Over all that industry, inside and out, fifty men armed with high-caliber assault weapons kept watch.
Fifty. Against their twenty—assuming that everyone in the Horde, Bulls, and Scorps survived the first fight, and assuming that the Bulls and the Scorps stayed with them for the inward push.
Inside the factory, the Horde would find Santaveria and his four personal guards. If they could get that far. Luckily, one of those guards would be Vega himself. If they could dispatch that last line of defense between Santaveria and the Horde, then he would be at their mercy. Badger had no idea what Isaac had planned. But he wanted it to be slow, painful, and bloody.
Badger knew it was still basically a suicide mission they were on. So much had to go just right for them to have any chance at success, and nothing yet had gone right for them where the cartel was concerned. But it didn’t matter. If they didn’t get free of Santaveria’s claws, then they might as well be dead. And their women and children would never be safe.
Their children. Since a few nights ago, when Adrienne had not let him go and he’d come inside her, the thought that they might be making a child together danced always at the edges of his consciousness. Sometimes it took the spotlight. When he watched her with Millie and Joey, for instance. He’d seen it before, that innate mothering she seemed to have, the obvious bond she had with the twins. It was seriously hot. The thought the he—he—could be a father rang his bell.
He had to get home. He had to. The Horde was due for some luck. They had paid, were paying, for their mistakes and transgressions. They were not the bad guys. They had to win this time.
They had to.
~oOo~
The Brazen Bulls’ clubhouse was a lot different from the Horde’s—the Horde had a huge space that had once been the home of Signal Bend Construction. The Bulls had a red brick building that seemed like it had once held four small apartments and had been converted into a single, two story facility. They were located in a rough area near downtown Tulsa, with a vacant lot that they’d turned into parking lot and patio on one side, and the garage and gas station they owned on the other. Unused to the city, Badger found that his nerves jangled at the steady noise and traffic.
As soon as they arrived at the clubhouse, they all went into the Bulls chapel and met. Isaac and Show were offered seats at the table, near Becker and Eight Ball; the rest of the Horde, and the two displaced Bulls, stood on the periphery.
Spread on the table before the club leaders was a paper map of Amarillo and its surrounding area. Becker had marked the pickup point, where they collected the repackaged weed from the Perros and started their run from Texas to Missouri. It was clear to all in the room that Isaac, Becker, Show, and Eight Ball had been through this plan several times. As they explained it to the rest of the men, they fell into the easy rhythm of rote memory.
Becker spoke as his finger traced over the map. “There are blind areas to the south and west, where Horde and Scorps can come up on them unawares. You’ll have to stay low and keep quiet until the deal is going down, and then move your asses. From the south, here, you’ll be coming up almost behind them.
“There are always eight men,” Eight Ball cut in, his voice like tumbling rocks. “Four always keep back, in a row, guns on us. If you can move quiet, you can cut them down before they know they’re on their way to Hell.”
Isaac nodded. “The Horde will take the south. The Scorps will be good, but they’ll be coming in colder than the rest of us. They’ll run backup on this first fight. They can hang back a step from the west.”
“You’re sure we got that backup?” Becker asked, his eyes keen. “You trustin’ a Scorpions charter with the lives of all of us—after everything that’s gone down with them, everything they put on you?”
Isaac returned Becker’s look with calm heat. “I am. Bart is the Scorps’ point man on this run. I trust him like I trust any Horde in this room. They have our backs.”
“I don’t like it,” Eight Ball grumbled.
“Yeah, I know, Eight. But we had that fight. We had that vote.” Becker turned back to Isaac. “We’re in. We’re trusting you with all we got, but Santaveria’s up our ass, too, and we’ve lost a lot to his psycho bullshit. Fuck. He put a goddamn hit on our whole club. We need clear.”
“We’re pushing in past the pickup. That’s our fight. We could use the backup, but we won’t take it sour if you pull back at the pickup.” As he finished, Show met eyes with Isaac, who tipped his head once and turned back to Becker.
“Well, brothers, I gotta say I take some offense to that. The Brazen Bulls are not runt lambs to run back to mama’s teat. I know you got a special stake in Santaveria himself, but the Perros go down, or we fight to the last man tryin’ to make it happen. The fight at the pickup is just the shot across their bow. We’re in for the whole fuckin’ war.”
Becker gestured to Gil, a Bull soldier sitting at the far end of the table. Gil rose and made his way to the back of the chapel, then came back with a large, evidently heavy box. He set it on the table with a thud.
“Tell us more about your friend Vega.” Becker spoke with his eyes on the box, then turned to Isaac.
“He’s no threat to you. His interest is in taking down the Perros. Anybody who plays a part in that is clear of the Feds.”
“Except you.”
“That’s something else. Our shit.”
“I see it. It’s how you think you can get to Santaveria.”
Isaac nodded.
“Well, I got the sense that we didn’t have much to worry about from your new friend—”
“He’s not a friend.”
Becker cocked his head. “Yes. Apologies.” He cleared his throat. “This came. Law enforcement grade.”
At Becker’s sign, Gil opened the folded flaps on the box and pulled out a Kevlar vest. And another. Becker continued, “There are twenty.”
Isaac laughed, and Becker raised his eyebrows.
“It’s nothing. The last time we had a big fight and some help in law, we got a gift just like that. I’ve been seeing things turning full circle lately.”
Show’s voice was lower than usual when he said, “We won that fight. I think that was the last time we won.”
Eight Ball sat forward and asked, “You think it’s a sign?”
Show shook his head. “Don’t believe in signs. But I’m glad to have the vests.”
“I do believe. I think it’s a sign.” Eight Ball reached out and brushed a reverent hand over the vest Gil had laid on the table.
~oOo~
They were getting an early start in the morning, and they faced the fight of their lives against a bigger, stronger enemy. The Bulls also ran guns and had stockpiled a solid arsenal for this fight, calling in favors from suppliers and clients alike, so they would be well armed once guns started to blaze. But all the men knew they needed every ounce of strength, focus, wits, and energy they possessed to have a chance at victory.
They knew that for a certainty.
They also knew, however, that there was a very strong chance that they would not survive the next day. And they were not, as a rule, temperate men.
So the party that night was a riotous affair, with naked girls, loud music, and bottomless kegs, bottles, and bags. Zeke and Tommy were both neck deep in girls. But they were the only unattached Horde on this run, and none of the attached men took any notice of the ‘run rule.’ Isaac, Show, Len, and Badger sat in a row at the bar and drank.
Isaac was struggling with pain; as the night aged, that became more evident, and before midnight, he finished his tequila and pushed his glass away. “I’m gonna call Lilli and turn in.” He clapped his hand on Show’s shoulder. “See you in a few hours, brothers.” Then he limped down the hall toward the stairs that would take him up to the sleeping quarters.
They all watched him leave, then Show turned back to Len and Badger. As one, they nodded, finished their drinks, and followed their President up to bed.
The Bulls’ dorm
rooms were narrow and utilitarian, barely enough room for a double bed and a chest, and no private bathroom. The Horde’s dorm rooms had twice the space at least, and each had a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and shower. Badger had never thought of the room he’d lived in for years as ‘nice’ until now. But all he needed was a place to crash. Which he did. Before he slept, though, he called Adrienne. She answered on the first ring, but he could tell from the tone of her voice that she was lying down. He could visualize her in the very room he’d just been thinking fondly about, under the covers, in one of his t-shirts. His cock filled out and lifted the sheet.
“Are you okay?”
He laughed. “Yeah. No danger today. Just a ride. Didn’t want you to go to sleep without me telling you I love you one more time.”
“I love you. I love you so much.” There were tears in her words, and he didn’t want her sad.
“How was your day?”
“Okay. Boring, really. We just sat around, made food, ate food, talked, watched the kids. Tried to stay busy. We put a movie in and everybody watched that.”
“What movie?”
“We started to watch Harry Potter, but Gia thought it was boring, and you know how she gets, so pretty soon Bo thought it was boring, too, and they were both being drama queens. We ended up watching The Matrix.”
“With Gia and Bo?”
She laughed—he liked that sound much better than the tears. “They loved it. I know they couldn’t have understood it, but they were transfixed. The scene when Neo and Trinity go through the metal detectors to rescue Morpheus? Gia was literally jumping up and down and clapping her hands. That little girl is something else. She looks like a china doll, but she’s all tiger underneath.”
“Like her mom.”
Again, she laughed. “Yeah. Exactly.” She yawned. He was glad to hear it—a normal sound. Peaceful.
“You sound tired, babe. Get some sleep. I’ll call you tomorrow night.” With everything he had, he hoped he hadn’t just told her a lie.
“Okay. You, too. Rest. I love you, Badge. Come home to me.”
~oOo~
They made the three hundred and fifty miles or so to Amarillo in just about four hours. Traffic was light, law was absent, and they booked. But when Isaac dismounted at their meet-up with the Scorps, it took him three tries to get his leg over the seat. Badger caught Len’s eye; they said all they needed to in that look. Riding hard two days in a row was difficult but possible for Isaac when the end of that second day was home. This time, it was the beginning of the fight of their lives.
None of them was surprised by this. They’d had it all out in the Keep. Isaac would have to find deeper reserves of strength and endurance to get through this day. But no one had expected him to stay home. He was their President. They were fighting their worst enemy. Isaac was the vanguard. No question. But they would need to be right at his side.
Isaac stood still at his bike for a few minutes, but by the time the men were gathering up, and Bart was walking toward them with his men, he had buried all signs of pain or weakness. He met Bart in the center of the cluster of men, and they hugged long and hard, a weighty, almost violent embrace. Then Bart clasped the rest of the Horde likewise. When he backed away from Badger, he gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Damn, kid. You filled the fuck out!”
Badger shrugged. He’d never be the behemoth of muscle that Isaac and Show were—or even Len or Bart or Tommy. He was built lean. But he worked hard, and through pain, to build all the mass that he could. He smiled a little, thinking of Adrienne’s fascination with the muscles that ran at an angle from his hips to his cock. She’d often lie on him, just tracing the line of one of those ridges over and over until he couldn’t take it anymore and rolled on top of her.
Bart gave him an odd look, and Badger realized that he’d been daydreaming. He grinned and shrugged again.
Bart introduced the men he’d brought with him: Connor, Lakota, Sherlock, Demon, Diaz, and Jesse. They already knew P.B. “We are at your service, Isaac. Boss. Tell us what you need. We are in for it all.” He stepped closer, limiting his next words to the audience of the Horde. “And I’d like to join you when you face Santaveria. I know I don’t have a claim, because I’m not Horde…now. But Hav…I’d like to be in on that.”
Isaac glanced at the Horde. Badger knew none of them had any qualms about Bart joining them, and not just because they could use another gun. Isaac dropped his hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Of course, Bartholomew. Wouldn’t want it any other way.”
Bart blinked a few times and nodded. “Thank you. When we’re done—when we come through this, I need to talk.” He gestured at the Scorpions behind him. “We all need to talk to the Horde.”
Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Trouble?”
“Not at all. But it’s not for now. Now we kick some cartel ass.”
Eight Scorpions. Six Bulls. Six Horde. Twenty men. Against a drug cartel.
Well, Badger thought, at least it’ll be epic.
~oOo~
The fight at the pickup went exactly as planned. The Perros were, as Vega had promised, unaware of any trouble, and though they had hair triggers all of them, it was quickly apparent that routine had dulled their edges. Isaac, Len, Show, and Badger were able to sneak up behind the second line of men and kill them. Zeke and Tommy were at the ready behind them, but were unnecessary. Badger sliced open his guy’s throat—his first premeditated human kill, and he didn’t even blink. Adrenaline was making his heart sing and soar, but it wasn’t that keeping qualms at bay.
He didn’t really think a Perro counted as a human kill.
Len shoved his vicious hunting blade vertically through his target’s chin and twisted. Isaac and Show both simply snapped necks with their huge, bare hands. Before the remaining four Perros, who’d been engaged in the business of the exchange, knew what was going on, the Bulls were on them, and then all the Perros on site were dead.
Not a single gun had been fired.
Isaac looked around. “Fuck. That was…that was easy.” For full, tense minutes, everyone held, guns at the ready, waiting to be ambushed.
But it didn’t come. Len put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, and the Scorpions came from the west.
“Okay, brothers,” Isaac swung to his back the AK he’d had ready. “Next part won’t be so easy. We ride south.
Becker nodded. “’Bout fifteen miles.”
~oOo~
The factory or plant or whatever it was sat in a low valley in a miles-wide expanse of beige dirt. The building itself was also beige and nearly windowless except for the front and for twenty feet back—where the offices had been when this had been some kind of legitimate business.
There were men patrolling around the whole perimeter, but there was no fencing—probably it would have drawn too much attention to enclose a non-descript factory in concertina wire. The few vehicles were parked at some distance from the building, making them useless as cover.
The Horde, Bulls, and Scorpions had come up from a two-mile walk and were at cover behind a dusty rise, about fifty yards from the front door.
Lying on his belly between Isaac and Badger, Becker leaned toward Isaac. His voice just loud enough to carry to the ears that needed to hear, he said, “Okay, last call. We’re trying to take as many men out as we can. There’s no way to that building under cover. Gil is going to ride straight up to the door—our van’s got some armor—then him, Terry, D.C., and Fitz will jump out shooting. Only cover will be that fucking van and the building itself, so we have to hightail it, firing as we go. We are trying to take every motherfucker down and get the Horde into the building.”
Isaac added, “Don’t think about how many men are down there. Think about the man in your sights. Every one you take down hard is one you don’t have to fight again. Shoot to kill.”
Becker pulled his phone and dialed. “On my mark, Gil.” He paused; Badger tasted the adrenaline in his mouth—like burning rubber. “Mark.” He put his phone away
. “When they turn in, we go.”
The Bulls’ grey van pulled down the empty road. A couple of guards noticed and watched but did not raise their weapons. Then Gil gunned it and turned hard, running both guards right over before they could do more than aim.
“NOW!” Isaac yelled, and everybody ran, over the rise and down toward likely doom.
Badger went away somehow—totally alert, totally alive, in sync with the plan, his senses firing faster than they ever had before, but also like he wasn’t there. Like he was watching this all play out from somewhere else. Not from above, not like he was hovering over the scene like some kind of angel or ghost, but like he was in another place entirely, watching a movie.
The air was so dense with gunfire that Badger was nearly deaf, and he now understood the phrase ‘hail of bullets’ vividly, because bullets were landing everywhere, making round puffs and divots in the dust. He aimed and fired, aimed and fired, aimed and fired, with a clinical interest in everything that was happening. A tally ran in the back of his head. Five kills. Six.
When he was punched so hard in the back he lost all breath and slammed to the ground, he was merely interested. But from a foggy distance he heard Show shouting, “Badge! Badge! Fuck!” And then Show was dragging him to the side of the building and standing over him, firing.
He looked down. “You okay, little brother?”
Badger tried to talk and had no breath. He inhaled—and that hurt. The pain brought him back. “What happened?”
Show fired again. “You got hit. Can you get up yet? Shoot?”
Badger lifted his gun and discovered that his arms worked. Thank God for Kevlar. Burned like fire to breathe, but he was not unused to working through pain. “Yeah. I’m good.”
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