“You got it,” Rusty chimed in, feeling the tone in the room and deciding to agree and avoid any more tension.
Mickey wasn’t happy with it, but Buck clapped a hand down on his shoulder. “You know the books and the money. You’re a valuable asset and having you locked up means we don’t have money. Just stay here and deal.”
Mickey snorted at that, but eventually nodded. Then he put a hand on Buck’s shoulder, mirroring his posture. “We’ll get her back. That’s the plan, okay?”
Buck felt the mask slip a bit and he nodded to show his appreciation. “Thanks man,” he returned, voice a bit hoarse.
As a tight group they mounted up, agreeing to the place where they’d prefer to meet the cartel. Assuming the cartel were actually intending on keeping their word for a friendly visit. They cleared Markham town limits before pulling off into the lot of an older motel, making the call to change the location to a neutral spot. No one knew why, Jayce just felt more confident that no one was keeping track of them if they suddenly stopped and changed the plan this way.
The cartel agreed, but Jayce indicated they didn’t sound happy about it. That was reassuring, but not enough to convince Buck or any of the guys that this was on the up-and-up. With the afternoon heat of the sun cranking it up a few degrees on their backs they hit the open road once again, noticeably more tense. Alert.
Buck knew they shouldn’t be doing this. He for one was so worked up and furious he was going to be of shit use to the club if things went sideways, but it was clearer now, in the fresh air, that Jayce was right. You don’t say no when the cartel calls for a convo.
The timing was just shit, but that wasn’t anyone’s fault. The way events aligned was so perfect it was ripe for a whole bunch of hurt to come down; they find out about Gertie, the club cuts off contact with her, and that’s when they grab her. A whole week and Buck never would have known anything was wrong if her friend hadn’t come looking for her.
Goddamn it. He just walked away from her.
If she was dead he’d never forgive himself. If she forgave him for leaving her to be at the mercy of those animals he’d count his lucky stars.
The remainder of the ride to the meeting point was uneventful, and by some miracle Buck kept his ride the right side up the whole way. He dropped the stand a bit rough, yanked off his helmet and felt his own anger getting the better of him. The cartel couldn’t see him like this. It would make them jumpy and that was no good. When his pocket jangled again for the second time in the past thirty minutes he breathed a sigh of annoyance before remembering he had his old phone, the one that had been un-programmed from all the Rebels’ burners.
Shit.
He dug it out, nearly dropping it, and swiped the screen. He had a voicemail message. Shit. From Gertie.
He brought the phone up, eyes scanning the area as Jayce, Fritter and Tank assembling in a tight group. Tiny, Knuckles and Rusty hung back slightly, like him.
Her voice hitting his ear was like lightning. He knew the call had just been received, and the fact that she was breathing was like a held breath finally escaping. Then he realized she was sobbing, and he nearly missed what she said. So he replayed it just to be sure, then spun and ran for his Prez, grabbing his kutte. “We gotta go.”
Tank handily eased his grip on Jayce’s leather. “Buck? What’s going on?” The guy was always so calm.
“This is bullshit. This is a trap. The Gypsys are heading to Markham right now, and they’re heading to Trinny, Jayce.”
He watched his friend absorb this slowly, realization dawning. They were nearly three-quarters of an hour away, east of Bakersfield. The road was wide open for the Gypsys to head through to Markham without being seen.
Without a word Jayce ran for his bike, Tank and Fritter not far behind. Knuckles was standing next to his own, hands out, cigarette hanging from the side of his lips. “What the hell’s going on?”
“This is a trap,” Buck answered, gesturing to Knuckles’ bike. “They’re going after Trinny.”
“How do you know?”
“Message from Gertie. I think she got out. She called while we were on the road.”
“Fuck,” Knuckles said, with as much passion as if he’d dropped a French fry or something, but he was moving. Tiny and Rusty, too. They were all mounted up and tearing off in a cloud of dust.
They’d arrived for the meeting early, which meant as they hit the highway off the dust road it was all of five minutes before they saw a flock of bikes headed their way.
Mad Gypsys.
They gunned their engines and picked up their pace, but they didn’t have to look back to know those fucks were likely trying to pull U-turns in a hurry to give chase. There was no point in stopping to pick a fight. Unless they were willing to wreck their own bikes the Gypsys were going to have to follow them until they decided to stop.
Tension kept him upright and in pain through every mile. He should relax his arms, his shoulders and back. But he couldn’t. There was lightness in his chest that Gertie was okay, alive. And a clutching fear that they might be too late to help Trinny.
Any anger with Gertie was gone. She was okay, she was alive. Christ, he hoped that message meant she got out. He contemplated whether or not he should have called her, but even her message had been all about concern for Trinny. That had to be their focus.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Gertie pulled the beater up onto the grass of the house, flying out the door, leaving it wide open with the engine roaring away. She scurried up the steps, so tense and worked up her knees felt like they might give out from under her. Frantically she was pounding on the screen door, knowing this was likely freaking the McClunes out but –
The inside door was yanked open, Trinny’s face a mask of annoyance that cleared when she saw Gertie.
It was hard to pinpoint how she knew, but right then Gertie realized the club knew everything. Her stupid attempts to save her father and keep it from Buck and the Rebels. It was written all over Trinny’s face; immediate distrust, and then pity.
Oh. They really knew everything.
There was no time to mull that over. Gertie propped both hands on the edges of the storm door, feeling how her hands and arms were trembling. “We have to get out of here,” she began, no greeting. “The Gypsys are coming. They set a trap for the guys, they’re actually coming here for you. We have to go.”
To her credit Trinny didn’t waste time debating the validity of the claims. She blinked exactly once and opened the screen, gesturing Gertie in. Gertie stepped inside, twisting her hands against each other.
“Trinny, we have to get out of here. Did you hear-”
“Yes,” the matriarch of the Red Rebels said briskly, shutting the front door and stalking away through the living room. With the authority of someone much larger and more frightening Trinny shouted, “JJ! Libby! Downstairs, hiding spot. Right now. And don’t make any noise.”
Gertie followed her. “Wait, we should just go. I have a vehicle-”
This time she was interrupted by the low rumble that both of them recognized quite well by now. Gertie froze but Trinny just moved quicker. The kids scurried ahead of her to the basement door and then out of sight, not a whine or whimper. It had to be Trinny’s voice. Gertie knew she would have liked to follow them.
“Shit,” Gertie was whispering. “What the hell are we going to do?”
She was still following Trinny around, led by that assurance and business-like manner that was so calm. Too calm. Trinny stopped at a gorgeous wood cabinet next to the china sideboard in the dining room. She turned the knob on what Gertie realized was a combination lock, yanking open the double doors and pulling out a shotgun.
A fucking gun.
She turned and shoved it in Gertie’s hands. “Take this one,” she muttered, circling around Gertie and stalking down the hallway next.
Gertie, for her part, was done tailing Trinny around the house. She held the gun, staring at it stupidly. She had no idea what kind it was, how t
o work it. What was expected here. When Trinny came back she slammed a handgun down on the table, then took the shotgun from Gertie. With deft fingers she loaded it, pumped the end once like in the movies then handed it back.
“It’s ready,” she assured Gertie, loading the handgun next. “Point the dangerous end at the bad guys and pull the trigger.”
“We need to call someone else,” Gertie blurted, the shotgun feeling so foreign in her hands it was laughable.
“There’s no one close,” Trinny reminded her.
“We can go to the clubhouse.’ Gertie suggested, just as the sound of bikes outside reached a deafening roar and then, more frighteningly, stopped. It was too late to leave.
“We’re taking our stand here,” Trinny informed her.
“But Jayce Junior and Libby -”
“Already out of the house and out behind the yard in that park,” Trinny informed her. “They know where to go.”
Who the hell are these people?
There was a heavy banging on the door and Gertie jumped, then turned to Trinny. “We have to do something else, too. We have to … call the cops or something?”
Trinny snorted, eyes on the door. “Are you nuts?”
“Is there anything illegal in the house?” Gertie asked.
“Of course not,” Trinny snapped back.
Gertie nodded, heading for the kitchen. “I’m calling the police. Tell them there are guys with guns outside. They’ll come, right?”
Trinny was chewing her lip, and Gertie could see she was getting through to her. “Fine,” she snapped, striding to the front window and peering out the window sheers. “Tell them there’s four of them. No need getting cops killed.”
That would prove to be an interesting statement, but not until later. At the moment Gertie was diving for the phone and calling 911. Just as the dispatcher picked up Gertie heard the front door splinter open with a loud crack, making her jump.
“I’m at Jayce McClune’s house,” Gertie rambled, wishing she’d learned the address. “There are four men with guns breaking in- ”
And that’s when the world descended into gunfire. There were differing sounds of shots, but Gertie didn’t know enough to identify handguns from shotguns. The only thing that cut through after about a dozen explosions was a loud scream.
“Shit, Trinny!” she shouted, then into the phone snapped, “Send people right fucking now!”
Then she set the phone down, brought the shotgun up and headed into the dining room.
“Fuck,” she muttered, about to drop to her knees next to the little blonde when a movement caught her eye approaching from the living room. She didn’t even think, just swung and fired. She was lucky, she knew that instantly. He’d been a little too confident and hadn’t even brought his weapon up or moved to get out of the way. His gut exploded in a shower of red, making him groan and drop right where he was, dead-falling to his back.
Gertie dropped next to Trinny, eyes running over her. Her face already looked pale, but her eyes focused on Gertie’s, determined. “The baby,” she was groaning. “Fuck, the baby.”
Gertie looked again, realizing Trinny’s black top hadn’t been shiny before. She put a hand on the cute baby bump, pulling it away with a cry as she felt wet warmth. Her hand came away bloody.
The baby. Shit, the baby.
Gertie fell silent and cold. She remembered Trinny with that baby bump, absently rubbing it while watching Jayce barbecue in the backyard, immediately smiling up at him when she realized he was watching her. He’d kiss her instantly when she did.
The next dark shadow crossing close to them saw the end of the shotgun as Gertie fired, but he was a bit wiser to it and pulled back. The blast tore holes into the drywall.
“The handgun,” Trinny whispered. “There’s a new clip in it.”
Gertie had no idea what she was talking about. She just picked up the pistol and held it in both hands, essentially blocking Trinny with her body. A head and shoulder moved along the corner of the dividing wall between rooms and she shot again, missed, and then took another shot. It tore through the corner close to the shoulder and she watched the form fall, not catching details, just knowing he was at least hurt enough to fall down.
“The other two stayed outside,” Trinny whispered behind her.
“Don’t talk,” Gertie said back, softly, turning to the blonde and pushing her hair out of her face. “Save your strength.”
Trinny nodded and swallowed hard, turning her gaze up at the ceiling. Her eyes were wet.
Gertie got up on one knee, found both feet, and crouched low to the entry into the living room. She looked back at Trinny, who was now pressing her hands to her tummy as well. Gertie had to look away.
There are still two more.
She duck-walked towards the front window, but as she did she saw movement through the other window over the sofa, on the side of the house. At least one of them was circling back. But did they both?
Her answer came when a form filled the wide-open doorway. She just caught it in the corner of her eye, and she spun fast with the gun still held out in both hands. She fired once, twice, and he returned fire. She ducked with a squeal, rolling behind an armchair.
In the resulting silence she could hear the man in the doorway panting. “Dammit, Red,” he called. “You grazed my arm. Stupid bitch. I’m gonna pay you back for that.”
Gertie held her breath. She heard his footsteps on the hardwood floor, coming closer to her very slowly and deliberately. Gertie stayed where she was, suddenly frozen in a terrifying paralysis that didn’t even allow for respiration. The adrenalin was gone. She was fucking terrified and cranked up on speed and she fully expected her heart to explode.
On the other side of the chair a creak sounded, also in the hardwood. She slid that way, suddenly looking up at a Gypsy she recognized. She didn’t think he’d ever forced himself on her, but she didn’t really know them all. When he moved one arm she fired, stunned to find that she’d taken aim without realizing it.
He caught that in the face, then fell forward onto one side of the arm chair. She squealed to get away, the chair turning to fully expose her to the man who’d come in the front door. With another cry she squeezed her eyes shut and brought the weapon up just as a voice commanded, “Drop the weapon.”
Gertie’s breath suddenly came all at once, eyes flying open, wondering what the hell was going on. She was still watching the Gypsy standing over her, watching his face show his extreme anger and disbelief. There was even a twitch in one cheek. But eventually he brought the gun up, aimed at the ceiling, then tossed it to the side and put his hands behind his head.
“On your knees.”
Gertie was panting as she watched him comply. If looks could kill she’d be stone-cold dead, but she wasn’t.
Shit, she was fine.
Gertie’s eyes grew hot and damp, and she was panting like she’d just run a marathon while dragging a piano behind her. When the sheriff’s department officer came into view she was fighting back hysteria.
He saw her, on her back, gun still held out, and swung his weapon on her.
“Drop it,” he commanded, so calm and cool.
Gertie nodded, letting her hands fall to the side, the gun clattering to the floor next to her. Then she covered her face and wept.
Chapter Sixty
“What the fuck,” Buck mumbled over his engine as the Rebels roared down Jayce’s street. His house was surrounded by red and blue flashers, lit up like the fourth of July. At least six Sheriff’s department vehicles were on the street, driveway, even on the yard, along with a shit-brown rusted old Chev he didn’t recognize.
And there was an ambulance, too.
Jayce barely got his kick stand down and he was tearing up the driveway. Two uniformed officers held him back and he almost clocked the both of them. In his dazed state Buck was one of the ones holding Jayce back, unsure of how he’d caught up with him.
“Where’s my wife?” Jayce wasn’
t shouting. He was screaming; it sounded terribly painful. It hurt to listen to, actually.
Tank was gently talking to Jayce, hands on his shoulders, blocking his path.
Buck was staring at a cruiser, though. The world went silent, because sitting in the backseat was a redhead he knew very well.
He swallowed hard, then started walking towards the vehicle with a brisk and purposeful stride.
Underwater, he heard Tank call for Knuckles to catch him, but he was at the cruiser, yanking open the back door and falling to his knees next to the car, reaching out his hands and grabbing hold of her knee. He realized then her hands were cuffed behind her.
“Gertie,” he whispered, sounding like it had been him screaming just moments before. “What the fuck?”
Gertie sniffed and he came to realize she’d been sobbing. “I tried, I tried to warn her but she didn’t want to leave. Oh Buck, the baby. They killed the baby.”
His blood ran cold, watching her fall into tears as someone pulled back on his shoulders, trying to get him up to his feet. It was Knuckles.
“Come on, man,” his brother was murmuring. “I can’t have two of you falling apart and getting thrown in jail because of it.”
Buck let himself be yanked away as someone slammed the car door shut in front of him. Sheriff Downey was glaring at him, and as much as he respected her he was fucking pissed suddenly. “Why the fuck is she in cuffs? She was kidnapped for fuck’s sake.”
“She shot one man to death and seriously wounded two more,” Downey shot back in cop tone. “She needs to give a statement.”
“The Gypsys kidnapped her,” Knuckles stepped in smoothly, instantly using his Talking To Females tone. “She got away, came here to warn Trinny. I’ll bet you whatever she used to shoot anyone is a weapon registered to Trinny McClune.”
Downey nodded, her tone softening volume-wise but still keeping a sharp edge. “She needs to make a statement. At the Sherriff’s department, away from all of you.”
“She was fucking kidnapped and they fucking raped her,” Buck roared, Knuckles’ hands tightening on his shirt front as he lunged for the door.
Indulge Page 33
