Before he could give the signal, shots came from the basement, then the first floor, and then where he was upstairs. The gunshots cracked into the air as loud as thunder as men screamed, cursed, and cried out in pain. The violent noise filled the club and spilled outside, cracking into the startled air. The endless rat-a-tat-tat of assault rifles created their own harmonies as the smell of gunpowder mingled with the coppery scent of blood. More shouting. More screaming. More running. The attack was fierce, efficient, and deadly.
On the second floor, Steel went from room to room, kicking open doors and flinging rounds of bullets in rapid succession. “You secure the attic?” he asked Sangre who bolted past him, blood dripping down his arm.
“I’m headed there now. Jax and Rock are up there. I think Diablo is breaking necks with his fuckin’ bare hands downstairs. He threw his weapon down a while ago.”
“What the fuck?” Steel said as he entered one of the rooms.
“What can I say? The brother’s fuckin’ nuts. Gotta cover Jax and Rock.” Sangre dashed up the stairs.
Steel glanced around the room and saw a Demon Rider lying facedown in a pool of blood on the floor. He went over and nudged him with his boot, turning him over. The man’s dull eyes had the sheen of death in them, and he knew the dude was no more. Steel started to leave when he heard a small whimper and scratching on the floor. The sound was coming from the closet. He raised his weapon and flung open the door. A woman screamed and curled up in a ball as if to become invisible.
“You a club girl?” he said in a harsh voice.
Her brown head nodded. “Please don’t hurt me. I won’t say anything. Just pretend like you never saw me. I’ll never say anything. Just please don’t kill me.” She caught her breath and soft sobs shook her shoulders.
“How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” she said, her teeth chattering.
“What the fuck? What the hell you doing here?”
“I belong to Shack. I’m his woman for now.”
Steel felt his stomach twist. His woman. Fucking pervert. She’s younger than Chenoa, and Shack’s a few years older than me. “You from around here?”
She shook her head, her face still hidden in her arms. “No. I’m from Des Moines. Shack found me at another clubhouse. I used to hang there because my friend’s boyfriend was a member. They were playing poker and I was part of the bet. I lost and Shack won me.”
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “You got family you can go home to?”
“Yeah. I never wanted to come here, but once I was here, I couldn’t leave.” She sniffled and raised her head slightly to wipe her nose.
“You stay in here.” He took out a wad of bills and threw five hundred dollars on the ground near her. “Take the money and get your ass back home. The goddamn badges will be coming, so you can wait for them or go it alone.” He backed away and walked to the door.
“Thanks.” Her small voice sliced through the rage and hatred that consumed him. He walked out of the room.
“All secure in there?” Sangre asked as he, Jax, and Rock came down the stairs from the attic.
Steel nodded. “The fucker in there’s dead. They all are up here. What about the attic?”
“Same,” said Rock. “I’m gonna go down and see if Banger and Hawk want me to do anything else.” He rushed down the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Are any of our guys hurt?” Steel asked Sangre and Jax.
“I heard Crow and Army got hit. Don’t know how bad,” Sangre answered. “Not sure about the Insurgents. Did you hear anything?” He looked at Jax.
“Bones said Wheelie and Rags are in a bad way. They got them in the van with Doc.” Jax wiped his forehead with his gloved hand, leaving a smear of blood on it.
“Let’s get everyone together and get the fuck outta here. The badges will probably be coming soon.” Steel hurried down the stairs, then stopped when he saw a circle of Insurgents and Night Rebels around Banger and Dustin. Banger was bleeding from the mouth and nose; Dustin’s T-shirt was soaked in blood and he was holding his side.
“I’ve been waiting a fuckin’ long time for this, you sonofabitch,” Banger said as he stood in a fighter’s stance in front of Dustin. Steel saw a long sharp knife in his hands. “I’m gonna cut the life outta you slice by slice. You’ve been a fuckin’ pain in my ass for too goddamn long.”
“The problem with you is you let the power of being president of the national chapter get to your fuckin’ head.” Dustin lunged at Banger, a thin wail rising as Banger cut him straight across his upper torso.
“I gotta get to my men. Two of them are down,” Steel said to Hawk.
“I know. I got my brothers to take ’em to Doc. He’s fixing them now, but we gotta get the fuck outta here.” Hawk lifted his hand and several brothers scurried outside.
“Where’s Shack?” Steel asked.
“Throttle has him. Banger wants a go at him too.” Hawk chuckled. “Our prez has been waiting a long time for this day.”
“Do you think Banger would mind if I kill the bastard?” Steel cracked his knuckles.
Hawk shrugged. “Banger, Steel wants to waste Shack’s pathetic fuckin’ ass. You down for it?”
A loud shriek bounced off the wall as Banger plunged the knife in Dustin for the final, fatal cut. “Go for it. Then we gotta move our damn asses.”
Hawk pointed Steel to the back room. He went in and found Throttle leaning against a wooden table, a trussed-up Shack on the floor. “Banger comin’?” Throttle asked.
“Nah. He’s given me the pleasure.” Steel went over and kicked Shack full force in the face with his steel-toed boot. “That’s for kidnapping and fucking a fifteen-year-old.” Then he pulled out his knife, knelt down, grabbed Shack by the hair, and placed the knife against his throat. He pushed the tip of it into his flesh and a tiny red line trickled down. “And this is for bringing fucking smack to my county. For making my little girl an addict. Rot in hell, you motherfucking maggot.” The gleaming knife sliced across Shack’s neck. Torrents of blood flowed as he gurgled for a few seconds, then went limp.
Throttle clasped the back of Steel’s neck. “I seized a bunch of paperwork from these bastards’ files, as well as their computers. Hawk’ll go over it all. He’s a pro at this computer shit. He’ll find out who the dealer is and you can gut the sonofabitch. Let’s go.”
They walked through the carnage as they exited the clubhouse. Several of the brothers had already left, heading back to Pinewood Springs. Doc and the wounded had left nearly twenty minutes before. Their clandestine operation was a success—all the Demon Riders dead. As far as Steel knew, the young girl crouched in the closet upstairs was the only survivor. He hoped she’d make a good life for herself, especially since she’d been given a second chance.
As they stood there, the silence returned far more thickly than it was before the attack, as if everything around them was collectively holding its breath. A few of the brothers had run off to get their SUVs and bring them closer. Steel and the others were drenched in blood, and as the frosted grass crunched under their heavy boots, they heard the very low whine of sirens. They jumped into the waiting vehicles and drove away.
They drove fast, taking the backroads and using the police scanners to track the badges. They drove on different roads, scattering so as not to draw attention from the highway patrol. Each mile they logged was one more farther from the carnage.
Steel settled back as Diablo stared straight ahead, concentrating on the road. He took out his phone but couldn’t get any reception. When they stopped somewhere to refuel, he’d try again. He wanted to know how his brothers fared in Alina with their attack on the Skull Crushers; they’d planned to attack on the same night. The Skull Crushers had to be reminded who was in control of the territory, so the goal wasn’t to annihilate like it’d been with the Demon Riders.
Steel put his phone away and closed his eyes, his body aching for Breanna’s softness. He smiled and drifted off t
o sleep with her tumbling golden hair and sparkling eyes on his mind.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chenoa stared at the graffiti on her school locker as nausea assaulted her. Behind her, chuckles and whispered insults engulfed her as she felt as though she was on display. “Injun whore” in red block lettering glared at her, shattering her thoughts. Further down on her locker, “Reservation Trash” in neon yellow reached out, clawing at her. She opened her locker, took out her backpack, and slammed it shut. She turned around slowly, her hair covering her face. Through the dark strands, she spotted Hannah and Morgan smirking at her. Flashes of hate burned her, but what crushed her was the smugness on Josie’s and Michela’s faces, who were standing next to Chenoa’s nemeses.
For the past several days, Josie and Michela had ignored her, sitting with Hannah and her clique during lunch, not acknowledging her when she’d wave or call out to them, and laughing whenever Hannah would hurl insults at her.
“What’s going on here?” a deep voice asked as several students scampered away. “Chenoa?” She craned her neck and saw the principal, Mr. Alvarado, darting his eyes between her and the locker. “Who did this?” She shrugged. He glared at the students. “Who is responsible for this despicable behavior?”
All of a sudden, the amused eyes turned from her and focused on their shoes, the walls, and the drinking fountains. She pushed her hair back, her gaze meeting Josie’s, who then looked down at the books in her hands. Chenoa raised her chin. “It’s okay, Mr. Alvarado. Small minds do small things.” She focused her gaze on Hannah, who rolled her eyes.
The principal put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get Mr. Barkley to clean it up. And this won’t be tolerated in my school. I will find out who did this and there will be consequences. Now, everyone go back to your classes or you’ll all have detention.”
The students cast sidelong glances at Chenoa as they shuffled away.
“I have a class,” she said as she moved away from her locker.
“I’m sorry this happened, Chenoa. Do you have any idea who may have been responsible? Have you had problems with any student?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s not a big deal.”
“Yes, it is. I’m on this. If you have any problems, please come see me.”
She nodded and walked off. Instead of going to her class, she kept walking until she was well past the school grounds. She walked all the way to Squire’s Drugstore, where she went in to buy a pack of cigarettes from Jared. The clerk had a crush on her, so she used that in order to buy cigarettes.
After her purchase, she went to the alley and lit up. The first drag always feels so good. She leaned against the brick wall and sank down onto the cold pavement. Then the tears she’d been holding in spilled out. I hate it there. I’m never going back. Never! A cold sweat broke out over her and she wrapped her arms around herself to quell the trembling.
A long while later, she wiped her face and nose with her jacket sleeve and called her dad. His voicemail came on. “Dad, I need to talk to you. Call me back.” She waited. No call. Again she called his number, leaving a message. For over an hour, she called and texted him repeatedly, her despair mounting. All she could see was the glaring racial slurs exposed to the whole student body, and the way they all laughed at her. No one had stood up for her.
She lit another cigarette and dialed one of her friends from the reservation. “Anthony? Hey, you wanna hang out?” A few minutes later she’d made arrangements for Anthony to pick her up. She knew her dad would be pissed at her, but she didn’t give a damn. All she wanted was to be with peers who accepted her and who she felt comfortable with. You made me go to that fuckin’ school, Dad, and you’re not even fuckin’ picking up your phone?
As she waited for Anthony to come, she tried her dad a few more times, to no avail. Liquid fire coursed through her veins, and by the time Anthony pulled into the alley, she was climbing the walls and feeling worthless.
“You’re in a fucking bad way, sweetheart,” Anthony said as Chenoa slid into the passenger’s seat.
“No shit.”
“You want something?” He reached out and stroked her face.
She batted his hand away. “Don’t start that shit up with me.”
“You liked it when we’d get high together.” He laughed. “Remember?”
“Yeah, well, that was then.”
“You wanna get high. I got some fuckin’ good stuff. Not the shit you were taking. This is high quality. Pure. Fuckin’ rocks.”
She shrugged and tried her dad again. No answer. “Okay. Once won’t hurt.” I need to feel better. Heroin makes me who I wish I was. Heroin makes life worth living. Heroin is better than everything else. “Maybe I’ll smoke it.”
He laughed. “Sweetheart, you’re so beyond that.”
He was right. When she first started using over a year ago, she’d popped pills and smoked it. At that point it never seemed like a problem, because she’d used daily for weeks and had no withdrawal effects. She never had the cravings either, but then, somehow, the switch had flipped and she’d become a slave to the drug. Smoking it wasn’t doing it anymore, so she went to the needle. “You got it on you?”
“Yeah, but this shit’s expensive. You got money?”
“Some. How much?”
“A hundred bucks.”
“Fuck. I have forty and my grandma’s and mom’s food stamp cards. I’ve been staying with them for the last two days.” She had taken them “just in case.”
“I know a guy who’ll give cash for those cards. He owns a market near the rez. How much are they for? He pays fifty cents on the dollar.”
“Is it Roy’s Market?” Anthony nodded. “Fuck. I didn’t know he was doing that. I wonder if my mom knows.”
“What?”
“Never mind. My grandma’s EBT card is for eighty bucks. Will that do it?”
“You’ll still be twenty short, but I can let you slide for a blowjob.”
The memory of how the drug made her feel overwhelmed her. It would chase away the shame from that morning. She could taste the peace and euphoria heroin promised her. “Fine, but I want the stuff in my hands first.”
He took out the baggie and placed it in her palm. She clenched it and then slipped it into her jeans pocket. Her heart was racing a mile a minute. All she could think about was dropping into the mellow haze of love, happiness, and fucking rainbows.
He pulled over on a country road, switched off the motor, and slid his seat all the way back. As he unzipped his pants, he smiled at her. “It’s been a long time. I’ve missed your lips.”
“Let’s just do it,” she said as she lowered her head. She hoped he’d come fast; she needed to slip away.
* * *
Finally settled on the frigid floor of the abandoned warehouse, Chenoa took out her prized cellophane packet. She’d already called her mother and made up a story that she and another student were teammates and had a project to work on for one of their classes. Her mother didn’t question her. She never did.
Inside the abandoned warehouse, the light was low and the people using were shuttered into the corners and against the walls of the various rooms. As she took out her spoon, needle, and lighter, a tall man approached her. Her heart raced and she shoved her packet back in her pocket. She pressed herself flush against the brick wall.
“Don’t freak out. I just wanna use your lighter. I lost mine and have been searching for it for the past ten minutes. I can’t find the fuckin’ thing. I need a fix so damn bad.” She handed him her lighter. “You good if I crash beside you so we can use it again?” She nodded but watched him warily as he hunkered down next to her. He took out a baggie, spoon, and needle from his jacket pocket. “I’m Nicholas, by the way.”
“Chenoa,” she said softly. She watched him melt the Mexican Mud in the spoon and then fill his syringe. He handed the lighter to her and she did the same. As she was ready to shoot into a promising vein, Anthony’s warning about the fire—the potency
—in the smack she’d purchased flitted through her head. She exhaled long and slow, a thread of guilt weaving through her. She knew her parents would be disappointed if they saw her, but she needed this. I’ve been so good. It’s just this once. She pierced her skin with the cold, steel needle.
She glanced at Nicholas who was already in that special place that only heroin could offer, and then she leaned back and let the drug work its magic.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Throttle chuckled. “The fuckin’ badges think the Grave Diggers are responsible for the massacre, and knowing them, they’ll take credit for it on the outlaw grapevine.”
The Grave Diggers MC was a small outlaw club in Illinois that was the Demon Riders’ rival. They had been sparring for years over drugs, arms, and prostitution. In the past, they’d had a war between them, but they’d called a tenuous truce three years back. There’d been rumors that the Demon Riders had dipped into Grave Diggers’ territory to set up shop, just like they’d done in Alina.
“Works for us,” Hawk said.
“They’re that fuckin’ stupid to think anyone will believe them. What a bunch of pussies,” Brutus said.
“As long as it keeps the fuckin’ badges outta our business, they can take all the credit they want.” Banger took out a joint and lit it.
Diablo pulled the SUV into a gas station while Steel scrolled through his phone. He rubbed the back of his neck, his chest tightening when he saw the slew of missed calls and texts from Chenoa.
“What the fuck?” Diablo said from the driver’s side. Hawk, Banger, Throttle, and Brutus paused their conversation. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Steel looked out the windshield and darkness invaded him. About sixty black crows gathered on the tops of the gas pumps, the telephone wires, and the large rocks near the station.
“It’s like a fuckin’ scene from Hitchcock’s movie about all the crazed birds. What the hell’s the name of the movie. Damnit. I can’t remember,” Brutus said as he straightened from his slouched position.
STEEL: Night Rebels Motorcycle Club (Night Rebels MC Romance Book 1) Page 24
