Two lookout towers stand idle on either side of the building, and I guess that’s on purpose. Ambushes generally only work if you have the element of surprise. From the outside, it looks like the place is derelict, but once Caz maneuvers his car inside the space, it’s like Armageddon on steroids.
There must be close to one hundred men here, all lined up in rows, wearing matching black combat pants, boots, and black leather jackets. Every man is clasping a gun, mostly machine guns, from what I can see, and sporting killer expressions. The amount of testosterone in the air is enough to light a bonfire.
Behind them is a myriad of bikes, cars, and trucks, and Caz parks his car at the end beside an armored truck. It’s open at the rear and weighted down with boxes of weapons and bullets. There’s a small door at the far righthand side of the structure, but other than that, the entire space is open plan.
“Grab me that vest,” Caz says to Galen.
Galen hands him a Kevlar, which he promptly thrusts at me. “Saint says you’re to wear this.”
Galen mutters under his breath, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.
I put up no argument because only a dummy protests when someone is trying to keep them alive. Saint’s thoughtfulness stabs at the walls around my heart, threatening to pull them all down. I waste no time putting the vest on, securing my belt over it. I was cursing my lack of forethought earlier when it occurred to me that I needed my bulletproof vest. I keep it up at the cabin, because I’ve never actually needed it before, and I was always afraid Mom would find it and it’d invite questions.
I make a mental note to bring it home with me the next time I’m up there.
“Keep your hood up,” Caz says, when I’m ready to go, “and your head down. Don’t draw attention to yourself, and keep behind us where you’re hidden. Saint doesn’t want Sinner to know you’re here.”
“Doubt the yoga pants will help,” the jerk in the back seat says because he just can’t stop being a pain in my ass. He’s been pricklier than a hedgehog in heat this week and back to hating me with his usual vigor.
“Galen,” Caz snaps. “Zip it.”
We get out, and I do as Caz says, keeping my hood up, my head down, and staying behind them. It helps that I’m tall for a girl, but I hate to admit that Galen is right. Everyone else is wearing the same battle attire, so I stick out in my yoga pants and hoodie combo, and the lack of leather jacket pins me as an automatic outsider, but there’s nothing I can do about that now.
We stop at the armored van, and the guy in charge hands Caz some rifles, doing a double take when he spots me. “She’s with Saint,” Caz confirms in a low voice. “And we want to keep it on the down low.”
“Sinner know?”
“Yes,” Caz lies. “He’s the one that requested the low profile.”
The guy nods. “You know how to shoot, sweetheart?”
I bob my head in confirmation, and he offers me a standard rifle. I notice some AK47s and M14s in the back, and I jerk my head toward them. “I’d prefer one of those. I’ve used both in training.”
Galen and Caz turn and stare at me with shock, a little disbelief, and slight awe although the awe is mostly on Caz’s side. If anything, Galen looks even more suspicious of me now. The man looks amused. “How about you start with this,” he says, shoving the standard machine gun at me.
I shrug, not willing to start World War Three, slinging the gun over my shoulder and motioning to the guys to move.
Caz keeps sneaking glances at me as we walk until Galen nudges him in the ribs. He’s probably wondering who exactly I am, and if I had to guess, I’d say Caz is hard as a rock in his pants.
Facing forward, he walks us behind the last row of armed men. It seems the men are lined up in order of seniority with the senior crew members at the front and the junior members at the rear. Caz guides us to the end and up a few rows, stopping when we reach Theo and Saint. Both are wearing the same attire as everyone else, staring straight ahead with determination on their faces. They move sideways, and Caz nudges me in beside Saint. Neither of them looks at me, and I don’t look at them either, looking dead ahead, showing no emotion on my face as I ready my weapon and prepare for battle. Caz stands beside me with Galen at the end. Galen leans forward, staring down the line, drilling a hole in the side of Saint’s head, waiting for him to acknowledge him. Saint warns him to back down with one scathing look which reminds him who’s in control.
“Heads-up!” Sinner shouts, entering the space from the rear door. “ETA in four minutes.” He rubs his hands in glee as he stalks across the space with a swagger only genuine assholes inherit from birth. “Let’s show these bastards that The Sainthood rules the world!” he shouts, and a chorus of lusty whoops and hollers echoes around the cavernous space.
Saint brushes his fingers against my hand, and I subtly turn to look at him. “You got this?”
“I got this.”
He nods before whispering, “Now, the real battle commences.”
CHAPTER 33
THE RUMBLE OF approaching vehicles signals the arrival of The Arrows. Anticipation is pungent in the air as we wait to strike. Nobody moves inside the warehouse, and I’m afraid to even breathe. When The Arrows push up the shutters at the front of the building, they get the surprise of their lives. The Sainthood opens fire instantly, and it quickly becomes a bloodbath.
The men surge forward, pushing their enemy back out into the field, and the battle turns vicious as most of them lower their weapons and start fighting with their fists. Saint cautions me with his eyes as we step outside, but I don’t need the warning.
I stay back, flattening my spine against the wall, as they throw themselves into the melee. Discreetly, I pull my cell out of the pocket of my hoodie, turn it on, and start recording. I get a couple minutes of footage, enough to confirm what’s going down and implicate the main players, and then, I switch it off and put it away. I can’t risk filming for long because someone might see, and it could get me in a lot of trouble.
My eyes scan the field from left to right, lingering on the guys as they beat the enemy to a bloody pulp. They plow through their opponents, slamming their fists into faces, kicking and punching body parts, until bodies are lining the ground at their feet.
There’s a violent elegance to the way they take their enemies down.
Galen slams the butt of his gun into some guy’s face, barely breaking a sweat or blinking an eye as blood sprays everywhere. Caz flattens guys with a single powerful punch. I watch Saint snap some guy’s neck like it’s an everyday occurrence, and maybe it is, while Theo surprises me the most, fighting with skill and precision, using his full body to attack the guys lunging at him. He’s a target because he’s not quite as ripped as the others, but he is clearly no stranger to fighting.
I find it weird they’ve all put down their weapons to fight with their bare hands, but I’ve long since given up trying to understand the male brain.
A bunch of dead bodies litters the space directly in front of the warehouse, initial casualties of the ambush, and the ground is awash with blood. I remind myself all these guys have done tons of illegal shit and their deaths are no loss to the world.
The Sainthood is decimating The Arrows, and with their superior numbers, it seems likely they’ll be the obvious victors.
Until more assholes arrive a few minutes later.
I push off the wall, cursing as I watch another forty or fifty people approaching. They rush forward, shouting and roaring as they immediately join forces with The Arrows.
Sinner barks out orders as he whips out a handgun and starts popping off shots left and right.
“What the hell?” I mumble to myself when I spot The Bulls in the midst of the enemy crew, flanked by Finn, Parker, and a couple of other idiots from school.
What the fuck is going on?
The Bulls don’t hold back, clearly favoring firepower over fists as they shoot at members of The Sainthood, firing a stream of bullets, one after the other—
bang, bang, bang, pop, pop, pop—like they’re playing Call of Duty.
Shit.
Things are seriously fucked up, and now, the odds have switched, and it looks like I might be on the losing team.
At that moment, my eyes lock on Darrow. He has one of the senior members of the Saints in a headlock and I watch as he slits his throat from ear to ear in one slow motion, his gaze burning with hatred as he glares at me.
Fuck!
My mind whirls as I envision how things are going to go down, and I know I need to do something.
I race into the warehouse, grab an AK47 and dash toward the side door, running as fast as my legs will carry me. I yank the door open, glancing at the stairs leading to the basement, as I jog across the small landing, pushing through the exit door, and go outside. The lookout tower is about one hundred feet in front of me, and I sprint toward it without hesitation.
Just as my foot reaches the bottom of the ladder, I’m yanked back by my hair and spun around.
Caught off guard, the AK47 flies off my shoulder, and I faceplant the ground. Rough gravel grazes my cheek, and I wince as pain rattles my bones. But my survival instincts are strong, and I jump to my feet, whirling around and instantly ducking down to avoid Parker’s clenched fist.
“You’re going to die, bitch, and that crown will be mine.” She points a Glock at my face, her finger curling around the trigger.
“Not fucking likely.” I kick her shin and crouch down, sideswiping her legs with a low-flying sweep. She goes down hard, arms and legs flailing about, as she loses her balance. The gun flies out of her hand when she falls forward. I jump aside as she crashes to the ground, snatching the Glock up. I fist my free hand in her shirt, lifting her up and turning her around. She moans and whimpers as she falls flat on her back this time, and I jump on top of her, straddling her waist as I press the Glock into her forehead. “Now, let’s see who’s going to die.”
“Don’t do it,” a voice calls out behind me, and I turn my head slowly around.
Sweat mixes with blood on Theo’s face as he approaches. “You kill her and you’re never coming back from that.”
“Why do you care about this bitch?”
“I don’t. I care about you.” He stops beside me, towering over both of us, pleading with his eyes.
“He’s right,” Parker sobs. “Let me go, and we’ll call it even.”
I press the muzzle harder to her brow, and she starts full-on crying. “My friend is lying in a hospital bed in a coma because of you! We’re not close to even!” I roar.
Sounds of battle continue in the background, and Theo keeps his eyes peeled, his gun raised and moving left to right as he scopes the area, ready to nuke any threat. I’ve never seen this side to him before, and it’s hot as fuck even if my thought is inappropriate considering the situation.
“I can give you more intel!” Parker cries, desperation oozing from her pores.
I dig the muzzle into her forehead as I move forward, sitting down on her chest and compressing her air supply. “Talk!” I hiss.
Theo moves back a few steps, retrieving the AK47 and slinging it over his shoulder.
“Finn made a deal with Darrow,” she pants, “and they approached The Bulls together with satellite footage confirming it was you who killed McKenzie. They won’t stop until you’re dead.”
“Impossible,” Theo says, shaking his head. “I took care of that evidence.”
“Well, they got their hands on it,” she rasps. Her wide, terrorized eyes pierce mine. “Can I go now?”
Theo and I exchange a look and share a silent agreement.
I get up off her, brushing dirt from my pants, while I keep the gun trained on her. She scrambles to her feet, and when she’s fully upright, staring me straight in the eye, I shoot her in the head at close range.
The light goes out in her eyes instantly, and she falls to the ground on her back with a thud.
“I was going to do that,” Theo quietly says, his voice radiating sadness.
“We both know that justice was mine. On behalf of Sariah.”
His Adam’s apple bobs as he holds the AK47 in his hands. “You know how to use this?” I nod. “Okay, let’s go. I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. The guys can’t even get back to the warehouse to grab more guns.”
“I’m going up,” I say, pointing at the lookout tower. “Better vantage point from up there.”
“You always were smart under pressure.” He smiles. “C’mon.”
I climb the ladder as fast as I can with Theo keeping pace behind me. When we reach the top, I settle into position on my knees with the gun on my shoulder. Using the scope, I home in on the guys and get ready. With a steady hand, I take out their opponents, one at a time.
They startle, looking around, no doubt wondering what the fuck is going on, and I see the moment Saint notices me, his eyes squinting in this direction.
Theo whistles. “Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Obviously.” He clears his throat, and I resume scanning the field, looking for more targets.
I locate Sinner, slashing at a guy with a machete, and I’m sorely tempted to kill him. He wouldn’t even see it coming.
“You can’t go there,” Theo softly says. “I understand the temptation, but it’ll only bring a world of hurt down on you and your mom. He’s not just the president of the Prestwick and Lowell chapters. He’s president of the entire organization. You kill him and you sign your own death warrant. Don’t give him that.”
I hate that he’s right. I’m no martyr. Acting in a reckless manner would go against everything Dad tried to achieve. He wanted me to know how to protect myself, and he fought to try to give me back my life. Killing Sinner, and thereby sentencing me and Mom to death, will mean he died in vain. I won’t dishonor his memory in that way, so, while it’s hard to train the gun in another direction, I do.
Theo sighs in relief, squeezing my free shoulder in a show of support. “Don’t go for the obvious targets,” he suggests, keeping watch behind me. “No gang leaders because you’re already in enough shit. Just take out a few more randoms. They’ll run off scared.”
I do as he says, and it’s not long before the enemy disperses, afraid of being taken out by sniper fire.
When we’re sure it’s safe, when all the enemy vehicles are gone, we climb down and head around the front of the building to rendezvous with the others.
Saint runs toward us the instant he sees me with Caz following at his heels. I scan them from head to toe, checking for injuries, but apart from a gash on Caz’s arm and a few bruises and cuts on both their faces, they are fine. Caz’s injury, although bloody, seems shallow and not life threatening although he’ll probably need a few stitches.
“Where’s Galen?” Theo asks.
Saint shrugs, gripping my arm. “Get her out of here now,” he barks. “Quick, before—”
“There you are, Harlow,” Sinner says, materializing behind Saint like a creepy monster crawling out of the shadows. He walks around his son to me, sliding his arm around my shoulders. The vein in Saint’s neck visibly pulses, but otherwise, he looks perfectly composed. “We need to have a little chat.” Sinner squeezes my shoulder in a bone-crushing embrace. “Follow me.”
We walk silently behind Sinner as he enters the warehouse and stalks across the room, barely pausing to survey the devastation around him. The surviving men are cleaning up the mess. Piling dead bodies in a truck and storing blood-soaked weapons in boxes. A makeshift first aid area has been set up at the back of the space, and a few women tend to men with injuries. I’ve no idea where they came from or who they are, but I’m assuming they are girlfriends or wives or trusted associates.
Theo’s fingers fly across the keypad of his cell as he messages someone. Caz cracks his knuckles, a scowl marring his handsome face. Saint places his hand on my lower back as we walk toward the door that leads to the b
asement. “I won’t let him hurt you,” he whispers, stepping back as Sinner glances over his shoulder, stabbing Saint with a poisonous look.
I’m remarkably calm as I’m led downstairs to what I’m guessing is their main interrogation room. The floor is gross with evidence of dried blood and other DNA staining the concrete despite the drains on either side which I presume are used to wash away confirmation of their crimes. It seems they’ve used this room recently and haven’t had the time to properly clean up yet.
I gag over the noxious smell, almost puking. It’s a mix of stale piss, coppery blood, vomit, sweat, tobacco smoke, fear, and regret. I don’t make a sound as I’m shoved into the only chair in the middle of the space. Not even when my sneakers land in a puddle at my feet. I’m guessing it’s either piss or blood, and I’m doubting anything good happened to the previous person in this chair.
A silver table, the type you see in a hospital or a morgue, rests off to one side. Saint, Caz, and Theo stand just off to the left, working hard to mask their concern, while Sinner and three men I’ve never met before stand directly in front of me. One of them, a scary dude with a shaved head and tattoos halfway up his face, secures my arms and legs to the chair.
“That was a very impressive display out there,” Sinner says, a brief flash of admiration appearing on his face. “I underestimated how well that bastard Trey prepared you.”
I hold my chin up, grinding my teeth to the molars, saying nothing even though I want to rage at him for speaking about my father like that. But I won’t give him the satisfaction, and it’s a known fact Neo Lennox will never say a good word about Trey Westbrook.
A fourth unfamiliar man enters the room, carrying another chair. He sets it down, and Sinner straddles it so he’s facing me, grinning maliciously like the crazy, evil fucker he is.
“Tell me, princess.” He smirks, knowing he’s riling up the guys. “When did you figure it out?”
The Sainthood : A Dark High School Romance (The Complete Series) Page 28
