“Fuck.” Curtis picks up a lamp, ripping the cord from the wall, then throttles it into the wall. It’s a waterfall of glass pouring down on the nasty carpet.
“Let’s go. Time to call on the Hell’s Lovers charter here.” Snake slaps Curtis’ back. I wonder if the man has a damn death wish. “They’re already up to speed and just waiting on the call. They know where his warehouse is and the ins and outs.”
The men move in unison like a well-oiled machine. They’re a system of outlaws working together to bring justice. It’s Snake who helps me up from the bed and dresses me. He’s uncomfortable, but I don’t have the energy to do it myself. Not to mention my throbbing head and burning cheek.
“He just went with them so freely.” My chin waivers right along with my voice.
Snake slips on my flip-flops then peers up at me with a stern face. “Of course, he did. Brick would do it one hundred times over to save you. The man loves you.”
The next words hurt like hell. “They’re going to kill him. They had death in their eyes.”
He plants a palm on my leg. “No way they can kill that stubborn fucker. He wouldn’t want you worrying about this and making yourself si—”
“Trust the club,” I cut him off.
He nods. Stands and strides away. I’m not sure I can stand on my own legs, and dressing me was as far as it went for him. I do my best stumbling over my own nervous feet until I’m behind the brothers out in the parking lot. Even knowing very little about the club rules and the ways of it, I do know my ass doesn’t sit on another man’s bike.
I’m thankful when Dilan goes to Saxon’s truck. I follow him, getting into the passenger seat. It’s all wrong. Saxon’s scent still lingers in the cab. I can hear his hearty chuckles and feel his body next to mine. But none of it’s there. Rage begins to brew up inside of me with the vision of Dilan behind the wheel following the pack of roaring motorcycles in front of us.
With each mile that ticks by, the rage turns into something more powerful and intense. A feeling I can’t describe. I’m ready to break. Right on the verge.
Trust the club. Trust the club.
I focus in on my breathing. Counting the seconds that pass as I exhale then inhale. Repeating the process until my mind calms down and my body catches up with the events that went down tonight. My fingers dance up and down my leg. I focus on that, too, centering myself. It’s a fucking struggle, and I’m barely hanging on by a thread of solace. But I don’t break. I refuse to.
When Dilan throws the truck into park, I finally let myself take in my surroundings. The clubhouse is as similar as it is different. It’s smack-dab in the middle of the city, disguised as a mechanic shop. The men roaming around have the same Hell’s Lovers patch on the back of their cuts.
There are long lines of bikes with men standing guard waiting to get the hell on the road.
“Eden.” Curtis jerks his chin calling for me to go to him.
I do, finding my legs are still unstable as shit. He grabs me by the forearm, stabilizing me. Didn’t think I was that transparent.
“You’re gonna stay here. You’ll be safe. Yeah?”
I nod knowing if I open my mouth, I’ll crack. Never have I felt so damn lost in the world. Everyone I’ve loved has been punished for it. I gulp down the anxiety and worry, silently promising myself to trust the club.
“This is Rose, the club prez’s wife. She’ll take you to a room. You’ll stay there until you get the call from us.”
I nod. It seems it’s the only thing I’m capable of doing. I bite down the words dying to spill out. I want to know all the details. Be the one to help and save even though I have no ability to do so. But I don’t.
Rose wraps her arm around my shoulders. Her touch is warm and welcoming. There’s no judgment or pry stare coming from her. Just comfort. Rose smells of lavender and cigarette smoke. She has her own leather cut on, her face adorned with slight wrinkles, and her salt and pepper hair pulled up high on her head. With one look, you know without a doubt she’s the queen of this club.
I relax in her arms, watching the men storm out of the clubhouse. She guides me down a long hall until we are in a room. It’s complete opposite of Saxon’s at Hell’s Lovers MC. This one is welcoming with warm colors covering the bed and windows. Pictures and posters covering the wall. Rose with the same man in every single one. The frames showcase the couple throughout the years, and they all have one thing in common: they’re together.
My heart squeezes, cutting off my oxygen. Then I leap out of my skin when the thunderous roar of motorcycles fills the room. The engine roars, gravel sprays against the outside of the building, and then the sound fades off into the distance.
“C’mon, sweetie.” Rose nudges me then guides me into a bathroom. “I’ve been where you are several times. Ain’t no words to ease your pain. And also something that never gets easier. Unfortunately, it’s a part of the world our men live in. They can’t help but be passionate, bullheaded, and driven. Baby girl, you just need to hold it together.”
“I feel like I’m going to die,” I say without thinking. The words are bitter and honest.
She responds with a tight hug pulling me in. Rose doesn’t let go for a long time. The wall barricading back the tears shatters. Rose catches every single one of my tears and never tells me it’s going to be okay, which I appreciate.
I’m sick of hearing those words, or ‘We will get Wilder back.’ No one can guarantee that fact. They can sacrifice everything in the mission, but there’s never any for-sure deal. This woman holding me knows this all too well.
“Now we got that out of the way,”—Rose soothes her hand down my back—“gonna need you to get showered. I’ll get some clothes for you. Then we wait.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Anytime, baby girl.”
Rose leaves me alone in the bathroom to shower. The water is hotter than hell, scalding my skin. It makes me feel alive. Keeping me from falling further and further down the rabbit hole. I have to hold on. Sit and wait, praying to a god I’m not sure even exists. But I’d do anything in this moment. They have my whole world right now. I can’t let myself even begin to think about the what ifs.
I’m thankful Rose has her shower well stocked. It’s a little thing that makes me just that much stronger. Like promised, she has clothes laid out on the bed. I’m not sure how she did it because Rose has to be a few sizes bigger than me and these clothes are not club-whore attire. A black pair of yoga pants, a Hell’s Lovers MC T-shirt fitted for a woman, and pair of Nikes with socks tucked in the top.
I take my time dressing. Then find myself staring into the mirror running the brush over and over through my long hair. It’s hypnotizing and numbing all at the same time. I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. She’s broken and whole. Scared and hopeful. She is a woman living with her entire universe in limbo. One small snap could take everything away.
“Cleaned up real nice, Eden.” The door to the room snaps shut.
I turn to see Rose with a tray of food and a bright smile. “Time to eat, and none of that nonsense about you’re not hungry or your stomach can’t handle it.”
She sits on the bed placing the tray on the mattress. I notice there’re two plates of food with large sandwiches, barbeque chips, and chocolate bars. “We are going to sit our ass down and enjoy some good food.”
Rose isn’t one to argue with, so I sit down cross-legged in the middle of the bed with my wet hair soaking the back of my shirt. I pick at the sandwich, nibbling at the cheese. She doesn’t reprimand or scold me but simply enjoys her own sandwich.
“You weren’t born into the biker world.” It’s not a question that leaves her lip but a comment.
“No.”
She laughs. Not the response I expected. “Oh, you poor thang. I’m sure you’re learning quickly. It’s not always the prettiest fairy tale, but to have the love of one of these men is priceless. I have no idea what’s going on or why you’re here, but just know this c
lub is all in.”
I let it all out. Tell her everything from the day I found out Zoe was dead. I don’t leave out one single detail about Saxon and myself. And end with this morning’s events. Again, I find myself spilling every single detail.
“Oh, fuck eating.” She shoves my plate to the side and wraps me up in a hug again. “Like I said earlier, not one word I can say will help you right now. I’ll be by your side until we hear news.”
“I got in big trouble,” I blurt.
Rose leans back staring at me in confusion.
“I busted into church back in California.”
“Christ, child.” We both flop back onto the bed. I stare at the ceiling, while Rose gives me a rundown on club life 101. It’s the perfect distraction. I find myself even giggling at some of her stories. Her man and the club prez, Rocker, met his match in this woman. Her stories of fighting and getting into trouble match the happy and proud-moment ones. I’m in love with this lady.
74
Katch Sterling
No one fucking crosses me. I never lie or bullshit. My word is the gospel, and you better believe every fucking last word. I’m not a brother of the Hell’s Lovers MC, but they’re my family. By my side through thick and thin. Sent protection to guard my girl when we had our own trouble. The one man who stood by dedicating his time to keeping Caitlin safe was Brick. So, you better fucking believe they will pay crossing my own.
Blood will be shed at the mercy of my own hands, and not one single regret will be given. The plan is clearly laid out. The Hell’s Lovers chapter here in Denver knows exactly who these fuckers are. They’ve had eyes on them for some time now knowing this cartel was up to no good. So, when the call came in from Curtis, they were more than happy to help for more than a few reasons.
Rocker, the prez here, is a badass. He rules his club with an iron fist, much like Curtis. The difference is, Curtis is young for a prez, while Rocker has been around the block a few times. The man holds nothing back. Then there’s the Diamond family. These cunts won’t see the triad of death knocking on their front door.
Our men surround their pathetic excuse for a compound. Fools like these rely on their intimidation factor to keep the enemies at bay. They messed with the wrong folk this time. Intel was relayed back to Rocker. They have Brick in the warehouse and still no sighting of the boy. Our best guess is he’s in the house up on the hill a few hundred yards from the run-down excuse for a warehouse.
I wait fifteen minutes here behind a tree with the end of a barrel focused on the front door. My orders are to wait thirty minutes, then we go in.
“C’mon. C’mon. Little fuckers. Let’s play,” I sing to myself.
Safety off, my finger on the trigger, I’m breathing steady. My entire body thirsty to squeeze the trigger with ease, not missing my mark. Right between the eyes of my target. Fuck, I need this. I hear a whistle in the far-off distance. It’s the signal; five minutes and counting. I’m a selfish bastard, really, hoping that front door flies open.
There’s always a clock running in my mind. I know at least three minutes have passed since the call. Not one second of the day ticks by without me being aware and knowing it. Then it happens; the door swings open and four men step out.
“Game on, bitches.” I steady my breathing. Study the men through the scope to make sure none of them are Alejandro or Ricky. Those fuckers will still get a bullet, but one to take them down. Not a kill shot. The man has a meeting with me and Curtis. Those cunts have full access to the VIP line to their appointment.
None of the men are Ricky or Alejandro, so I play a lethal game of eeny, meeny, miney, mo. The fucker covered in the most blood and taller by a few feet than the rest is my first choice. It’s fucking Brick’s blood, that I have no doubt about. The crosshairs line up right between his eyes. I let out one final breath then squeeze. The silencer on my gun does its job, making no sound when the round is fired. The monster falls back. His compadres going for the Glocks, looking around. I want to laugh right now but don’t. I repeat the process over and over until they all lie on the ground.
I send my own whistle two times over then wait two full minutes before I’m on the move. The rifle with the silencer is tossed into the bushes, replaced with two automatic guns. My feet move with purpose and swift action. Before I’m at the entrance, Curtis is by my side. The crazy fucker isn’t supposed to be here. It’s not part of the plan. But one reason I love the man. He won’t be sitting idle while on his brothers are in danger. I give him a nod, then we proceed into the warehouse not making a sound.
There are two voices. One heavily influenced with an accent, while the other is a quivering mess. I turn to look at Curtis and smile like a kid on fucking Christmas morning. Jackpot, Bingo, and that flashy shit. We continue on our silent mission until we have a clear view of the two men.
Just like I suspected. A gutless, pleading Ricky being beaten down by Alejandro. There’s a mixture of Spanish and English spewing from his lips as he backhands Ricky over and over. The dumb fuck made a crucial mistake sending his men away. There isn’t one fucking person here to protect him. By the time his other men hear our guns, the other men will be attacking. Checkmate, cunts.
Curtis lets out an audible sigh. I see what made him do that. Brick. His lifeless body beaten and burnt on the ground. How we missed the smell of burning flesh when we snuck in is beyond me. I chalk it up to the excitement of cornering these rats in their own maze.
Curtis puts his hand on my shoulder. I know the man needs support right now. Seeing anyone in that shape would take you to your knees, but seeing Brick nearly knocks us both on our ass. I wait on Curtis. This is his war, and I’m his soldier. Always. Curtis steps out of the shadows. I’ve never seen him like this. The man has lost his shit and can only see one thing right now. Death. I’ve been there and experienced the same exact shit.
“Que chingaos.” Alejandro spins to see where the noise is coming from.
He’s greeted with four guns pointed his way. Curtis and I walk side by side, not missing a step. Unified doesn’t even begin to describe it. Ricky pisses himself. The sight is pathetic, like his slimeball soul. I laugh. The sardonic noise finally escapes me.
“The badass bikers finally came out to play.” Alejandro pulls a toothpick from his pocket and begins rolling it between his lips. “Been waiting on you, bitches. Got a bit bored and started playing with one of your men.”
Curtis flinches, and I know he’s fighting everything inside of him to not glance over to Brick.
Alejandro loves to hear himself talk, because the fucker doesn’t shut the hell up. “My men will be back in approximately thirty seconds. If you have the guts, do it now. You’ll never find the boy. He’s well past Tijuana in the heart of Mexico, learning the trait.”
The toothpick tumbles from his lips like a light match igniting the battle. At the same time, his hand reaches down to his waist. I never know what he’s going for because I’m faster. My finger pulls back the trigger just enough to send one round into his fucking foot. The squeal of pain the pig screams out fuels me, so I shoot his other fucking foot.
Ricky begins sobbing, throwing his arms up like we are here to save the fuck. I decide he needs a round in each foot as well. The fuckers fall to the ground. Curtis has his burner out, calling Rocker. I only hear his side of the conversation.
“Need the van and medic right fucking now. Warehouse is secure.”
Curtis throws his burner in the back pocket of his jeans then looks over to me. “House is clear, no sight of the boy.”
Curtis goes to Brick. The two pussies writhe in pain on the ground. This Alejandro character is all smoke hiding behind protection. The dumb fuck doesn’t even go for his Glock. He’s too worried about his thousand-dollar shoes and the pain he’s suffering. He has no idea what kind of hell is about to rain down on him.
I stride over to the two men and send my boot into their temples. They flop back on the unforgiving cement like dead fish. Then I’m over to
Curtis, kneeling on the other side of Brick. Not many things can take me down leaving me speechless. In fact, there’s only been one. Caitlin in danger, and now this.
Never in my life have I witnessed torture like this. The only recognizable thing is a shred of his cut lying next to him. I glance up to Curtis to see a lone tear running down his face. His thumb swipes it away, then he’s up on his feet, striding over to Alejandro. I don’t stop him. I place two fingers on Brick’s wrist, finding a pulse, and keep it there while watching Curtis bring redemption to Brick.
He grabs the crisp collar of Alejandro’s shirt, pulling him up to his face. There’re words exchanged, but before Alejandro can respond, Curtis slams his head back into the concrete. He freezes peering over to Ricky.
“Where is the fucking boy,” he growls.
Ricky stutters; none of it making sense.
“Now,” Curtis roars.
“There-there’s a trap door on the second floor. It’s a closet at the end of a long hallway. Go to the back of the closet and there’s a code.”
“Get the fuck on with it,” Curtis interrupts him.
My brain counts out each pulse Brick gives me.
“The code is 4667. Wilder is down there with his nanny. He’s been protected the whole time.”
Curtis cuts him off. “Katch.”
Only one word is needed. I grab the gun and fire a shot, the target: Ricky’s nuts.
“If you’re lying, the next one is in your fucking head,” Curtis growls.
This time, it’s me reaching into my pocket with my free hand, relaying the information. I don’t hang up until I have confirmation.
“Yes, it’s like a fucking daycare down there. Eyes on the boy and the nanny.”
“Stand back. Guard the door until we get there,” I bark into the phone then end the call.
Curtis doesn’t need me to relay the message. Alejandro stirs underneath him.
“All I want to do is slam your fucking skull until your brains spill out on the ground.” Curtis pulls his knife from his hip. “But I’ve noticed you like leaving your mark.”
When Opposites Collide Boxset Page 60
