Hazard (Wayward Kings MC Book 3)

by Zahra Girard

  I grunt. “Going in the front door would be a mistake.”

  “Tell me something I don’t fucking know.”

  “Fine. You’re scaring me right now,” I say. “Even though the whole blood and murder thing is sort of hot.”

  “Scaring you? What, a soldier afraid of a little violence?”

  “More like a soldier afraid of losing the woman he loves. This isn’t something you can just come back from. Trust me. Even when I don’t want to — even when I fight it with everything I am — I can see so many of their faces. Fellow soldiers, civilians, enemies. And it fucking changes you,” I say. “Do what you have to do to protect your son, but don’t lose the person you are. Jake needs you to still be his mom when all this over.”

  “Don’t think I’m going to let them off easy.”

  “I’m not saying that. But when it comes to the heavy stuff, let that fall on my shoulders, alright? Let me carry that for you. I’m down that road far enough that it ain’t going to matter.”

  “I don’t want to lose you either, Jarrett. Because you mean something to Jake, and, if we make it through this, I want you around.”

  I kiss her. “I love you.”

  She kisses me back. “I love you, too.”

  I keep a watch on the men inside. Every part of me screaming at me to head in there, to take out these sons of bitches who have threatened my family. It takes all that I have to restrain myself. Every so often, one of them will come by the window, but never enough of them to get a clean shot. As if I could fucking snipe with a pistol.

  Once, I get a glimpse of Jake crossing the room, being dragged by one of the Jackals. That sight sets my blood on fire.

  A bloody death is better than these pieces of shit deserve.

  “We can’t go in like this,” I tell her. “One wrong move and they’ll kill him.”

  “I’m not going to just sit out here.”

  “I know. We need to draw some of them out. I’ve got an idea.”

  I pull out Ozzy’s cell phone and dial up Gunney. It rings twice before he answers.

  “What is it?” he says.

  “What’s your location?”

  “Five minutes out. You find the kid? Is he ok?”

  “For now. They’re planning to sell him, Gunney.”

  “Fucking Christ. Selling a fucking kid? You sure?”

  “Yeah. We picked up a prospect and asked him a few questions.”

  “We? You mean you’ve got your woman in on the fighting, too?”

  “It’s her son, Gunney. No way I can keep her out of it. Listen, I need a favor. I’ve got eyes on the kid, but there’s at least five Jackals here at this stash house where they’re holding him. They’ve got to be guarding something more than just the kid. But I can’t make a move without risking them hurting Jake.”

  “What do you need from me?” he says without any hesitation.

  “I think I have a plan, but it’s gonna take a bit of precision. You think a fucking jarhead like you can follow some complicated instructions?”

  “Talk to me, Jarrett,” he says, then before I can answer, he starts in. “You know, I fucking hate calling you by your goddamn name. I fucking hate it. I don’t want to look up at the wall in our clubhouse and see fucking ‘Jarrett’ underneath your ugly mug. It’s a stupid fucking name.”

  “Can we figure that shit out after we get our guns back, save our family, and earn our fucking hazard pay for this business deal from hell?”

  “No. That’s it. If you die, we’re putting ‘Hazard’ on your tombstone.”

  “Hazard? Come on. Take it back.”

  “No, it’s either that or I’ll ask Bear’s daughter to give you a nickname. You know she’s still watching Frozen after all these years?”

  “Seriously?”

  “Take your pick: Hazard or you can be named after a character from that Ice Princess movie.”

  “Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You can call me whatever the hell you want if it’ll get you to shut up and listen.”

  “I’m all ears, Hazard.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Selena

  Every once in a while, I get a glimpse of my son; a thin sliver of hope through shattered windows. For all the bad decisions and mistakes I’ve made in my life, he is the one thing I can point to with pride.

  I can’t lose him now.

  Jarrett paces back and forth while on the phone with someone from his club. I wait as patiently as I can while he talks strategy. Snippets of a plan drift to me on the breeze, but I hardly have the frame of mind to put those snippets into something coherent. With all the insanity and desperation, I know I couldn’t make it through this without Jarrett. And though every inclination I have is pushing me forward, to approach the house and just do something to try and free my son, I force those doubts down and remind myself to just trust the man at my side.

  I can’t do this without him. I need him.

  I’ve never said that about a man before. They’ve always been disposable; I’d work their cocks and play with their hearts until I’d achieved my objective and then I’d cast them aside.

  Not him. Not now.

  With everything I’ve done to him, he’d abandon me if he had any common sense. But for some stupid reason, my luck in picking men has turned around and I’ve finally found the one with the right talents and the utter lack of common sense that he wants to stick around. Somehow, this fool sees something in me and my son that he wants as a part of his life.

  And, stupid me, I want that too.

  He hangs up and looks to me with a mischievous glint in his eye.

  “You think you got the patience to hold back for a few more minutes?”

  “Why?”

  I’m not sure I have the patience. Every time I see my son through that window, I want to run to him. He’s in that stash house with god knows what — drugs, guns, or whatever other illegal shit would require five fucking Jackals to guard it.

  “Trust me.”

  “I do, but you know this is hard for me, Jarrett.”

  “I know, it’s hard for you to trust me when you’re kids in there—”

  “It’s hard for me to trust someone, period.”

  “Well then, I have some news for you. For one: I’m not Jarrett anymore. I’m Hazard, now.”

  “Ok, that’s just crazy.”

  “Per Gunney, it’s that or I get a name from that Frozen movie.”

  “There’s way better Disney movies that came out recently. Like Moana, for one. Or Coco.”

  He nods. “I thought the same. But I can’t really take on a Polynesian name. That’d cross a line and be grossly culturally insensitive. And going by Coco? I mean, c’mon,” he says. “Now, relax and listen. I’ve got a plan to kill these motherfuckers, it’s just going to take a few minutes to execute. Can you hold off that long?”

  “Ok, what’s the plan?”

  He checks the time on his phone. “Step one: get down.”

  We hunker down lower in our hiding place about a half block from the stash house. It’s hard doing anything that takes away my view of my son. I worry that if I lose sight of him again — even for just a moment — I’ll lose him.

  “Step two?” I say.

  Jarrett’s phone buzzes. He grins at me.

  No sooner do his lips curl upwards in his cocky smirk than a huge explosion echoes in the distance. The rumble of the blast’s concussive force makes my bones shake, even from this far away.

  I turn and look towards the source of the blast. A thick pillar of pure-black smoke billows from back in town near the Jackal’s clubhouse.

  Shouting erupts from inside the stash house. From my hiding space, I hear bikes start to life and speed off in the direction of the blast.

  Jarrett — Hazard, now, though I’ll be damned if I call him that — pulls his gun out and winks at me.

  “Step two is: you stay here and I go get your son.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jarrett
r />   I count three bikes that speed off toward the Jackal’s clubhouse. Fewer than I had hoped, but I’m not too surprised. Whatever they have in that house must be valuable for them to leave a few guys around even in the middle of what is a serious attack on their clubhouse.

  I look back at the smoke for a second. It’s a signal you’d have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to catch.

  Gunney did good.

  Right now, I know that some of my brothers are scattering, leading every Jackal on a chase throughout the city. After blowing up a car in front of their clubhouse, that is. The whole of Salem’s going to be a mess — cops and emergency services swarming the burning clubhouse, and outlaws whipping through the streets.

  Until the couple Kings who set off the bomb lead the Jackals to the spot outside of town where the rest of my brothers are waiting, ready to rain hell on these sons of bitches.

  I peer through the window.

  It’s a small living room. A ratty couch that looks like it’s held together by mold and duct tape. A flat-screen TV — new, large, and expensive looking — because any sort of guard duty without entertainment is punishment. Some landscape pictures on the walls that look like they were left by whatever poor family lived in this house before it fell into disrepair and was taken over by the Jackals.

  And, in the corner, there’s Jake.

  He’s tied to a chair, gagged, and crying.

  The tears, the anguish on his face, and the cries that are hardly muffled by the gag in his mouth, rip me apart inside.

  I want to run to him.

  He might not be my son, but he’s one of the few rays of light in the darkness that’s been my life ever since I got out of the service. That kid is one of the strongest motivations I have to get my life together. I want to see him grow up. I want to be there and teach him to ride his first bike. Someday, I want to call him my son.

  Those two bastards standing guard over Jake — and a few other heavy crates sitting out in the open in the living room of this piece of shit house — don’t know it yet, but they’re probably some of the few surviving members of their crew.

  Not that either of them have much time left.

  They’ve hurt Jake. They’re going to die.

  I watch for my opening.

  This isn’t going to be easy.

  If there were anyone but Jake in that chair, it’d only take two pulls of the trigger to solve my problem. But I can’t let Jake see these men die. He’s not even five years old. He should have years of innocence ahead of him.

  I catch his eye through the window. Just his. The two Jackals are busy with their eyes on the front door.

  He pauses for just a hair’s breath of a second. Then his eyes go wide as saucers.

  Jake recognizes me.

  And fuck, if that kid isn’t smart as hell, because he isn’t giving a damn thing away. But there’s a look in his eyes of fear and desperation. He’s seeing me, and he’s trying to be strong, but I know that, more than anything, he is terrified right now.

  I motion for him to scream and cry. To go nuts.

  I want him to make the kind of scene that only a young child can. The kind of screaming, ear-destroying tantrum that makes every person in a grocery store turn side-eye at a distraught parent. The kind of tantrum that’ll make these Jackals shove him in another room.

  And he does it.

  What a damn good kid.

  The kid has the kind of pipes on him that’d put Roger Daltrey to shame. The wailing, warbling, half-muffled cries he lets out penetrate his gag like a hot knife through butter and feel like nail-files being run up my spine.

  The Jackals last for just ten seconds before one of them hefts Jake up and carries him to the back bedroom. He returns and shares a relieved look with the other Jackal. I wait a moment, mark their positions in my mind.

  This has to go perfect.

  Mistakes are costly and, though I don’t give a shit about my own life, that boy in that other room means more to me than anything. He has a whole bright future ahead of him, and, even if it costs me my life, I’m going to get it to him.

  I creep to the back door.

  Gun ready. Heart steady.

  It’s been too long since I’ve done this ugly sort of thing.

  I pause and shut my eyes for a moment. What comes next is muscle memory, something ingrained into my body through years of training and brutal deployment, years of raids, ambushes, and just plain old fucking firefights. My time in the service left me with scars and battle wounds to my very soul, but, without it, I wouldn’t stand a chance in what I’m about to do.

  I throw my whole body into the first kick against the door. Every single fucking pound.

  Snap.

  It rips back on its hinges and breaks like kindling beneath my heel.

  I let out a roar as I step through the threshold. A feral scream that comes from that spot deep in my gut that’s filled with never-ending burning rage.

  One shot. One kill.

  One of the Jackals stumbles backwards as the back of his head blows open and sprays viscera all over the wall behind him. He has this shocked look on his face, his mouth gaping open just beneath the hole I blow right in the bridge of his nose.

  I don’t think I’ve seen eyes get as wide as his.

  This wicked one’s going to his grave looking like a coward.

  I shift. One smooth turn. Take aim at the next one. He’s steps away and already has his gun up. Fuck.

  There’s a flash. Smoke.

  Crack.

  Pain courses through my body and blood sprays thick from a hole in my shoulder. Warm crimson slithers a winding track down my back. I drop my gun as agony overwhelms my hand.

  I start to scream, then bite my damn tongue.

  Jake doesn’t need to hear this.

  The air’s so thick with the smell of my blood that I can taste the metal.

  Fuck it.

  This isn’t the place where I die.

  I can draw my knife faster than this cunt can shit himself.

  I charge. There’s this startled look on his face that’d be comical if one of us weren’t about to die. Our bodies crash together and he raises his hands to stop my blade. But I keep my knife sharp and it pierces right through one of his palms. There’s a slight shudder as the blade skitters past the bones in his hand.

  Screaming, he pushes back. He belts me across the jaw as I withdraw my knife from his wounded hand.

  He reaches out and takes hold of my wrist, trying to wrench the knife away from me.

  My wounded shoulder screams at me — bone grinds against bone as my ruined joints try to find leverage. With my good hand, I take my thumb and jab it right in his eye. No hesitation. I’m not fucking gentle and the jelly-like orb gives and collapses beneath my thumb. It bursts and warm liquid sprays from his socket.

  His grip releases and he clutches at his eye.

  This is my opening — I hit him like a butcher breaking down a hunk of meat; swift, methodical, three quick cuts is all it takes to silence him.

  My chest is heaving with pain and exhaustion as I stand just outside the door to where Jake’s being held. But I can’t go in looking like this.

  I wipe my hands and knife clean on the Jackal’s dead body. I strip off my bloody shirt and wrap it around my bullet wound to try and staunch the bleeding. The last thing I want is for Jake to see me looking like a horror show.

  After a quick wipe-down and bandaging, I open the door and force a smile on my face.

  There he is.

  Still tied to the chair and tears glistening at the corners of his very-wide eyes.

  “Hey there, champ,” I say in my calmest, friendliest voice. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  I untie him and he sits there, unmoving, staring. In shock, probably.

  I get down to his level. I look him in the eyes and I smile.

  “Hey, Jake, everything’s going to be fine, but I’m going to need you to be brave for me, ok? You’re mom’s outsi
de and I’m going to take you to her. Can you be strong for me and your mom?”

  He nods once.

  I kneel down, pick him up and put him over my good shoulder.

  “Cover your eyes. Keep them like that till I tell you otherwise, alright Jake?”

  I wait until he’s got them covered before I step out of the room. I go quick — the last thing I want is his curiosity getting the better of him and him seeing something that can’t be taken back. I race out of the stash house, stopping only to grab my gun off the bloody floor.

  Outside, it’s half a block to my bike. And Selena.

  Arms wide, eyes bright, she’s smiling with everything she has.

  Lord above, she’s beautiful.

  With Jake over my shoulder, I run the remaining distance to her.

  “Oh my god,” she says over and over as I set her son in front of her. “Jake, why are you covering your eyes?”

  “You can look around now,” I say to him. The kid uncovers his eyes and beams in the kind of way that lights me up inside just looking at him. “It got a little rough in there. There were some things he should see.”

  “Thank you, Jarrett,” she says, tears welling in her eyes as she kneels down and envelopes her son in a hug.

  Thunder rumbles in the distance. Selena and I trade worried looks. More bikers.

  “Get Jake out of here,” I tell her, handing over my keys.

  “What the hell are you saying, Jarrett?”

  “I’m too fu — sorry, Jake, cover your ears — I’m too fucked up to ride, much less with you and Jake on the bike behind me. You take my ride and get the hell out of here.”

  She stares at me for a second, and the happiness slowly drains from her face as she realizes what I’m telling her.

  “Jake, keep your ears covered, honey,” she says to her kid, before getting up and getting right in my face. “I’m not fucking losing you. I love you, Jarrett. So stop trying to prove how big your dick is by staying here.”

  “Listen, I’m not fucking around here. You need to run — now — because I did not just take a bullet in the shoulder and pull Jake out of a fucking drug house just to die arguing with you on the sidewalk.”