by Nikki Wild
“I know both.”
“And how is that?”
Hunter flashed me a devious smile. “My faithful scout has been in touch. Let’s just say that I know men in some wicked places…”
I didn’t want to work out whatever that was supposed to mean, so I dropped the topic.
As a member of the other side of the law, it was probably for the best that I knew as little as possible about my old flame’s operations.
“Not to sound rude or anything, but your numbers are looking a little light…”
Hunter expected the question. “This is only about a third of the club. The rest were too tired or drunk to lend their assistance. They’re sleeping off a few more hours. What you see are the ones who could sober up.”
I accepted this answer, noting how a few bikers glanced up with bags under their eyes. I could only hope that some fresh midnight wind would invigorate them.
Hunter turned to a nearby biker. He hadn’t pulled his attention away from working with the pistols on his bar top table. “How are we lookin’, Grizz?”
The biker stood up straight. Tall, burly, and intimidating, Grizz flashed his piercing blue eyes our way. Turning with a pistol in hand, he expertly emptied the magazine, bounced the bullet from the chamber, and reloaded the gun – all with his eyes trained on us.
“We’ve got this shit, boss.”
His fierce eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a slight shiver down my spine. He had such an otherworldly feel, but even in his dark gaze I sensed something compassionate and sad…
“Grizz, meet Sarah. She’ll be joining us on our little jaunt in the desert tonight.”
His eyebrow raised, and a faint flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “So, you’re the infamous young woman that I’ve heard so much about…”
Hunter cleared his throat instantly, and Grizz flashed him a grin. “We’re in good shape,” he elaborated, turning to gaze upon the other bikers in the bar as they worked. “We’ll be ready to roll out in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes…”
“That’s what I like to hear,” the biker president nodded. “I need to go over a few things with our… distinguished guest, so I’ll leave things in your rather capable hands.”
“You go right ahead,” Grizz acknowledged, returning to his work. “I’ll give the signal when we’re ready to ride out.”
“Good man.”
Hunter led me towards the corridor, and I noticed the other bikers glance at us as we passed. They seemed to murmur among themselves, although a sharp eye from Hunter put these things to an immediate stop.
“Who was that guy?” I whispered.
“My second-in-command,” Hunter replied softly. “One of my best men, and an expert marksman. It has something to do with those pale goddamn eyes of his. Fucker’s saved my life more times than I can count…”
The sounds of clicking and loading guns receded as I followed him around a quick turn. A moment later, he pulled open an old, dusty door, beckoning me inside with a brief wave of the hand.
“Welcome to our chapel,” he explained.
A single exposed bulb above lighted the decrepit wooden room. It looked like something from below decks on a pirate ship – dark, dirty, and with rudimentary décor and a single large bookcase flowing with old hardbacks. The center of the room was dominated by a large, wooden round table – with large maps of the Southwestern states spread out, scattered with marks and small plastic pieces.
In a glance, I was taken back to the end of my youth – and that fateful last night together. I recalled stepping into a room that was filled to the brink with bikers from two distinct clubs, where Hunter had merely been the latest pawn on the table.
This meeting chamber was a hard change from the relative comfort of the strip club. It was significantly older, more fundamental, and clearly a place specifically for hard conversations and future planning.
“This is where the magic happens,” Hunter explained as he pulled me around to the table. He scrutinized the maps on the table briefly. I could see now that the papers were nailed down, likely to keep a stray hand from dismantling the entire top-down view.
“I see,” I murmured thoughtfully as I glanced over the maps along with him. The markings were in several different colors of ink – scribbles and patterns meant to indicate possible cartel locations, territory lines of other factions, and notices of who precisely opposed who, out here in the desert…
“There’s a bulletproof vest on the hook over there–” He pointed over my shoulder without looking up. “Throw that on.”
I did as he told, tossing the heavy material on and buckling it into place as I studied the tabletop beside him.
“A lot of thought that went into this,” I observed coolly. This table represented a view of the criminal underground any cop worth their salt would drool over.
“Yeah…” Hunter glanced up at me and nodded lightly. “This is what it takes to keep the peace. Even if we see eye-to-eye on outside forces crossing into our prospective territories, there’s still the threat of open war. Keeping the tenuous balance requires diplomacy, foresight, and a lot of grit.”
“I’m surprised you pulled it off,” I dangled in conversation, wondering where Hunter ranked in this outlaw ecosystem.
“A story for another time,” he spoke offhandedly, still studying the maps across the board before him.
Reluctantly, I resisted the urge to pout. I needed to know more about how he had accomplished all of this… and what he had done to enact the balance.
“More importantly…” he spoke, lifting his eyes from the maps and summing up my skill with buckling a bulletproof vest at a glance. “I need to know that you’re prepared for what we’re about to face.”
“I’m not,” I shrugged.
“You’re not?”
“Of course not, Hunter. I know why you’re after these guys, but you haven’t told me a whole lot about what to expect when we get out there.” I hated doubting him, but I wondered aloud: “Do you have any grasp of what’s on the horizon?”
Hunter grimaced. “That’s a fair point.”
“So, enlighten me,” I nudged.
He grabbed a pen and made a small mark approximately ten miles from El Paso, on the edge of the Mexican border.
“This is where we think they’re taking the girls,” he explained quickly. “As you can see, there’s not a whole lot out there. My scout says that he’s spotted a break in the fence here, marked by a small, abandoned farmhouse.”
“What about US Border Patrol? Wouldn’t someone have caught a big hole in the border fence?”
“There’s about seven hundred miles of fence down here, and the cartel pokes holes in it faster than the border agents can fix them… Makes it hard to lock down abductee routes, but if my info’s solid, then this is where it’s going down tonight…”
“When?” I asked.
He glanced at an old clock on the wall. It was a quarter to twelve. “We’re thinking they’ll move the girls at three o’clock. Pretty early in the morning. Less chance of any attention, especially outside of the city…”
“So you’re going to grab a bunch of tired, sobered up bikers and stake the place out until they show up? What if you’re outnumbered?”
Hunter took the criticisms in stride.
“This is our one shot, Sarah,” he patiently insisted. “Víboras Verde is a cartel that either works small, or they just can’t spare the resources. We’re not walking into a Bolivian army out there.”
“You’re thinking it’ll be a small operation?” I crossed my arms, glancing down at the maps. I couldn’t make heads or tails of the information spread out over the landscape.
“It’s probably going to be a couple of vehicles and a single van on the other side of the fence. They’ll run light. Whoever’s out there won’t be expecting any real firepower or resistance, but they’ll come prepared for a quick showdown if they find one. We can take them with less men than we already have.”
I ope
ned my mouth to ask more questions, but the sound of breaking glass down the hall called our attention.
“That’s the signal,” Hunter told me.
“What, a shattered bottle of beer?”
“Classic sign of war, breaking a bottle,” Hunter commented, grabbing his leather jacket from the hooks by the door. “Which means that it’s time we show these fuckers what for.”
Throwing the jacket on over his bulletproof vest – his President emblem catching my eye again – he cast me one last quick glance.
“Are you ready for this?”
I nodded confidently. If tonight went well, I might not have to be back in Tucson tomorrow after all…
“And now, sweetheart, we ride.”
Eleven
I left the cruiser and its goddamned GPS tracker sitting in the parking lot of a nearby motel. There was no reason to give the Lieutenant any more reason to light me up in the morning. The crisp moonlight wind whipped at my hair; prepared for whatever was to come, I tightened my grip around Hunter’s broad, comforting torso. My legs straddled his throttling engine as we rode out towards certain danger.
I glanced over my shoulder at the other bikes as they fanned out around and behind us. The night was ours as we hit the main highway, roaring towards the dark horizon. About half an hour later we left the asphalt behind, weaving and winding through the desert until I spotted a dilapidated farmhouse in the distance.
The rising tension amongst the Devil’s Dragons almost crackled in the night wind. Seeing our destination only made the imminent threat more tangible…
Hunter lifted his wrist and signaled to the others. The bikers fanned out over the dirt as we left the trail and traveled over the flat desert.
The farmhouse gradually rose in the distance. I could see now why he wanted to stake things out a few hours in advance – the engines were so loud that you could hear them from ages away out here, in the relative emptiness…
I sensed that something was wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
As the looming building came close enough to distinguish windows, a clenching sense of danger came over my chest…
BANG!
A bullet ricocheted nearby, and several bikers broke formation.
The bikers broke formation and soared towards the building, whipping out pistols and firing a few warning shots. Nobody fired directly at the building – they recognized the unknown on possible hostages.
Returning gunfire matched our efforts, and one of ours was knocked from his bike as we made it to the farmhouse. All around me, bikers dismounted and took tactical positions along the porch.
“Possible abductees. Known two, maybe more,” Hunter hissed quietly, before issuing brief objective reminders. “Shoot to kill. Save the girls if you can. Scour the house. Watch your six, and move in pairs.”
Everyone gave a rapid-fire nod.
He gave the order. “Dragons, move!”
The men immediately followed the commands, forming pairs that moved in all directions. The majority of the bikers descended into the house, kicking open the front door as Hunter hung back with me.
We remained crouched by the front steps as he quietly hissed to me: “We’ve got to get to that fence. The men will run distraction and back us up from doorways and windows as we make our approach. You ready and armed?”
I nodded, brandishing my glock.
“Good. Follow my lead. Stay behind me.”
Keeping low, he crept around the side of the house, following the first pair that slid around the side. We heard the sounds of gunfire from ahead, and spotted them crouched near the far corner.
Just when I was starting to wonder if there were any hostiles inside the house, gunfire began to rain on the other side of the wall. I heard shouts and screams and I could only hope that it wasn’t our side taking the brunt of things.
“What’s the scope?” Hunter hissed to one of the two bikers hiding behind the corner ahead of us. They were crouched in preparation – one held a shotgun up, while the other was quietly wielding a pistol.
“Two trucks and a van. Can’t see anything else… didn’t get a good look, but they’re being guarded by a few–”
Bullets fired out again, but they weren’t aimed our way. Instead, the sound of breaking and splintering wood panels told me that they were aiming straight ahead at the house.
Before Hunter could spot the danger that I was putting myself in, I took the risk of peeking out from cover…
I spotted the formations of visible cartel members. There were six in total… I ducked back behind cover, and a few bullets whizzed into the dirt near us.
“What did you see?” Hunter demanded.
“We’ve got half a dozen guarding the van,” I explained. “Three on offense, three on defense. Defense is clustered by the van – that’s where the girls are. They’re firing potshots at the house…”
Another few bullets fired off, mostly aimed at the other corner. We heard shouting and returned fire, but no anguished screams from our side.
“…And the three on offense are attacking the windows and back door. They’ve got the advantage, and we’ve gotta do something fast, or…”
Another hail of bullets fired out, and we retreated a few crouched strides backwards.
“I don’t know if this is such a good place for a woman!” One of the bikers hissed to us. “Why did we bring her? She’s just going to get hurt!”
Something inside me snapped.
I leant forward around the cover, already aiming down the barrel of the gun. One of the cartel members stumbled in dirt, stepping clearly into view. He looked me square in the eyes and fumbled to lift his rifle…
BANG!
With one good, clean shot, I let off a bullet that immediately dropped him to the ground.
A few of the others rushed over to fire bullets against our corner of the house, but we retreated backwards. The pistol biker dropped to a knee in front, hugging his shoulder against the wall as he prepared to defend against anyone who rounded the corner…
The enemy chose to hold their ground, turning most of their attention to the other bikers, who saw their chance to return fire from multiple vantage points.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Hunter demanded, cupping his hand beneath my chin and sharply turning my head. “What if you took a bullet? This isn’t the time for stupid fucking theatrics like that!”
“I saw a chance, and I took it,” I retorted.
He gazed into my eyes. His stare was filled with a mixture of dominating anger, and the very real fear over losing me.
“Be more careful,” he warned me, allowing defeat to cloud his features. “Swallow your pride. Don’t you dare let proving someone wrong get you killed.”
I nodded, accepting his words.
Hunter let go of my chin. Checking the chambers of his pistol, he crept in front of the kneeling biker.
“Alright… we don’t have a lot of time here… we’d better mount an assault, and fast…”
We heard more bullets inside the house, and then a conspicuous lack of gunfire. Hunter and I shared a quick look before a biker rounded the back corner and called out to us in a hushed voice.
“The house is clear, boss! We sure showed those fuckers, eh?”
A fresh round of bullets hitting the dirt up in front told us that the battle, while swaying in our favor, was far from over.
“Okay.” Hunter, weighing his options, finally decided on a clear course of action. He nodded to each of his nearby men in kind. “Victor, Ricochet, defend this corner. Sarah and I are going to mount an offense from the front.”
The two bikers nodded.
“Good shooting,” Ricochet quickly threw in, nodding at my pistol.
“Top shot in the academy… You should have seen how pissed the boys were.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he smirked, turning his attention forward, loading a pair of fresh slugs into his shotgun. “Keep the boss alive, and let’s bring these girls back
home.”
“Yessir,” I replied, turning and rising to a lowered gallop behind Hunter.
We circled back to our original position and crept into the house. A biker defending the front door escorted us forward, gun at the ready in case those further inside had missed someone.
The house was pitch-black. He led us via flashlight, guiding us around or over a few stray corpses as we crossed through a couple of rooms and over to the stairs.
“Up or down?” He asked.
“Up,” Hunter replied immediately. “Better for us to strike from the high ground.”
The biker handed us the flashlight and felt the wall, sliding around a corner to attack the outside forces from a ground-floor window.
Gunfire continued from outside, returned from his men defending strategic assault positions. Hunter led me upstairs, greeting one of his men who laid in wait in the darkness at the top.
It was Grizz, motionless in the shadows with a pair of pistols at the ready.
“Continue defending this point… I don’t want anyone sneaking up after us,” Hunter ordered him, and the burly biker nodded silently, his eyes focused dead center down the stairs.
Hunter flicked off the flashlight as we came in view of the upper floor windows, gazing out over the dirt. A couple of bikers were reloading weapons as we approached, both crouched low on the floor.
“Skid, what’s going on out there,” Hunter requested.
The younger biker of the two glanced our way, his fingers pushing bullets into his revolver chambers. “We’ve downed a few of them, but a couple more climbed out from the van. A couple of the fuckers were hiding in the truck, too.”
“What about the girls?”
“If they’re here, they’re in that van,” he replied, flicking his revolver closed and giving the chambers a quick spin. “We’re going to have to kill ‘em to get down there, though. We keep picking these bastards off, but they ain’t surrendering.”
“Damn,” Hunter hissed. “I knew they weren’t the white flag type… these assholes are going to return fire down to the last man…”
