by Carmen Faye
“Don’t worry,” he replied. “Stay in the clubhouse until you hear from me.”
“We will,” she nodded.
All the club women were clustered in the main room of the clubhouse, kissing their men goodbye. It had been two weeks since Ironside and Whiteshirt had mentioned to Peyton and Honey the Knights were moving back into guns. He knew Peyton had dropped a little information to a couple of her friends that the Knights were about to royally fuck the Saracens, though when he asked her about it she swore she didn’t say anything about where or how. They would know soon enough if it were Peyton or one of the other women.
“Knights! Let’s ride!” Ironside called, putting an end to the goodbyes. Ironside had called all the Knights in last night, telling them there was a big operation going down today. They were leaving a lot of their interests exposed, but he was sure if the mole passed the information, the Saracens were watching, and he wanted to make it look good.
“Don’t let them kill each other,” he teased, slapping Tinker on the back. Tinker still wasn’t at one hundred percent after being shot, so Ironside had tasked him with staying behind to protect the woman and watch the clubhouse. He wasn’t happy about it, but had accepted his assignment with a nod. As the Knights filed out, Ironside pulled Tinker aside.
“It’s all on you to keep them safe,” Ironside said solemnly. He didn’t expect any trouble or he would leave more than one man behind, but if trouble found them, Tinker had a heavy load.
“I’ve got this,” Tinker said with a grin.
Ironside grinned and slapped Tinker on the back. He knew he would give his life for any member of the club, including the women, and that was all he could ask of any man.
He strode out and mounted up. As soon as they were out of sight of the clubhouse, he would give the rest of the Knights the details of what was really going down.
***
Peyton paced in the clubhouse, unable to sit still. The last two weeks had been the best, and the worst, of her life.
The good was Ironside. After their profession of love, things had only gotten better. She had told Blaire and Sloane, the two women she was closet to in the club, that Ironside had told her he loved her. They were thrilled for her, but at the same time she could see the envy in their eyes. She suspected they’d had a taste of him in the past, and liked it.
The only down side was now Honey was a snarling bitch spoiling for a fight. They had been ignoring each other for the past several weeks, for the good of the club if nothing else, but only days after Peyton told Sloane, Honey had gotten into her face. They hadn’t come to blow, the rest of the club girls getting them separated before the name calling could devolve into actual violence, but that had only strained the relationships between the women of the club more. There had been several pushing matches, and one outright fight between the two camps, in the last week. If the Saracens problem wasn’t resolved, and soon, she and Honey, if not all the women, were going to have to go to the pit.
She smiled at the thought. Twenty-seven naked, sexy women fighting it out in a battle royal. Maybe they would cover themselves in baby oil and charge the men to watch.
While her relationship with Ironside was good, she was terrified he and the rest of the Knights were riding into trouble. The clubs had been kicking the shit out of each other for six weeks now, but to go head on at the Saracens seemed foolish to her. She’d kept her concerns, mostly, to herself, mentioning her fears only when they were alone. He had assured her everything was fine, but she knew when the shit really hit the fan, Ironside would be at the front of the line. She’d lost Melissa; she didn’t want to lose him, too.
She knew it wasn’t her fault the Knights and Saracens had gone to full-scale war, but she felt badly she hadn’t been able to give them something they could use to gut the Saracens in a single, swift, fatal blow, or uncover the mole that was helping the Saracens fuck them.
Without the brothers there to force the girls to mingle, the two factions had naturally divided, each sticking to their half of the common room. There were twenty-seven girls total, with sixteen in Peyton’s camp, the remaining eleven supporting Honey. Peyton didn’t know where Honey was, and that suited her fine. The groups got along better when Honey wasn’t around stirring the shit.
The brothers had been gone for less than an hour when Honey stepped out of Whiteshirt’s office, sauntered over to her side of the room, and sat down with a smug smile. Peyton watched, wondering what Honey was feeling so pleased about.
The doors banged open, everyone freezing in horror as Andrew Moore and ten more Saracens strode into the clubhouse as if they owned the place, their weapons out. Tinker jumped to his feet and began to draw his weapon, but he was too slow, going to the ground in a spray of blood as a pair of Saracens shot him.
Several of the women cried out in horror then rushed to Tinker’s aid.
“Nice place you have here,” Andrew said smugly as he looked around.
“What are you doing here?” Peyton demanded, her blood running cold.
“I’ve come to collect what’s mine, along with a little interest,” he said as the Saracens began to herd the women into a group.
“The Knights are going to be back any minute. If you leave now, maybe you can get away,” Peyton warned.
“Somehow I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?” Sloane demanded.
“I heard there was a truck load of guns is arriving today. We followed the Knights to take it from them. We wouldn’t want such dangerous weapons to fall in the wrong hands.”
Peyton went cold, then white hot. The mole was Sloane or Blaire. Those fucking bitches! She trusted them! She started to whirl on them, but then realized what he said and turned back to him. “Truck load of guns?”
“That’s right, all wrapped up and ready to put to use, but instead of them being used against us, I think we’ll use them against the Knights. As a bonus, since they left only one fox to guard the hen house, I thought we could spare a few men to take back something that belonged to me.”
“What are you going to do?” Sloane demanded.
“We’re going to initiate all of you as replacements for the whores the Knights took from me.” He frowned at the corner of the room and pointed. One of the men stepped away and shot the security camera.
Peyton looked around, desperate for a means of escape. How had the Saracens gotten in without tripping the alarm? A couple of the women in the back made an attempt to flee, but were quickly caught and shoved back into the group.
Peyton looked around the group. The truck comment bothered her. Either the Saracens had their information wrong or…
She noticed Honey was still standing a bit apart and didn’t look as frightened as she felt or the other women looked. She seemed pretty calm considering the Knights most hated rival had just stormed the clubhouse, killed a man in cold blood, was pointing guns at them, and had promised to press them into service as whores.
“Ironside and Whiteshirt are going to kill you for this,” she sneered, trying to put up a brave front.
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll try,” Andrew replied breezily. “Load them into the vans.”
The women were herded out and quickly loaded into three vans, ten to a van, along with three Saracens. Peyton stuck close to Honey, meekly stepping into the same van she did. She felt like a sheep among wolves as all of Honey’s supporters were in the van with her.
As the door slid shut, the women sat in the floor, staring fearfully at each other. “How did you get past the alarm? Somebody opened the gate or gave you the passcode didn’t they?” Peyton asked as the van began to move, speaking with a confidence she didn’t feel.
“None of your fucking business,” the man in back with them snarled.
She nodded. It was the answer she expected. “How did you know there was only Tinker in the clubhouse?” The man ignored her as the rest of the women began looking at each other, probably wondering what she was doing. She swallowed hard, rea
dy to play her trump card. “You know this is a trap, right?”
The man smiled. “Sure it is.”
“Well, this wasn’t, obviously, but the whole guns thing? That’s a trap. Ironside and Whiteshirt know who your mole is and set you up.”
She watched as the goon’s eyes flicked to either Honey, Ava or Isla. “If that’s true, why would you tell us?”
Peyton smiled. “Because it’s too late to stop the fucking your club is going to take, and I want to see Andrew’s face when he finds out I played him again. I swore I would kill him for what he did to Melissa. I may not get to do that, but I can at least see his face when he realizes how fucked he is.”
“Just shut the fuck up.”
“You don’t believe me? It’s Honey,” she said playing her hunch and giving the woman a kick. “Ironside told me he and Whiteshirt knew it was her right after the hit on the studio. She gave you a key. That’s how you got in without anyone knowing.”
Again the goon’s eyes again flicked to Honey as Ava and Isla looked to the woman between them in suspicion. Now Honey looked nervous.
“Stud, did you hear any of that?” the man called toward the front of the van.
“What?” Andrew asked from the passenger seat.
“Peyton is back here saying the guns are a setup.”
“She’s just a lying bitch. Ignore her.”
“That’s right. Ignore the lying bitch,” Peyton repeated loudly with a smile.
“Is it true?” Lola asked, leaning in close.
“What do you think?” Peyton replied. “How did these assholes get in? Where was Honey right after the brothers left? She didn’t look very nervous about being kidnapped and forced into sex, did she?”
“No she didn’t,” Ava said, staring at Honey. “What about it, Honey? Any idea how these fuckers got in without tripping the alarm?”
“How would I know?” Honey protested. “Don’t listen to her!”
“What were you doing in Whiteshirt’s office?” Kensey asked.
“Nothing! What is this? Why are you listening to her?”
“Because I was standing right next to you, and she’s right. You didn’t seem scared at all,” Tessa said.
“Shut up, all of you!” the man roared.
“Get the gun,” Peyton whispered then lunged across the van at Honey. “You traitorous bitch!” she snarled, grabbing Honey around the throat. The woman scrambled, getting out of the way, Tessa going for the man’s gun. Several of the women, realizing what was happening, piled on, wrestling the man to the floor.
Peyton pulled Honey forward and slammed her head against the side of the van, getting in one good shot before the driver slammed on the brakes. The sudden deceleration caused everyone to pitch forward, tumbling Peyton and Honey into the pile of flesh as the women tried to tear the gun from the goon’s grasp.
As soon as the van rocked to a stop, Peyton shoved hard, throwing Honey off of her. She was scrambling to go after her before Honey could recover when a gunshot, deafening in the van, froze everyone. She whirled to see Tessa falling back as a flower of blood stained her shirt. She started to go for the gun, but the man was closer and faster, and she froze.
“The next person who moves, dies,” Andrew snarled, his weapon pointed into the back of the van. “Drive!” he barked to the driver.
“What about Tessa?” Ava asked.
“Fuck her! Honey, get up here!”
Honey crawled through the women and slid into the passenger seat as Andrew moved to sit in the floor, his weapon out and ready. He smiled at Peyton. “You get to pick who goes first.”
“Honey,” she said immediately.
Andrew laughed. “Nice try.”
“Then, me,” she said, not wanting to hurt another woman like she did Melissa.
He smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Tempting, but no, I don’t think so. I want you to watch what I did to Melissa before I initiate you.”
She clamped her mouth shut.
He smiled again. It was going to be a good couple of days.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Ironside motioned the Knights to a stop in a commuter lot across from Cudell Commons. “Listen up,” he said as the bikes fell silent. “Here’s what really going down.”
He laid out the plan, how there were no guns, and this was all a ruse for a mole hunt. “I don’t want any heroes,” he continued. “If the Saracens bite then we’ll have accomplished our mission. Run if you can and only fight if you must. Any questions?”
“So we’re not hitting the Saracens?” Lolly asked.
“Not straight on, no. Not yet anyway. We’ve lost too many brothers already.” He could tell that didn’t go over well, but so be it. “The Saracens will get theirs, but I’m not willing to throw away more lives to do it,” he added to mollify the brothers. “Once we out the mole, then we can begin to plan how we’re going to step on their dicks.” He paused to see if there were any more question. “Let’s ride,” he rumbled when there were none.
The Knights pulled out of the parking lot, and after riding together for a distance, they split, Ironside continuing to the docks while Whiteshirt and his men turned south to Industrial Valley, a section of town where they often made exchanges when they were still running guns and drugs.
Ironside and his men rumbled to a stop by one of the huge warehouses on the docks. Cleveland was mostly a bulk shipping center where raw materials were unloaded for the forge of industry, but there was enough traffic through the St. Lawrence Seaway a few crates of contraband could easily be shipped in or out without the level of scrutiny the coastal ports received. Their colors were familiar on the docks, so nobody questioned their presence.
Ironside furtively scanned the area as he removed his helmet, but saw nothing, before leading his men into the warehouse to prepare to snap the jaws of their trap closed if the Saracens showed.
***
Whiteshirt and eleven other members of the Knights pulled into the truck rental lot and rolled to a stop. They were going to mill about a moment, and if they didn’t see anyone, they were going to rent a truck to try to flush the Saracens. He could spend $19.95 plus mileage to uncover the mole, even though he was pretty sure it was going to be Ironside that was going to be in the shit.
As he dismounted, he looked around, but saw nothing. “This way,” he said, leading the men toward the smallest of the trucks sitting on the lot, a one-ton van that looked like something you’d ship a few crates of guns in. He peeked into the back of the van, as if he was checking for cargo, then stepped back.
“Skids, come with me. The rest of you guys stand around like you’re guarding something.”
Skids and Whiteshirt went inside the office and filled out paperwork, taking the optional insurance, just in case, while chatting up the clerk and spinning a yarn about the club going to go pick up a classic Harley knucklehead.
Keys in hand, he and Skids stepped out of the office. “Ready?” Whiteshirt asked.
“I hope the fuckers do come,” Skids growled. “I’d like to get another shot at them.”
“You heard Ironside. He’s right. We don’t want this fight, not today.”
“Yeah, I heard him, but I prefer a standup fight to all this sneaking around, cloak and dagger, bullshit.”
“I’m going to take Ninety to Lorain. I hope we’ll be able to pick them up on the interstate,” Whiteshirt explained to the rest of the Knights as he approached. “If we don’t see anything, we’ll return the truck and see if Ironside had better luck with his fishing trip.”
As Skids slid behind the wheel, Whiteshirt crawled into the passenger seat, pulling his phone out as he did. “Any luck?” he asked when Ironside answered.
“Not a sign. You?”
Whiteshirt took another quick look around as Skids turned out of the parking lot. “Nothing. I rented a truck. We’re going to make a loop by the clubhouse to see if we can spot a tail.”
“Shit,” Ironside muttered. “How the fuck
do they know?”
Whiteshirt shook his head. “Don’t know, brother. Don’t know.”
“I’m going to give it another thirty minutes, then call it.”
“Yeah, same here. If we don’t see anyone by the time we get to the clubhouse I think we can say this was a bust.”
“Yeah,” Ironside growled. “Let me know when you reach the clubhouse. That’s when we’ll pull the plug.”
“You got it,” Whiteshirt said then hung up and looked at Skids. “It was worth a try, but I figured this wouldn’t—you missed the on ramp,” he said dryly as the entrance to I-90 passed. “You want me to drive?”
“Damnit,” Skids muttered slamming on the brakes. “Why can’t they put up a sign?” He started to backup, but a truck was approaching so he put the van back into gear. “I’ll go around the block.”
