by Romi Hart
Damn, she thought. There was an extra phone charger in the bedroom she should probably grab, too. With a huff, she reached for the key above her and angrily let herself back in. This was ridiculous. She was usually so organized, and now, she just couldn’t seem to keep things straight and get it together.
She marched around the bed to the other side, bending down to unplug the charger, and she went ahead and grabbed the nightlight she didn’t usually use, thinking it might be nice to have in a new place. Besides, she thought the movers would probably break it, and it was a beautiful butterfly that she really liked.
As she straightened, something heavy thudded on her back, making the air rush out of her, and she fell to her knees, the arm she had braced on the nightstand bending funny and tearing at her elbow and shoulder. She couldn’t think straight, and she didn’t have the breath to turn as another blow struck her across the neck and made her scream silently.
She fought for consciousness, but black rings appeared at the edge of her vision, threatening to close in on her.
17
One of the bikes backfiring jolted Corey out of a fitful sleep, and he scowled to himself, trying to settle back in. No, he wasn’t sleeping well, and his dreams sucked, but his muddled head would rather wade through his psyche than face the truth of his absolute loneliness and despair, especially after all the alcohol he’d ingested.
But there were two more bangs, and it ripped away the haze of unconsciousness.
Not backfires. Gunshots. What the fuck?
Screaming and thunderous footsteps echoed around him as more bullets were fired, and he flung himself out of bed, lunging for the door and grabbing his two pistols on the way. He didn’t care that he was barefoot or that he was barely dressed, having fallen asleep in his jeans and nothing more. Whatever was going down, he needed to get out there.
The club was in trouble.
He didn’t have to ask as he joined the crowd in the hallway, all the guys who had stayed the night at the clubhouse rushing around. Gil, one of his longest running friends, sidled up beside him. “Ravens,” he said, and Corey needed no further explanation. Of course, they hadn’t gotten all the Ravens on board. In fact, they knew they hadn’t even reached all of them yet. It wasn’t like they had a roster, as if this was like high school, where everyone was assigned a team and went with it.
“How many?” he asked, having to raise his voice over gun blasts and men shouting orders to each other. He kept moving, headed toward the front door to make grab a good vantage point and protect the main entry.
“I don’t know yet,” Gil shook his head.
“At least twenty.” Corey’s eyes went wide at the sound of Kira’s voice, his eyes seeking her out and finding her under a window, gun poised in her slender hands. His VP’s old lady knew how to fight, but he didn’t like her out here, and he searched for Rafe.
But he didn’t see him anywhere, and Gil, still at his side, told him, “He’s probably at the back, blocking the way.” Dammit, how could Corey expect to get Kira back to a safe room without Rafe’s help? The woman was strong willed and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Resigned to the fact that he didn’t have the time or the energy to argue, he carefully glanced out the window beside the door, scanning the horizon. But there was deep, dark cover, with clouds and no moonlight, and he couldn’t see shit. He thought he caught the bright light of guns as they shot in at least six different places.
They didn’t have any automatic weapons here, and they couldn’t waste ammunition, spraying it without aim. Besides, coming out of the clubhouse was suicide, giving the other guys the perfect shot. “Hold your fire!” he called out to his men, several of whom were ready to shoot through windows or run out of the building. They grew quieter, and he lowered his voice. “We don’t have much choice. We have to wait, let them get closer where we can see them. And we have to drop the guns, disarm them.”
“So, what, we just wait till they tear this place apart and hope that, when they come in, we can slap the guns out of their hands?” one of the men asked angrily.
“Either that or go out and get slaughtered because they can see us but we can’t see them,” Corey retorted, his head slammed with pain. He was in no mood to be questioned. He was angry that he hadn’t thought the Ravens would rally so quickly. And if they had, he’d expected them to hit the Diamond Kings first, since Dylan and his crew were the biggest offenders.
That was the answer. “Kira, get Dylan on the phone,” he clipped out. “Tell him we need a crew, now, to surround these guys so they get distracted. Then, we can go out there and take them down.”
She had reached into her pocket and was dialing before he finished, and Corey turned to Gil. “Take three men, get to the roof. Find a safe spot on each corner, and shoot to scare. We need to hold them off so they don’t try to breach the clubhouse before Dylan’s men get here.”
Gil nodded and barked out some names, the four men trotting off to the back, where there was a better chance of getting to the roof without being picked off. None of Corey’s best snipers were here, or he’d have them up on the roof with scopes, actually pinpointing these men. At the same time, it was a relief. He didn’t want to clean up dozens of bodies. That wasn’t the Devil’s Flames’ style. Dylan, on the other hand, had the stomach and the resources for that, the Kings a bit less concerned about body count if it meant victory.
Now, it was a waiting game, and he stood there, glancing out every few minutes as rounds sounded, from above and then from out by the fences. They were inside the gates, but they weren’t advancing, and that was the plan. If Dylan could block them in and catch their attention for a minute, Corey and his guys could exit the building, find cover, and trap them or shoot them.
Kira’s phone rang, and it made him jump. He’d been focused on the noises outside. She glanced at him as she answered, and then she nodded, telling Corey, “They’re here.” Just as she hung up, the rumble of bikes approached like a storm in the distance, and more shots were fired, this time with yells and clatter outside.
“Now!” Corey shouted, and he threw the door open, leading the charge as they spilled out into the night. He rushed to the line of bikes parked out beyond the building, ducking down and firing over the top of them, toward a group of men facing away. As the others joined him, and, to his chagrin, Kira knelt beside him, he called out, “Stand down, Ravens! You’re surrounded!”
A shower of bullets rained down in response, and Corey ducked, instinctively sheltering Kira with his own body. “Get off me!” she hissed, and he backed away, seeing the defiance in her eyes, even in the deep darkness. “If Rafe trusts me to take care of myself, so should you!”
Rather than argue, Corey rolled his eyes and turned back to the fray, rising and firing three times before dropping down again. As he squatted, Kira stood and shot, coming back down as a bullet narrowly missed her shoulder.
Corey cursed under his breath and had an errant thought that, luckily, Regan wasn’t here. But that led to fear that, maybe, some of these Ravens had taken note of his interest in her and attacked her apartment. There was no way Mike as one man could stand up to them, and Regan could be in trouble. He needed to get out of here and check on her, or at least call Mike and get the all clear.
He gritted his teeth, knowing he had no right to be thinking about her when dozens of his men were at risk. Still, he couldn’t help it. He’d made Regan a priority and given her his word he would keep her safe. And he couldn’t do that if he was stuck here in an unexpected attack.
Guns fired, and then there were shocked screams. “Corey! We’re good. We’ve got a surrender!” Dylan’s voice carried over the chaos that seemed to calm quickly.
“Hold your fire!” Corey called out, and slowly, with great care, he and his men emerged, moving in swiftly when no one fired to help contain the Ravens crew. As they gathered, some of the Flames bringing in more of the rogue attackers from around the property, Corey fired off a text to Mike, who s
ent back a thumbs up that everything was good. It gave Corey the relief he needed to deal with this disaster.
It didn’t look like any of his men were injured, and none of Dylan’s men had taken any gunshots. Three of the Ravens had been shot, but not with deadly force. Corey could get them quick medical care, if they were willing to cooperate. “Who’s in charge?” he asked as Kings and Flames worked to zip tie hands behind backs.
No one answered, but eyes flicked to a small man, scowling and fighting, kicking Gil, who had two other men holding the offender still. “You!” Corey called out, stepping up to him and stomping on his instep. The man cried out and nearly went down, only the men holding him keeping him on his feet. “You’re the ringleader here?”
“Go to hell,” the guy seethed through clenched teeth.
Corey punched him, watching blood gush from his nose. “You first.” He moved to the man beside him, trembling with what looked like a combination of rage and fear. “What’s your name?”
“John,” the man replied.
“And this guy, the one who just offended me and cursed me. What’s his name?”
“Milo. Milo Gomez.”
Corey blinked in surprise, his eyes darting to Dylan, who looked taken aback as well. “Gomez? As in related to the bastard who just got a couple dozen of your men put six feet under?”
“You fuckers killed my brother!” Milo shouted, lunging hard and flailing as the two men held him back.
“That was a group effort, Milo,” Dylan called. “In case you didn’t know, your brother was the closest thing to the devil on earth any of us had ever seen.”
“He was my brother!” Milo growled.
“Then maybe you should have found your own family.” Corey shook his head. “That son of a bitch had more enemies than Hitler. He deserved what he got, and you’re headed in the same direction, if you don’t back down. Is this your only crew? The only stop on your little revenge tour?”
It was John who spoke up. “No one else would join. They all said they were making deals to go elsewhere.” His eyes bounced back and forth between Corey and Dylan. “Please, I want to do the same. Milo, he said he’d kill my daughter if I didn’t come with him. Check my pistol, though. I haven’t fired a single shot.”
Dylan jerked his head, and one of the Kings took the gun, checking the clip and nodding. “It’s full, and the barrel’s cold.”
“Take him aside. We’ll work with him,” Dylan muttered, then came over to Milo. “ You, on the other hand, can’t be trusted.” He raised his voice so everyone could hear. “Those of you who came with Milo here have an option. Just like the others in your club, you can make a deal, and we’ll find places for you somewhere. You’ll have a lot of work to do to prove yourself, but we can work together. If you don’t want to cooperate, here’s a reminder of what happened to the last Gomez brother.”
In one swift move, Dylan ripped Milo out of the hands of his captors, threw him to the ground, placed a boot on his back, and fired twice into the back of his head. Corey jumped back as some of the mess splashed onto his bare feet and jeans, nearly hurling at the idea of what, aside from blood, had just gotten on his skin.
Glancing up, Dylan smirked. “Sorry, bro. I’ll get this cleaned up for you before dawn. You should go clean yourself up, too.”
Corey hesitated. There was a lot of work that needed to be done, now that they had close to three dozen men here who may or may not decide to cooperate. Worse, he’d agreed to take on three men from the raid they’d run, and he didn’t want any further responsibility. “How long are my guests here going to stay?” he asked.
Dylan shook his head. “I told you I’d run interference on all this. I’ve got a couple of people movers headed over. We’ll have them out of your space in half an hour.” He stepped forward and lowered his voice. “I think this John guy is the key to figuring out how many people we have on our hands. You’re taking three. I won’t pawn any of these on you.”
“Good. I don’t want them.” Corey sneered. He didn’t often feel complete disgust, but there was no way he could trust these men who followed orders to attack here first. He turned to go inside, needing to at least wash his feet and put on his boots and a shirt. He stopped, seeing Kira still standing there, and he looked daggers at her and then at Rafe as he ambled over. “What the fuck were you thinking?” he hissed at his vice president.
Rafe threw his hands up. “I didn’t have time to argue. And hey, she’s a great shot.”
Kira stepped up, hands on hips and attitude pouring off her. “You can address me, you know. I came to help. One more gun, one more set of eyes. And if you remember, I was the one with a phone on me. I’m the one who called Dylan.”
Rafe didn’t look happy about that. “And he answered in the middle of the night?”
Kira rolled her eyes. “Since I wouldn’t call in the middle of the night unless it was an emergency, yes, he answered. He still feels indebted to me, Rafe. Get over yourself.”
As Rafe opened his mouth to argue, Corey slipped away, having created the distraction and not wanting to get involved in the heated discussion that would ensue now. Inside, he grabbed a towel off the bar and wiped his feet, not wanting to traipse anything back through the hallway with him that would soil the carpet. Then, he closed himself in the bathroom and turned on the hot spray.
The jeans went into the garbage. You could never get brains out of denim, as far as he was concerned. Even if the actual stuff came out, the image was ingrained into his head, and he would look for the stain.
He scrubbed his feet three times and then moved on to get the rest of his body and his hair. He needed to rinse away the alcohol, the sweat of adrenaline, and the dirt from rolling on the ground. He wished his feelings for Regan would swirl down the drain so easily.
Clean and fresh, he returned to his room, finding that the sun was already up. That had happened all too quickly, and he dressed for the day. It was early yet, but he needed to get busy. There was a lot to do, and that would help him keep his mind off the pain. Right now, his chest ached with loss, and nothing else mattered.
Today, Regan left.
He’d know as soon as she was out of town. Mike had instructions to let him know the minute he turned around to head back, and he checked his phone, just to make sure she hadn’t slipped away during the confrontation. Seeing no further messages from Mike, Corey had half a mind to go over there, wake her, and beg her to stay. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing her, even if he had a million other things going on that should take precedence.
Damn his heart. The sooner he got busy, the sooner he could start to work past all of this. And then he could ignore the longing, keep it pushed down deep. Eventually, he told himself, it would fade, and life would go back to normal. He’d just have to bury himself in work, the way he had before he’d ever met Regan.
And, he supposed, see this other massage therapist to make sure he didn’t end up in an early grave.
He stopped at the bar, knowing it was too early for a drink but needing some coffee. With all the cleanup going on, he was grateful to find that Rafe and Kira had stopped arguing long enough for her to cater in some breakfast for everyone. He was starving, and he grabbed a sausage biscuit and some bacon, tossing it on one of the paper plates provided.
He carried it to a table in the back, woofing it down quickly and watching all the moving parts of his club as they worked efficiently to make sure there were no bullet holes or blood anywhere. The three men who had been injured were being held in the far corners of the room, and Zeke was pacing back and forth, obviously not happy that Leigh had been called in to take care of them.
His phone buzzed, and he held his breath as he read the message from Mike, letting him know that Regan had escaped the city safely and he was headed back. With a sigh, Corey knew what he had to do. He would go to the empty apartment and bribe the movers for any information, whether on the storage facility or other location to which they’d be carrying off the boxes
and furniture.
He would let Regan live her life, but he would make sure she was safe. And after that was done, he would put a tracker on David, find him, and destroy him for taking away the only person Corey had ever loved.
Getting to his feet and feeling bolstered by the nutrition and the caffeine, Corey checked in on the progress with cleaning up the body, fixing up the injured, and making sure Rafe had the initiative under control. Then, he went out to his bike, started it up, and headed for the apartment that would soon be empty to make sure he had the lead Regan wouldn’t give him.
18
As she fought to stay awake, Regan barely managed to turn over, groaning as she tweaked her shoulder again. She knew who she’d see, but she had to confirm that her own stupidity had landed her in exactly the situation Corey had helped her avoid.
“You bitch!” David hissed, staring down at her. His face was the color of an eggplant, and for an instant, Regan imagined that his blood pressure boiled out of control, and his head exploded on his shoulders. Instead, her head exploded as his hand cracked across her face, causing her to knock it on the nightstand behind her. “You really thought you’d get away from me?”
Her tongue already swollen from biting it when he’d hit her, Regan had difficulty speaking. Her head swirled, but she searched for life saving words. “No, not at all, David. I was getting out of town, away from that gang, so that we could be together without them interfering. I had to leave in a hurry, make them believe I was running from you, so they wouldn’t follow me.”
If she could just make him believe, then he would stop hurting her. She’d go with him, wherever he wanted, for however long it took, and she would find her opening. She’d gotten away before, and she’d do it again. And this time, maybe, she’d take matters into her own hands and assure that David couldn’t hurt her ever again.
