I see men carrying all manner of weapons, and say a quick prayer for them all. They’re all risking their lives to help Shades and Ghost payback a favor they feel they owe Saint. On the drive over, he explained how he’d helped them after an accident. I wasn’t at all surprised by his noble behavior. That’s just the kind of man he is, and that’s why I love him. I stare at the door, the clubhouse now quiet, except for the bikes firing up outside. I suddenly realize I have no idea what I would do if something happens to Saint. I don’t even want to contemplate him not returning. I check the clock and begin to count the minutes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Saint—
We find the chop shop. There’s a residence across the street, the Feds say belongs to the leader. We see gang tags all over. Being that it’s early on a Sunday morning, there’s little movement anywhere in the neighborhood. The club lent me a ride, and we leave our bikes a couple blocks over, not wanting to give away our approach with the thundering engines. The Evil Dead is a well-oiled machine, I’m finding. They all know their place in this well rehearsed dance, like they’ve done this kind of thing a hundred times before. A couple of men are left to guard the Harleys, and as we jog toward the house and shop, we can only hope we move quick enough to get in before a lookout can warn them trouble’s on the way.
We spread out, taking up positions around the shop, our backs to the concrete block walls, several of us peering in the dirty paned windows. These guys use hand signals like they’re born to it, and I’m fascinated by how expeditious a system it is.
Two men enter the chop shop, using a blowtorch on a back door padlock.
They clear the building and shake their heads.
I’m with Shades and Ghost, plastered against a wall, scoping out the home across a side street. It’s the one they believe belongs to the leader. If our information is wrong, the residents are going to have one hell of a wakeup call.
Shades gives more signals to his men, and Ghost turns to me. “We’re goin’ in quietly in case there are children. You shoot a woman or child, Shades will hang you out to dry, understand?”
“Got it.”
“We’re hoping to get the drop on them. Our forward man doesn’t see any security. Come on. Let’s move.”
We creep forward and surround the house, moving silently. One man finds an open window and let’s the rest of us in through the back door. We creep silently forward. Guns are pointed at the faces of three men we find passed out in the living room.
A man comes awake and goes for his gun. Shades presses a 9mm to his forehead. “I dare you, motherfucker.”
The man slumps back, his hands in the air. The other two rouse, to be greeted by muzzles. A man from a back room charges out, firing and I spin, feeling a quick burning sensation in my side.
Ghost fires and the man drops, dead before he hits the floor, a hole in his forehead.
I look down and see a hole in the side of my cut. I pull it away and see the red stain spreading wetly. The searing pain flashes through me a moment later and I stagger back a step.
“You hit?” Shades shouts.
I put a hand over my side. “Yeah. Guess so.”
Ghost and another man guide me back to a chair. Ghost rips my shirt up to look at the wound. It’s long like a bloody red cigar shape.
“You lucked out, kid. Just a flesh wound.” He pulls my cut off and then yanks my shirt over my head. Pulling a knife from his boot, he rips it in wide strips and wraps them around my abdomen, binding the wound up. It soaks quickly through with blood.
“It’ll keep it clean until we get you back and get it treated.” Ghost sits back on his heels.
I nod.
One of the men is speaking to Shades, his hands in the air, a barrel in his face.
I can’t understand him, but Shades must. He backhands him with his gun.
“I’ll beat the fucking truth out of you.” He steps back as one of the guys drags a woman out, his grip tight on her upper arm.
She looks familiar, and I dig in my pocket for my phone, pulling up the photo Aspen sent me. It’s her. I turn the camera toward Shades.
“She’s the stripper from Centerfolds.”
Shades straightens, his knees cracking, and he stares at the photo and reads the accompanying text, then turns to the woman. “Well, well. Come join us, Salami.”
“It’s Salome,” she snarls, her lip curling.
“Think I give a fuck? Sit down and shut up.” Shades points with his pistol toward the couch. He strolls across the room and picks up a hammer, testing it in his grip. Then he moves back to the stained stuffed chair the man sits in. “You Carlos?”
The man stays silent.
“I’ll beat the fuck outta you with this hammer, so you better start talkin’.”
“Yes. Why are you here?”
Shades points the end of the handle at me. “You ripped off my friend here. Took a bag of money from his club, and his wife’s diamond necklace. We’re here to get it back. You want to tell us how you knew about the money being collected last night?”
His eyes shift to Salome’s. “My sister knew when the money was being carried out, man. Heard it would only be one prospect tonight. Seemed like easy money.”
“So the fucking bitch stole from the very club that gave her a good job. What a fucking little ingrate you are, sweetie.” Shades takes her chin in his hand and gives her a good shake. She spits in his face, and he releases her. He looks at me, wiping that nasty spittle from his face. “It’s your club she stole from, prospect. It’s your ass she threw to the wolves. You want to do the pleasure or do I get to finish the bitch off?”
I aim my gun at her head and fire with no hesitation. She drops like a rock.
Shades whistles, and then jerks his chin to the table. “This the money?”
I notice the bank bag. Ghost picks it up and counts it quickly. “Twenty-six thousand, eight hundred. That right?”
“Nope. There was Twenty-eight thousand, three hundred,” I say, glaring at the man. “Where’s the rest of it? You’re fifteen hundred short.”
“We spent some. Bought some lottery tickets, some champagne, some drugs.”
“And the necklace?”
He lifts his chin to his sister’s prone body and I see tears in his eyes.
Ghost kneels and pulls back her hair and the collar of her shirt. “This it?”
The diamonds sparkle around her collarbone.
“Yeah. That’s it.”
He removes it and hands it to me. “Looks like they fucked up the clasp. She just had it closed with a safety pin.”
“Thanks.” I close my fist around it and shove it in my jeans pocket.
Shades quickly puts a bullet in the leader’s head as well as his two accomplices. “Let’s get the fuck outta here.”
I stand, shrug back into my cut, and we leave the house. We make it back to the bikes.
“You okay to ride, Saint?” Ghost asks.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Ride behind him. He starts to wobble, get him to the side of the road,” Shades orders Ghost. He turns to another man. “Get Doc to meet us at the clubhouse.”
We head back, wasting no time.