Fuck.
Jules realized that he and Hal had been spotted when he felt the impact of the bullet hit against the metal box that he had ducked behind to reload.
Motherfucking bastards.
Jules ducked as another bullet whizzed past his head. He knew that he had to act fast if he was going to kill the shooter before the shooter killed him. Just then Hal sprang up from a hidden corner of the roof and, with a rebel yell, made his way towards Jules as he rained a hailstorm of bullets on the ground below.
Jules swallowed back his shout of thanks when he saw the dazed look on Hal’s face. The fact that Hal continued to unload his weapon onto the inert figure prompted Jules to quick action.
“The fucker’s dead, brother.”
Jules laid a hard hand down on Hal’s shoulder.
When Hal swung around Jules realized his mistake. Because he found himself looking down the long barrel of an assault weapon. Jules’s life flashed before his eyes when he heard the click of a firing pin slam down on the bullet chamber of Hal’s gun.
Steeling himself for the blast of the close range shot, Jules prepared to meet his maker. When it didn’t happen, he sent up a prayer of gratitude for spent ammo. Jules realized that Hal was in the throes of a full on PTSD episode.
Don’t lose your shit on me now, brother.
Jules held Hal’s eyes carefully with his own and when he spoke he kept his tone soft, steady and calm. “Whatever you’re seeing, Hal, it ain’t there. It ain’t happening. It ain’t real. You’re safe. You’re at the Saints compound.”
When Jules saw a small flicker of recognition wash over Hal, he let out a long slow breath.
“I’m gonna reach into my cut now because I have some Johnny in my pocket. I’m gonna pull it out and you’re gonna take a hit. Shit, we’re both gonna take a hit.” Jules continued to hold Hal’s wary gaze and with a slow and steady hand he held out the flask.
It seemed like forever before Hal lost that shattered expression and became aware of his surroundings. It was only then that he lowered his weapon. With a look of apology and an unsteady hand, Hal took the offered flask and threw back a long gulp. Then another. And another. After he handed the flask back to Jules, Hal ran a hard punishing hand over that damaged side of his face. “Sorry man. This shooting. Brought back some shit, that’s all.”
Jules gave Hal a long assessing look and then said simply, “No worries man. I get it.”
As Jules scanned the perimeter, he noted with relief that the quick but deadly skirmish seemed to be over.
His thoughts immediately turned to Glory.
Although Jules had seen the headlights of the truck speed safely down the utility road, he wouldn’t feel totally at ease until he talked to her. To his consternation, when he dialed Glory’s cell it went right to voice mail. And although he didn’t like it, Jules knew that she had cleared the compound and for now that would have to be enough. He’d try her again in a few minutes, but he had to turn his immediate attention to the matter at hand.
The yard was the picture of controlled chaos by the time Jules and Hal reached it. Riker, Diego and Reno were already in the center area and the rest of the brothers were coming in from all corners of the compound. Diego barked out orders while Reno and a crew began to collect up the weapons that littered the ground. Prospects dragged dead Colombians across the blood soaked field, while several of the brothers went down to barricade the breached gate. Jules noted with satisfaction that the club was doing what it did best, pulling together and taking care of its own. He was just about to punch in Glory’s number again, when a shadow stretched long in the dust of the bloody field.
And at the end of that shadow stood a man holding a gun to Prosper’s temple.
Santino.
Jules took off at a run towards this latest threat, and when he did, Santino pulled the gun away from Prosper’s head took aim and fired. Jules was momentarily forced backward as the pain of the bullet burned through the muscle in his thigh with fiery intensity.
“You move another fucking step and I’m gonna put a bullet through his damn skull!” Santino bellowed out in warning.
“Somebody better kill this asshole!” Prosper’s shouted command hit every corner of the compound even as the barrel of the gun bit hard into the side of his skull.
The Saints did not hesitate to answer the call to action and drew their weapons all at once. The distinct click of automatic firearms being cocked rang through the tense silence of the yard.
“Drop your weapons or I kill your boss!” Santino shrieked out.
“Shoot him!” Prosper screamed in a voice filled with fury.
“Shut the fuck up!” Santino raged. “You stupid motherfucker! You tell them to stand down! They don’t drop those guns, you die!”
Prosper further infuriated Santino by pressing his head against the barrel of the gun as he spat out. “Go ahead and shoot me. You think I give a fuck? I already lived longer than I expected to. But you? You’re a dead man walking. Look around, asshole. The Colombians are all dead. And that gun you’re holding up to my head? It don’t smell like smoke and that tells me it ain’t been fired. So when the rest of your crew was fighting for their miserable suckass lives, you musta been hiding behind a motherfucking tree, you cowardly bastard. Only thing left for you to decide is how you’re gonna die. You gotta decide if you want to go down here like the man you ain’t, or die screaming like the bitch you are when Bautista finds out that you watched his brothers die without firing a single shot.”
Santino sneered. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. But that’s how you wanna play it? I’ll play.”
Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small explosive device. “How’s about we all go down together?”
“Fucker has a grenade.” A slow rumble rose from the men even as the Saints kept their weapons trained on the mobster.
An uncertain silence fell over the yard. Then Jules broke the uneasy quiet and called out, “Hey, Santino, you even know what it is that you’re holding? You might want to rethink that plan of yours.”
Through excruciating pain, Jules managed to stay on his feet and keep his voice calm. His tone was conversational and eerily friendly. If it weren’t for the weapon that he kept trained between Santino’s eyes, or the blood that was pulsing out of Jules’s thigh, he could have been talking about football, or maybe the weather.
“Yeah, and why the fuck would I do that?” Santino shouted at Jules with guarded suspicion. “Cause right now, it seems to me like I’ve got all the cards.”
Next to Santino, Prosper tensed visibly against the 9mm held at his temple, but when Jules gave him a slight shake of his head, he stilled.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, friend. That M67 you’re holding has about a five-second fuse delay upon release,” Jules called out amiably. Then he smiled with cold satisfaction when he saw the mobster’s eyes shift with uncertainty. “So this is what’s gonna happen next. I’m gonna walk another couple of feet towards you. Then I’m gonna take real careful aim and shoot a round at seventeen hundred feet per second through your skull. That impact is going to shatter part of your brain, the part that controls motor function. Everything from your neck down is going to be dead before what’s left of your grey matter has time to compute it. That hold you have on that grenade trigger? Your fingers won’t even start to twitch for about ten seconds after you’re dead. Plenty of time for the boys to get rid of that pineapple you’re holding.”
He waited until he saw the sudden look of understanding blaze out from Santino’s eyes.
Then Jules shot him.
Chapter 30
Glory had been so panicked by the unexpected sound of guns firing all around her, that when Jules yelled out to her, it took a second for his command to sink in. But when the words penetrated through her terrified mind, she turned and ran like hell. After retrieving the keys and the gun, she sprinted towards the massive truck, gripped the door ha
ndle and pulled herself up on the running board. Once safely inside the cab, she pressed her chest up against the steering wheel, stretched her leg and pointed her toes until she reached the gas pedal. The minute she turned the key in the ignition, the rumble of a 400 horsepower engine sounded from underneath the hood. With just a slight pressure on the pedal, the truck roared to life and sent Glory careening down the winding, rutted, back road to the highway and presumably to safety.
That’s if no one came zooming after her.
She didn’t dare look in the rearview. Or to the left. Or to the right. She concentrated on the road ahead and on maintaining control of the steering wheel.
White-knuckled and teary eyed she held tight to every turn of the rough single lane. It was no more than a beaten path, really. At one time the utility companies had accessed the road to reach some sort of power line station. But that had been abandoned years ago in favor of a more efficient wind and solar farm built on a hillside on the outskirts of town. Now the boys just used the road as a sort of recreational path for their four wheelers and dirt bikes.
Or as an escape route.
Somehow, miraculously, Glory was able to navigate the ruts and dips and overgrown patches of grass. The road that stretched ahead seemed twice as long as she remembered it, and danger seemed to lurk around every bumpy corner. On a wing and a prayer and a very shaky right foot, Glory finally saw the lights of the highway ahead.
Letting out a long unsteady breath, Glory turned the wheel too hard and swerved unsteadily into merging traffic. When she shot across two lanes and veered in front of an eighteen wheeler she braced herself for the thunder of metal crashing and the impact of airbags crushing her chest. But thankfully what she heard instead was the loud, long burst of a deep horn as it blared out from the irate truck driver who pulled up beside her and gave her the finger.
The further she traveled down the interstate away from the compound the more agitated and fearful she became thinking of the danger she had left behind. When a red corvette swerved into her lane and she almost lost control on a soft shoulder, she knew she had better get control of herself. No matter how much she wished she could do something, anything to help the guys back at the compound she knew her job now was to keep herself as safe as possible. Jules didn’t need to come out of whatever was happening back there to only to find a smashed up truck and an injured woman.
Jules.
Hal.
Prosper.
Diego.
Reno.
Gunner.
Riker.
And all the rest of the brothers.
Glory sent up a silent prayer for all the boys and squelched the remorse that she felt. She could deal with the self-indulgent guilt later on. Right now she had to get herself to Gianni’s.
She just hoped that she could remember the way.
*****
In her role as caterer, Glory had driven out to the Abruzzi mansion many times. But she had always set out from the lake house, which was about fifteen miles north of the compound.
And she had never had to find her way under a veil of darkness.
Or terror.
After exiting the highway, Glory made three wrong turns and ended up in the exact same place twice before she gave up and pulled the truck over to the side of the road.
She had no idea where the hell she was.
In her frantic haste, she had left her purse behind. So without a phone or wallet, or even a damn tissue to wipe her teary face, Glory sent up a heartfelt prayer for divine intervention, clarity of thought or just one tiny miracle.
Forty-five minutes later, with shattered nerves and a near empty tank of gas, Glory pulled into the driveway of the Abruzzi manse. The ornate wrought iron gate swung open on its hinges before she had time to reach out and push the button on the intercom.
They were expecting her.
Thank God.
Glory drove up the long driveway and past the elaborate security system. Once she crested the hill and entered the circular driveway that led to the front of the mansion, she was suddenly waved to a stop by a large man wearing a dark suit—an ear piece and holstered weapon heralded him as part of Gianni’s private security detail.
The truck had barely rumbled to a halt before he moved to the driver’s door, pulled open the handle and grabbed Glory’s arm gently. “Let me help you down and to the house, Miss Thomas. Please leave the keys in the ignition and we will take care of the vehicle. They are waiting for you inside.”
She nodded wordlessly and allowed herself to be ushered past a half dozen similarly suited men guarding the entrance to the house. Glory sagged in relief when she saw that Dolly was waiting on the other side of that door with Gianni by her side. “Someone attacked the compound!” she cried out.
“We know, honey.” Dolly put a comforting arm around her and ushered Glory into the house.
“It’s good you made it to us safely,” Gianni told her. Then after a few questions about the start of the attack, he left the women to get settled.
Now Claire, Glory and Pinky sat together on the large sectional couch while Raine went upstairs with Dolly to get her children situated in one of the many guestrooms on the second floor.
The expansive home boasted over 6,000 square feet of living space. The cool beauty of the imported marble, the smooth grain of the cherry wood paneling, and the fine wool of the carved Persian carpets all blended beautifully with the gleaming glass of the tall custom-made windows, the high cathedral ceilings and the modern gas fire places. The house seemed to be wrapped in a subtle fragrance of saddle soap and lemon oil. Heavy damask curtains covered the windows.
Glory knew from past visits that the grounds were just as impressive, including a large kidney shaped pool, tennis courts and a small cottage that had been converted solely for the purpose of containing the elaborate home security system. The whole place was befitting the front boss of an international crime family.
The women tried to remain calm as they nibbled at the sandwiches a housekeeper brought in to them. They sat close together in a hushed sort of silence each burdened with their own set of thoughts and worries.
“They’ll be okay,” Pinky said out of the blue.
“Of course they will.” Dolly nodded in emphatic agreement.
More silence.
“So just how mad is Reno?” Glory winced at her own question. She still felt terrible about dragging Claire into the whole mess.
“On a scale from one to ten?” Claire tilted her head as if pondering the question. Then she held up all her fingers and flashed them a number of times.
Figured.
Pinky waved her hand in the air. “He’ll get over it. They always do. The itty, bitty, tiny slice of trouble I have dished out to Prosper over the years doesn’t amount to a hill of beans compared to the nights of worry I have had at his expense. And I am not even counting the bail money I’ve had to come up with for him or one of those boys. Reno included.”
“Reno included in what now?” Dolly turned from where she had been staring out the window into the dark moonless night.
“Bail money that we’ve had to shell out.” Pinky’s mouth curved.
“Don’t get me started on that son of mine.” Dolly said with a soft indulgent smile. Then her expression changed and sobered. “I just hope that this thing with the Colombians is over quickly.”
The women all nodded in silent agreement.
“My sister has been upstairs awhile.” Claire noticed suddenly. “Do you think I should go help her put the girls down?”
“No, I don’t think so,” Dolly answered her. “I think Patience and Willow are probably fast asleep by now. My guess is that Raine is going to stay up there with them. I think she’s worried that the girls might wake up and be disoriented and scared if they are alone. The house is so big—Valentina offered to stay with them—but Raine said she was tired anyway. I put her in the largest guest room so she and the little ones should be comfortable.”
�
�Valentina?” Glory frowned in confusion.
“I think she’s Gianni’s daughter, right?” Claire offered. “She’s a teacher, isn’t she, Dolly?”
“Yes, honey, that’s right. She’s been away teaching in Haiti. She’s Gianni’s only child and he adores her. And for good reason. Valentina is a lovely young lady. You’ll all meet her tonight, I hope. She doesn’t go out much, but she does love her early morning trips to the bakery. She cooks a lot of the cookies and pies herself.”
“I don’t remember meeting her at the opening,” Claire pondered. “I guess there were a lot of people there, but I would have thought that Gianni would have introduced us to his daughter.”
“She wasn’t there.” Dolly twisted her head to look at the arched doorway as if confirming the small group was alone. Then she said in a softer tone, “She really hasn’t felt like socializing since she’s been back. Poor thing has had a rough time of it.”
“A man?” Claire speculated.
“Why is it always a man?” Glory sighed and shook her head.
“Not this time,” Dolly said. “Do you remember...?”
“Valentina!” Pinky called out a touch too loudly. “Come in, let me introduce you.”
The women all turned then and looked towards the door where Valentina Abruzzi stood. If the young woman was aware that she had arrived just in time to stop a gossip session, she didn’t show it. Dolly, on the other hand, blushed guiltily and moved quickly to the threshold to usher Gianni’s daughter in.
“Claire, right?” Valentina gave Claire a warm smile, with all the poise and confidence of the mafia royalty she was. “I met your sister upstairs and you look just like her. Your nieces are beautiful. What a lovely family you have.”
“Nice to meet you, Valentina,” Claire answered almost shyly.
Pinky received a warm hug. “I’m glad to see you again, Pinky.”
Saving Glory (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club Book 4) Page 19
