“Jigsaw puzzles, though? Geez, that’s like a grandma’s idea of fun. They’re fine. All they want to do is play those video game things—Nintendo DSs, by the way.” His grin was decidedly, slappably, condescending, but she forbore.
She wanted the errands to be over. She felt like shit. Apparently, passing out and being sick in the morning was a real thing, and she had it like gangbusters. She’d already bent twice over a toilet in the store’s restroom. Being cooped up in the clubhouse for days wasn’t helping. And then, this morning, they were out of almost everything, and she couldn’t even wait until she felt better to head to the store. Isaac had left early with most of the Horde. Feeling ill and petulant, she hadn’t called to tell him she and Badger were going out. The only reason she had Badge with her was that he’d caught her on her way and asked what it was she had against him, trying to get him killed so often.
So here she was, in the Walmart Megacenter or whatever they called it, getting teased by a skinny, pimply kid because she’d thought buying jigsaw puzzles would keep the six kids trapped in the lockdown happy.
“Fine. Fuck you. Get the toilet paper, and let’s just go.” She leaned on her shopping cart as another woozy wave came over her. Being pregnant sucked ass.
“You need to sit down again?” Badger sounded deeply worried. Probably less about her actual well being and more about what Isaac would do to him if she passed out in the middle of Walmart and conked her head.
“I’m fine, asshole. Get the stuff. I want to get out of here.” It was almost an hour drive back to the clubhouse. Why she was in such a rush to get back to that increasingly foul-smelling prison, she had no idea, except that she wanted to lie down. On the increasingly medieval fold-out sofa. At least she could get Pip cuddles.
Twenty minutes later, she walked their empty carts to a parking lot corral while Badger secured their purchases in the back of Isaac’s truck. On her way back, she was swept up in a wave of déjà vu, brought on as she remembered Isaac doing the same thing in Springfield, weeks ago now, on the day that Will Keller was killed.
Out of the periphery of her vision, she saw the blacked-out van driving toward Isaac’s truck. It took a couple of beats for her to understand her sense of foreboding and suspicion, and by then two things were true: the van had pulled in alongside their truck, and she had made it as far as the tailgate.
She reached for her bag, where her Sig was. But her bag was on the passenger seat, where’d she’d left it as she decided at the last minute to help Badger out with the carts.
Badger was squatting inside the truck bed, tightening down a tie. The side door of the van slid open, just as Lilli called out, “Badge! Get down!”
Instead of down, he popped up, searching for her. There was a low but clear and sickeningly familiar “pop,” and Badge went down, shot by a silenced handgun.
The shooter came out of the van—a well-built black man with short dreads. With no other choice, Lilli turned and ran, intending to use the cars in the lot for cover. Without her bag, she had no phone, no weapon, nothing. All she could use was the open, public space. But before she could get to the next car, she was on the ground, her right shoulder singing with pain.
Almost at once, the world went sideways and spun, warping and wending. Sound seemed stretched. She watched feet running up to her, and then she was being picked up. The pain in her shoulder was wrong, somehow. All of this was wrong.
Her last thought as a shimmery black curtain came down on her consciousness was, “They fucking tranq’d—”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Isaac rode toward Signal Bend with Show at his flank, and Len, Bart and Havoc rolling behind. They’d met Kenyon Berry at a secure location, off the grid. St. Louis was too hot for the Horde right now, but he’d needed to talk to Kenyon.
Kenyon was dealing with his own shit. The Horde’s payback on the Northsiders and Ellis, the day of the attacks on Show’s family and Lilli, had gone far too quietly. They’d been expected, and Kenyon had been the one to give Isaac the address of the stash house they’d fired. It had shaken Isaac hard to think that Kenyon had set him up. He hadn’t. Kenyon had a kink in his own line, one much worse than the Horde’s little college princess. Kenyon’s right hand, Marcus Grant, had given him that address. Marcus had flipped for Ellis.
He’d been dealt with, permanently, but the Underdawgs were in disarray. Marcus had flipped others, and now Kenyon trusted no one in his organization. Isaac had met a weary, watchful man at that off-the-grid location. Kenyon had come alone, unprotected, because he felt safer alone than out in the country with any of his crew.
Ellis had now gained one huge victory: he’d broken the Underdawgs, the only competition in the St. Louis metro area for his own lackeys, the Northside Knights. With that win, he’d quashed the Horde’s most powerful ally, put the Signal Bend meth business on life support, and made St. Louis a fucking deadly place for a man wearing the Flaming Mane patch.
They were losing. Their every gambit failed. Torturing and killing Marissa Halyard had served only to make Ellis take them more seriously as a threat instead of a nuisance. Lilli’s idea to use hackers had been their best shot. Rick and Bart had managed to hack in close, but they’d been tagged and kicked before they could accomplish anything. They had information, lots of information, but they couldn’t use any of it. They’d almost gotten all the way to his money. They knew where he lived. They knew his family, his habits. But he and his family were all protected as if every one of them was the fucking President of the United States. Isaac had briefly considered suggesting a sniper assassination, but Lilli was the only one they had with anything like that kind of skill, and no fucking way was that going to happen.
Everything they’d learned reinforced what Isaac had been told right off the bat and repeatedly since: Ellis was untouchable. He was too powerful, too connected, too careful. They could not beat him. Now, Isaac believed it.
The question weighing on him now was how he’d break it to the town. All his speechifying and rah-rah bullshit, telling them how they were the ones who’d stayed, so they were the ones who were strong—it was nothing but vapor. Now he had to tell them the hard truth: pack up and go, or make what peace with Ellis they could. They could not fight.
Isaac would not fight. Five days ago, he would have Bravehearted the fucker, ready to fight to the last man, exhorting these poor folk to stand with him. But Lilli was pregnant. It changed everything. He had to get his family out of this fucking mess. He couldn’t fight a futile war and face a certain death knowing that their child had taken root inside her. He wouldn’t.
Tonight, with their nearest and dearest packed into the rooms around them, the Horde would sit around their table, and Isaac would argue for conceding the fight. His read of his brothers was that the vote would be split but would go his way. Tomorrow, he’d tell the town. He was sure that soon thereafter, Signal Bend would be a ghost town, and the Night Horde MC a memory.
His heart was lead in his chest.
His burner went off in his pocket, and, without pulling up his bike, he reached for it and answered.
It was Dan. He, C.J., and Vic were on duty in town. “Boss, we got trouble.” Isaac heard gunfire in the background, and pulled his bike into the first gravel drive. The rest of the riders followed suit.
“What’s up, brother?”
“It’s like the fucking O.K. Corral or some shit, Isaac. Five, maybe six SUVs rolled down Main Street and started shooting. People started shooting back, and they pulled up and puked out a lot of guys from those trucks. Now, man, I ain’t jokin’. We got a Wild West situation.” There was a burst of automatic gunfire. “Except with much bigger guns.”
“Fuck! We whole?”
“For now, I think. Don’t know if anybody got hurt in the shops, but the club’s accounted for so far. We need help.”
“We’re comin’, brother. Hold on.”
He closed the phone and told Show, Len, Bart, and Havoc what was going on. Len asked, “What about the Sc
orps? Ain’t we getting backup from them?”
“Not due until late tonight. I’ll call Tug and get his ETA. Fuck. Get movin’. I’ll catch up. I’ll call Dom, too—stop at the clubhouse and load up. We can’t fight this with what we’re carrying.” Len, Bart and Havoc fired up their bikes again, and Isaac shouted, “WATCH YOUR BACK!” Havoc waved, and they peeled out.
Show sat, straddling his bike. Isaac glared at him. “Get outta here, Show. I’m right behind you after I talk to Tug and Dom.”
Show stood pat. “Not leaving you alone. Make your calls.”
Isaac didn’t have time to argue. First, he called the clubhouse and talked to Dom, whom he’d left in charge when he’d sent the Horde out in the morning. After he told him to get guns ready for the four of them to grab, and to lock down hard and pull everyone back from the Hall, the only space with windows, he ended that call and contacted Tug, the leader of the crew of five the Scorpions was sending from their nearest charter in Alabama. They were still four hours out, even if they pushed it.
~oOo~
On their way through the clubhouse gate, Isaac and Show passed Len, Bart, and Havoc heading back out. Dom was waiting for them, a crate of guns on the ground at his feet. As they loaded up, Isaac asked, “Where’s my old lady?”
“She and Badger went for supplies. Couple hours ago.”
Good. She was clear of this mess, then. He was pissed she didn’t tell him she was going, but he was glad she was away. “Call Badge, tell him to keep her away until he hears from me or Show.”
“Will do.” Dom picked up the empty crate and went back into the clubhouse.
Isaac turned to Show. “You ready, brother?”
“Nothing to lose.” Show fired up his bike. Isaac did as well, and they rode out toward the center of town, the gates of their compound closing behind them.
Dan was right. It was a scene straight out of the nineteenth century, except the technology was different. As they approached the main drag of Main Street shops, Isaac saw that most of the windows had been shot out. There were cars parked at forty-five-degree angles in front of the shops. Not many; it was a weekday, traffic was always light, and most of the shops were closed up this week, anyway, so they were mostly the cars of the shopkeepers. But several had taken heavy damage. Six vans and SUVs, all black and blacked out, were parked as if randomly sown down the middle of the street. These guys—Isaac had to assume they were Northsiders on a job for Ellis—hadn’t come in to do a drive-by. They were here to kill townspeople. Isaac had no idea if they’d yet succeeded.
Three men came around the nearest black SUV and started shooting; Isaac and Show veered off the street into an alley and dismounted as quickly as they could. Both had AKs strapped to their backs, holsters under each arm, and knives tied to their legs. They had hunting rifles, too. Country weapons, with which they were most comfortable.
Full-out war had come to Signal Bend.
They ran up to the building and flattened themselves against the wall. Just as Isaac turned to Show to tell him they needed to move forward, the back door of the shop on the other side of the wall opened, and Diane Lindel, the shop owner, leaned out, a double-barreled shotgun in her hands. “In here!,” she whisper-shouted, and Isaac and Show ducked in.
Once in the dim, crowded back room, Isaac looked back at Diane. She was a solid woman, maybe fifty years old, with short, iron-grey hair. A sensible, no-bullshit kind of woman. “What’s the story, Diane?”
She answered right away, looking up into Isaac’s eyes. More than a foot shorter than he, she carried herself like she was perfectly confident in her ability to kick even his ass if it came to it. “Dan and C.J. are holed up across the street in the ice cream shop. Seven people of use with them. We’re in phone contact—everyone on this side of the street grouped here. He said you were coming, told us to sit tight. You told us to be armed and ready, and we all are. There’s a few more guns in my backroom and plenty of ammo.” She cast a skeptical eye at the AKs Isaac and Show were sporting. “Not for those, but for the rest, we got ammo. You tell us what you want us to do, Ike. We’re together on this.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
With a brusque nod, Diane led them through the back room into her shop—one of the several businesses selling used knickknacks and household goods on Main Street. Sitting in a line along the counter and back wall were ten people, seven of them armed. Three looked like they had been innocent, out-of-town shoppers, now caught up in Signal Bend’s drama. They were obviously terrified and confused.
But the seven were townspeople, and they did not look defeated. They looked angry, resolute. And they were waiting for him to lead them.
Ten people in Diane’s shop who would fight, including Isaac and Show. Nine people in the ice cream shop, including Dan and Ceej. Where were Len, Bart, and Havoc?
Addressing the whole room, Isaac asked, “Anybody seen Len? And how many are out there?”
Martin Fosse, the mayor, stood up. “Those SUVs were full. Six of them, rolling into town like some kind of military caravan. I’d say thirty in all. And I think those trucks are armored or something. Not taking damage like the other cars out there. I saw three other Horde riding in—didn’t see who, but they went around the other side. I think they must be across the street somewhere.”
Thirty? The Northsiders were big, but not that big. They had help. Of course they did. Ellis’s resources were apparently limitless, and he’d taken his time planning this attack.
Show, who’d gone up to the blown-out front window and surveyed the situation, came back now and said, “Quiet out there now, but I see maybe two dozen men at cover. What about outside town? Any word of trouble?”
Fosse shook his head. “This looks like their stand right here.” The mayor looked at Isaac. “This is bad, Ike.”
No shit. Isaac’s head was pounding. It was more than he had any idea how to deal with. He pulled his phone and dialed Len. It took three tries to get the call through.
When it finally did, his SAA picked up immediately and answered in a whisper, “Boss! You whole?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Bart took fire, clipped his shoulder and took his bike out. We got him in cover. Hav and me are in the alley, south side of Main.”
“We’re right across the street, in the Treasure House. Dan and Ceej are up at the ice cream shop. Can you get to them?”
Len was quiet, and Isaac knew he was planning the move. “Think so. Gotta get Bart movin’ with us, but it’s quiet now, so we’ll go.”
“Careful, brother. We got maybe thirty bad guys walking around with big fucking guns. Call me when you’re there.”
“Yep.”
Isaac ended that call and dialed Dan. That call went through on the first try. When he answered, Isaac first asked, “Vic with you?”
“No. Ain’t been able to raise him for half an hour. He was going down the row, sending people up here. Went alone. He’s down, gotta be.”
Fuck. Two brothers down, at least wounded, maybe worse. Jesus fucking Christ. “Dammit. Okay. I hear you’ve got nine people over there, seven ready to fight?”
“Yeah. Nine fighters, including me and Ceej.”
“Look out for Len and Havoc, coming in from the back. They’re in the alley. They got Bart—he’s hit.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.” Then Isaac said, “Put Ceej on.” C.J. and Victor had military training. He needed their insight.
“Yeah,” C.J.’s voice was gruff and strained.
“Ceej. Brother, we need military-grade ideas here. What’s the play?”
And he had one. Isaac listened as C.J. detailed a decent plan. When he ended the call, he pulled Show aside and explained it to him. Then they brought it to the people arrayed on the floor, their hunting rifles and shotguns in hand. Except for the poor customers tucked into a corner, to a one, with grim determination, they agreed.
The plan required more patience than the Northsiders outside had, and automatic gunfire a
gain began spraying the buildings, coming into the broken windows and destroying stock. Bits of china and glass rained down and flew around, catching glints of sunlight before landing on the roughhewn floor.
Hopefully, though, people were safe enough for now. Isaac pushed Diane, Martin, and the rest back into a far corner, and then he and Show crabbed their way to the front of the store. Isaac saw Dan and C.J. up front across the street, too. Rather than use his AK, Isaac pulled his Remington rifle around and sighted it. He wanted accuracy. Patience and accuracy. Better to think of this as a hunt than a war.
He got his crosshairs on the top of one head, just showing over the hood of a Land Rover. He took a breath and fired. Through the sight, he saw the bullet shear the top of that guy’s head clean off and caught a glimpse of pink brain before the body dropped.
Show saw what he was doing and did the same. Sitting at the front window, using the sill as cover and support, they began sighting on bad guys. They got three kills and a wounding before they had to bail, as several AKs were aimed directly at Diane’s destroyed storefront. But that was four bad guys they didn’t need to fight again.
Dan and Ceej were shooting, too, until they took a hail of AK fire as well.
After that shower of bullets ended, Isaac heard what they were waiting for. The earthshaking rumble of heavy farm equipment on a paved road. The reinforcements had arrived. Massive tractors rolled down Main Street, a man with a gun standing on every one. Don Keyes led the pack, driving his biggest dozer, his brother Dave braced behind him with a rifle in each hand.
His phone in his hand, the line to Dan open, Isaac called out, “Now!” and armed townspeople came through doors, or stepped over the broken glass of display windows, and entered Main Street, shooting all the way. The Northsiders were surrounded, and the heavy machinery, especially Keyes’ dozer, was turning their own vehicles into weapons against them. Their AKs were flashy, and scary, but hard to control. Finding cover where they could, a town full of lifelong hunters took the Northsiders down with Remington rifles and Mossberg shotguns.
Behold the Stars Page 19
