not now. But what could she do? She was trapped where she was and she didn’t think the two men who had just burst through the door would have a qualm about playing “games” with her, too.
“I’m not lying!” Gregory said, trying his best to sound reasonable. “My intel was that the whole motorcycle club was in the Valley of Fire for the weekend. I got it from someone who was there! I don’t know why Billings came back and I don’t know why the other one wasn’t there to start with!”
“Then maybe you should have planned better,” Miller said. “We didn’t fund your campaign so you could fuck this up for us! We’re talking more money than your life is worth here, Stratton.”
Brewer and Miller shoved Gregory into his office and slammed the door shut. Amelia didn’t waste any time in bolting out of her hiding place and up the stairs. A cramp nearly sent her to her knees halfway up and her mind began working overtime.
Her father might be about to die. Something was clearly wrong with her, baby wise. The security guards were either paid off, distracted, or...worst case scenario, dead. She tried to force her mind to slow down. Of the three options, distracted seemed more likely. She’d spoken to a few of them and they seemed pretty decent. And Miller and Brewer weren’t exactly the type to walk in with guns blazing. They obviously preferred to let other people do their dirty work. What could she do? There wasn’t time to call the police and explain the whole situation.
The answer slid into place neatly. She could call the ambulance. They wouldn’t hurt her father in front of official witnesses, and she could get herself checked out at the same time.
She grabbed her cell phone and dialed quickly with shaking fingers.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I’m about a month and a half pregnant and I think something’s wrong,” Amelia said, her voice hitching as she said it out loud. “I’m cramping pretty badly.”
“Name and address.”
“Amelia Stratton.” She rattled off her address. “Please, please hurry. And make sure they use the sirens; we have a security gate.”
“Someone will be there shortly, Ms. Stratton.”
Amelia hung up and looked around her bedroom. It was half packed up already, but she knew there was no way she could figure out which bag to t
ake to the hospital. And no way she could carry it even if she’d had one. The cramps were coming faster now.
She dragged herself over to the stairs and walked down. Then she leaned against the wall beside her father’s office. She had to time this just right or she risked a lot. Possibly both her and her father’s lives. And the life of her baby. The hospital wasn’t too far from the house, but it seemed like an eternity before she heard the wail of a siren.
“Did you call the--” she heard Miller begin.
Amelia flung open the door, “Daddy, something’s wrong!” she cried dramatically. “I’m bleeding and my stomach’s cramping and you have to ride in the ambulance with me right now!” She wasn’t actually bleeding. At least, she didn’t think that she was, but it certainly grabbed their attention.
