Impulsive (The Houston Defiance MC Series Book 4)

by K E Osborn

  We load and secure the truck, and Texas and I hop in with a Slaver driver to make the trek over to San Antonio to a brother chapter—it’s a few hours round trip. On the road, Texas is chatting away as usual. He’s never been one to shy away from conversation while I’m keeping watch. I’ve learned to stay in tune with him while remaining alert and focused on the surroundings.

  “She’s so damn stubborn, don’t you think?” Texas asks as I keep my eyes peeled on the side mirrors.

  I casually side eye Texas. “Who?”

  “Fin. Jesus, man, aren’t you even fucking listening?”

  I chuckle to myself. “Honestly, brother, your weird fascination with her is gonna land you in trouble.”

  “It’s not fascination. She’s cool, but she needs to stop letting people walk all over her.”

  I let out a short snort. “Fin? Finley Knight? Let people walk all over her? Are we talking about the same bold, brass, kickass attorney here? The Fin I know wouldn’t take shit from nobody.”

  Texas scoffs. “Normally she doesn’t, she’s a total badass. But some of her clients… she cares too much about them, and they take advantage.”

  “How do you know all of this? Are you spending time with her outside of the club?”

  He stiffens his shoulders. “No, not yet. But we talk, a lot—”

  “You have a hard-on for her!” I laugh.

  Texas scoffs defensively. “Fuck off.”

  I snicker to myself as my eyes shift back to the side mirrors, seeing a four-wheel drive approaching at high speed. My muscles tense as I look to the mirror on the other side of the truck, where another approaches on the other side. I nudge Texas, gesturing for the mirrors.

  He narrows his eyes on me. “What?”

  I point to the mirror to clarify. His eyes take in what I’m seeing, then they flick to the other mirror, and he lets out a groan. “Motherfucker! I was hoping this would be uneventful.”

  The driving Slaver spins to us. “What? What does that mean?”

  “We’ve got two vehicles closing in.” I check the distance traveled, we’re closer to home than we are to San Antonio, but the club won’t get here anywhere near on time, no matter what we do. “Texas, send an SOS to the pres and one to SA. Tell them we’re about to be hit by something.” Then I pull out my gun, locking and loading as Texas furiously types.

  The Slaver turns pale. “Do I keep driving?”

  “Yeah, don’t alert them that we’re onto them…” I turn. “Texas, what’s the play?”

  “When they come up on your side, shoot the driver. I’ll get the guy coming up on my side.”

  “You’re gonna do this while I’m driving?” the Slaver panics.

  “Yeah,” we both reply without missing a beat.

  “Right, okay then.”

  The black four-wheel drive pulls up to the side of the truck, the window rolls down, and a guy hangs out holding a machine gun.

  “Shit!” I curse, shifting back in the seat.

  The asshole opens fire, the window shattering, bullets pummeling the side of the truck as the Slaver swerves. Texas ducks back as I grit my teeth sucking myself in as much as possible, but a bullet grazes my shin, the burn extreme. “Mother… fuck this.” I lean forward, even with bullets flying into the cab, and fire off three rounds out the broken window. Another bullet grazes my bicep as I land one right in the guy’s head. His machine gun drops to the asphalt, the car speeding off in front of the truck.

  “You good?” Texas asks.

  “No, I’m freaking the fuck out!” the Slaver replies.

  “Just a couple of nicks, I’ll live,” I answer the question Texas was actually asking.

  The Slaver snaps his head to me. “You’re hit? Oh, fuck!” Suddenly, the car on the driver’s side starts hurtling bullets. The Slaver shifts to and fro with the barrage of bullets hitting his side. Blood splashes all over Texas as he grabs for the wheel of the truck. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  The Slaver slumps forward, his body pressing harder on the gas pedal, making us accelerate faster.

  “Texas, get us under control!”

  He pulls the steering wheel, but the car in front swerves forcing Texas to pull the truck to the side, the back end fishtails, the tires catch, and before I understand what’s happening, the truck spins over on its side, scraping down the asphalt. My entire body catapults up to the roof as the windshield smashes. Glass tears at my skin while the truck slides along the road with the momentum. I raise my hands, trying to keep my body in one place, but I’m being tossed around like a sack of potatoes.

  Metal and glass crunch, grating on my ears. Finally, the truck screeches to a halt. I let out a hurried breath, I didn’t even know I was holding. A low moan mumbles beside me, as I turn to see Texas shoving the dead driver off him.

  “You good brother?” I ask.

  “Good is a relative term… I lost my gun.”

  Searching through the debris, I grab my weapon. “I have mine, but I’m down three bullets.”

  Texas peers up at me. “It’s been a great ride, brother.”

  If I die here and now, Anna won’t cope.

  Things with Oakley have only just started.

  I have too much to fight for.

  “We’re not dying here, Texas. Not today. Not on my watch.”

  I try to weave myself out of the banged-up cab. “Try to find your gun. I’m gonna need backup.”

  Texas groans, moving his huge frame through the cab. “On it.”

  Gun at the ready, I climb out the broken window. My leg is killing me. Pretty sure I’ve pulled a muscle with all the jostling, not to mention the glass and bullet wounds. I limp as I slide along the mangled wreck of the cab, my gun up high. Voices echo off in the distance, but they’re getting closer. There are at least three of them.

  My heart hammers when out of nowhere, movement catches at my side. I jerk, aiming my gun.

  Texas glares at me.

  I exhale, lowering my weapon. “Fuck, man,” I whisper.

  “I’m the SAA. I’m not the fucking backup.”

  I dip my chin in understanding as we both bring our guns up. “Ready to do this?”

  “Ready!”

  We both race around the front—well, as fast as we can, considering—and aim, but the men who ran us off the road, already have their weapons pointed directly at us waiting. We both pause, stopping in a stalemate.

  Three to two.

  I’m okay with those odds.

  “You idiots are about as stealthy as de Chernobyl disaster,” one of the men says with a Russian accent.

  Texas takes a step forward. He wants to take the lead on this. “Tell me why I shouldn’t shoot you right here and now for this?”

  The Russian laughs. “You could, but den you vouldn’t know vhy ve stopped your cargo.” His accent comes through thick and heavy.

  My ears pick up.

  “What do you know about our cargo?” Texas asks what I was thinking.

  “Me? I don’t know anytink, but the person who sent me does. And boy oh boy, dey’re not happy with vhat you boys have been up to!”

  I glimpse at Texas. “Militia?” I whisper. Texas nods. “You work for Hawke?”

  The Russian screws up his face. “You tink I’m going to tell you who I vork for? No, dis is all part of da game, boys. You now have to figure out vhich one of your enemies is on to your production line. And do they vant it stopped, or do they vant in?”

  Texas scoffs. “Well, how the hell are we supposed to know that?”

  “I guess you’ll have to ask dem, von’t you?”

  “You expect us to go to our enemies and ask them if they know about what’s in the cargo hold of that truck?”

  “Could not hurt.” The Russian smirks.

  “Ha! That could have our clubhouse demolished and members slaughtered every which way from Sunday.”

  “I tink dat is da point…” The Russian mocks to his accomplices. “He’s a little slow on da uptake, isn’t he,
boys?”

  “So that’s your employer’s end game here, to have us taken out?”

  “I tink vat my employer vants is for Defiance to understand deir place in Houston, vhich is at da bottom of da scrap heap… vhich is also vhere dis truck vill end up.”

  Bikes roaring in the distance fills me with strength as I take a step forward to meet Texas. “Well, we don’t negotiate with assholes.”

  “Funny you find voice now da cavalry is coming. It’s time for us to leave. Tink about vhat we said.”

  Texas side eyes me, I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  The Russians all turn to walk away, Texas and I both raise our weapons without hesitation, firing off the rounds. The three men collapse as the bullets pierce their heads, brain matter spraying out into the midday air. They fall to the ground, one after the other in quick succession, a wave of relief flooding over me as blood pools around their dead bodies. I glance over my shoulder, and Zero, Wraith, Chains, Slick, Kevlar, and Ax pull up, then a few moments later, a cage moves in behind them, and Phantom and Nickel jump out.

  Texas and I walk over to our brothers as Zero takes in the big fucking mess we have to clean up.

  “Phantom, Nickel… get the product into the cage, now,” Zero orders.

  The guys rush about frantically to get our product off the back streets of Texas. Though, I’m not sure the Snow White from the truck will all fit in the cage, some might need to go in the saddlebags of the bikes.

  “You two okay? You’re pretty banged up.” Zero asks stepping over. He grabs me to assess where the bullet skimmed my arm.

  “We’re okay. But, pres, we think this was the Militia, and Hawke is gunning for us.”

  “How the fuck did he find out?”

  “They wouldn’t give us anything, not even if it was Hawke that sent him. But, honestly, who else could it have been?” Texas asks.

  Zero groans, running his fingers through is long hair. “I don’t like this shit. We gotta get out of here. Kevlar, get rid of any trace of the club. Guys, we need to get this product out of the truck ASAP, even if it means we risk riding with it. Better than someone finding and tracking it to us.”

  We get to work, stashing the Snow White in the van, also filling our saddle bags while Kevlar makes sure to comb every single inch of the truck. Then we hightail it out of there back to the club.

  When we get back, Phantom and Nickel take care of the product while I make my way inside, feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck, literally.

  I know I need to see Chills and get my wounds assessed, and I really need to ice this leg, but more than anything, I want a fucking beer. I make my way for the bar, but Zero grabs me.

  “You can drink after. Go get checked. Chills first, then you unwind. You got me?”

  “I got you,” I reply, but fuck I want a beer right now.

  “Good… Chills!” he calls out, making her turn from her conversation with Prinie. Her eyes widen as she takes in my state.

  “Coming!” she calls out, rushing toward me.

  Surely, I don’t look as bad as I feel?

  “Jesus, Neon, you wrestle a bear or something? You look like shit.”

  Maybe I do look as bad as I feel.

  “Or something,” I tell her.

  She tilts her head in understanding, pointing to a seat. “I’m gonna get my kit. Sit. Keep your heart rate down to stem the bleeding on these wounds, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I take a seat as Zero lets out a long exhale.

  “Jesus, fuck! What the hell happened!”

  “For a second there, I didn’t think we were gonna make it out of there.”

  Zero loosely grips my shoulder. “Well, I’m fucking relieved. I didn’t expect it to go this way, or I wouldn’t have sent you.”

  “Me either. I know… we’re good.”

  “Rest up. Got it?”

  I dip my head in answer as Chills comes back with her kit, pulling out a chair and setting up in front of me. Zero strides off leaving me in the doc’s capable hands.

  “Okay, we better get your cut and shirt off for this, see if I can get to all these scrapes, then I’m gonna need to check your legs, too.”

  “You don’t need to fuss—”

  “You want to get an infection and fucking die?” her stern tone is kind of funny.

  “Little dramatic, but I get your point.” Not hassling her any further, I do as she says.

  Oakley walks downstairs, her eyes widen like saucers as she rushes over to me. “Holy shit! What the fuck happened? Are you okay?” Oakley asks as Chills pulls out a small piece of glass from my chest with a pair of tweezers.

  I hiss through my teeth, causing Oakley to flinch, and Chills roll her eyes.

  “I’m fine, just a few scratch—”

  “He needs a good rest is what he needs,” Chills answers.

  Oakley pulls up a seat beside me, taking my hand in hers. “Are you in a lot of pain?”

  “Nothing a damn beer won’t fix. It’s not bad, I’ve had far worse,” I reply as Chills rubs some rubbing alcohol onto an open wound. “Fuck!”

  “What can I do?” Oakley asks. Her fingers gently rubbing up and down the back of my hand instantly soothes me.

  “You bein’ here is helping.”

  “Everyone… out of the way!” a shrill voice booms from the other side of the clubhouse.

  We all look as Anna storms her way across the room.

  All I need. This is going to go down well.

  Anna moves in, shoving Oakley hard to one side, breaking our hand contact. “Let me through. I need to see my brother!” She even pushes Chills aside as she grabs at my face, examining a cut.

  I reach for her hand forcefully stopping her brazen attack. “Anna, I’m fine. Let Chills patch me up.”

  “You shouldn’t have even been out there doing God knows what. This club is going to kill you, Asher, and that’s going to kill me… I won’t cope if you’re gone, too!”

  Oakley exhales, taking a step back.

  I nod at Chills, she moves in blocking Anna, getting back to work on patching me up.

  “Anna, I’ve told you, and I won’t repeat it, call me Neon. It’s fucking respect. You’ve known for years what this club is about and what it represents. You were fine with it when you were—” I stop my line of talk, but she understands what I was going to say.

  “Just because I was going to be the First Lady, doesn’t mean I’m okay with it now. I wasn’t scared then, I am now. I’ve already lost so much…” Her eyes flutter. “Neon, I can’t lose you, too.”

  Oakley rolls her eyes when I reach out grabbing Anna’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere. Stop using that shit as leverage.”

  Anna snaps her hand from me. “Leverage? What the fuck are you talking about? This is her influence on you!” Turning, she storms off in a huff.

  Chills is silently working on my wounds.

  “Maybe I should try talking to her again?” Oakley offers in a whisper.

  “Leave it! I think you’ve done enough,” I snap.

  Oakley widens her eyes at my tone. “Right… well, right! I hope your wounds heal fast then…” She spins around and says over her shoulder, “I’ll catch ya ’round.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groan, scrubbing at my face. “Fuck, I didn’t mean…” But it’s too late, Oakley’s gone. I slump back in the chair as Chills injects something into my arm making me flinch.

  “Shit, sorry, should have warned you, but I didn’t want to interrupt all… that.”

  “What the fuck am I doing, Chills?”

  “Looks like you’re having trouble trying to please everyone, and by doing that, you’re actually doing the damn opposite and pissing everyone off.”

  “Sounds about right. What the fuck do I do? My sister hates Oakley and tells me she’s bad for me. Oakley thinks Anna’s influence is bordering on manipulation. And again, I’m caught smack bang in the middle.”

  Chills stops suturing my wound with a sigh.
“Honestly?”

  My impatient look tells Chills everything she needs to know. “Yes, please. I need all the help I can damn well get.”

  “Anna’s a mess. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has an underlying undiagnosed psychiatric disorder. Her reactions are irrational, her behavior is erratic at best, and her attachment issues are beyond unhealthy. She needs psychological help, Neon. Oakley is right, Anna’s manipulating you every chance she can. Problem with that? You love her too much to see it.”

  “So, what do I do?”

  “Don’t ignore Anna, that will make her worse but don’t give in to her either because that’s feeding her. It’s a healthy balance. First thing I would be focusing on would be getting a diagnosis.”

  “Can you help me find the right doctor?”

  “Of course!”

  “Thanks, Chills, this chat has helped.”

  She finishes up my wounds. “Glad to help, but honestly, you have some bridges to mend.”

  “I know. I just hope Oakley is willing to listen.”

  OAKLEY

  My pulse pounds behind my ears, my throat is dry from my rushed breathing as I clench my fingers in and out to quench the rage burning inside me. I’m angry as hell.

  Fuck Neon!

  Honestly, I don’t want to get involved with his family drama. I want to go home, see my parents, tell them I’m okay, and deal with this Rage issue on my own.

  Walking to my closet, I grab my bag and throw it onto the bed. Storming back and forth from the closet to the bed, I cram as much clothing as I can into my bag. “Neon’s nothing but an asshole,” I mumble to myself as I continue to pack.

  A knock sounds at my door. “I’m not here,” I yell, but the door opens and Neon steps in to see me packing. I glare at him but continue shoving clothes in the bag as fast as I can.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you can figure it the fuck out!”

  He menacingly stalks to me, grabs my bag, throwing it to the floor.

  “Hey!” I yell.

  “You’re under my protection. If you leave, Rage will find you. Surely, you’re not that stupid.”

  “Better than being stuck here with you!”

  He exhales. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Don’t I? You’re so fucking blind, Neon, so fucking hung up on shit. I don’t expect you to choose me over your sister, but I do expect you to see sense. I do expect you to listen.”