Damned: Seven Tribesmen MC (8 page)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Fifteen minutes after ten, Stella's car crunched into the gravel of the Rusty Bear. She had spent a portion of the day arguing with herself, reaffirming she wouldn't go, and – finally – giving in to the prickly attraction that gripped at her thoughts. The woman felt a little bad, being so late. She wasn't even sure if Bishop would still be around.

As she sat in her car, staring at the neon sign that hunkered over the squat building, anxiety climbed up her throat. The anxiety worsened when she saw the choppers – not one, but five – lined up near the door. Stella attempted to still her nerves as she turned off her car, clutching the keys in her hand.

She should leave; she shouldn't even go in. Entertaining Bishop would only spell disaster for herself and her career. The man only wanted to bed her, confuse her, and compromise the case. Stella swallowed as all the reasons to not go inside clenched at her stomach.

Temptation sliced through the worries. It dangled Bishop's dancing grey eyes and irritatingly handsome smirk across her inner eye. Then it replayed their night together, and Stella shuddered. She could still feel his hands on her, still feel the pleasure locked into her marrow.

A sudden knock on her window startled the woman. She jerked, before turning her gaze toward the man gaily waving at her from the other side. Stella blinked and rolled down her window a fraction, unease suddenly crawling over her skin. Something terrifying and electric tinted the air. Unconsciously, the woman checked her holster on her hip.

“Do you need something, sir?” Stella forced a plastic smile to her face and urged her body language to relax.

“Yeah, uh, y'see I got off the interstate to get something to eat and, well, I think I'm turned around,” the man chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you think you could give me directions?”

“Yeah, um,” Stella shook the cobwebs from her head, focusing herself. The man just needed directions and, though she hadn't been there long, she had a fair sense of direction. “Just head north on this road, turn left and go through main square. Take a right at seventh and you should be able to follow the signs from there.”

The man followed her pointing finger, moving his own hands with hers. His brow furrowed as if he were mentally mapping out the movements. Finally, he laughed, “This is going to sound so lame, but which way is north?”

Stella pointed behind her, to her left, “That way.”

“Great, great,” “Can I, uh, buy you a drink or something? As thanks.”

“I'm actually meeting someone here.”

“You sure? I'd love to buy a lovely lady like you a drink.”

“No, thank you, bu
t–
” The glass in the passenger side door shattered. Surprised, Stella jerked and bit out a curse. A man, wearing a mask, had rammed a crowbar into her window.  Her right hand undid her seat belt, releasing her. Her hair stood on end a microsecond before her own window shattered. Stella barely managed to shield herself as a pair of meaty hands groped for her.

A string of cusses flew through her mind. Her hand fumbled for her keys in the ignition, her obscenities pouring from her mouth as she realized she had taken them out. She had probably dropped them from surprise, earlier. Fingers tugged at her shirt and hair, insistent to haul her from the vehicle. Her brain erratically estimated at least five men. The other windows in the car shattered, and more arms and hands reached in to snatch her out of her seat.

Adrenaline pumped through Stella's blood as her fingers grappled for her gun. The bar was close. If she could even get close to the entrance, someone was bound to see her or hear her. Hell, someone should come running out when they heard gunshots! She raised her right hand, the gun poised at the attackers crawling and climbing through the windows. Without looking, she fired four shots into the man at her door.

Her left hand found its way to the door release, slamming the little handle back until it cracked. Stella slammed the weight of her body against the door. An attacker – maybe the man who feigned confusion – let out a grunt and stumbled back, two red splotches growing on his white shirt.

The scent of gunpowder and the echo of the bullets hung in the air. Stella kicked her way out of the car, stepping on the man she had shot.  Adrenaline seared through her blood vessels, her hand clutching her gun tightly. Another man close to her grabbed for her arm in a bruising grip. Stella yowled, another set of hands wrenching her gun from her hand. They had surrounded her. Some climbed through her car in her momentary lack of concentration, others charged her from around the car, some even bumbled for their guns in their waistbands.

Stella's heart thrummed in her chest. Who were these assholes? Cocaine dealers? A rival gang?  Cop-hating vigilantes? What did they want? What was happening?

Her thoughts flew a mile a minute as her frazzled brain tried to make sense of her situation. Stella threw out kicks and fists while attempting to bite the hands that restrained her. A hot sense of satisfaction swelled through her head whenever someone pulled away or yelped. “Get off me! Let go, asswipes!”

The cock and click of a trigger near her nose made Stella freeze. Her brown eyes widened, face suddenly cold in the night air, as her gaze flicked to the gunman's face. Cold blue eyes stared down at her from an impassive, plastic mask. Stella's heart cowered in her throat, fingers flexing, while her stomach dropped dismally to her knees. In the yellowish light of the street lamps, the woman realized there were seven men in total. Uncertainty shuddered in her marrow. The woman had no clue what would happen next.

Heavy footfalls echoed out of the bar and crunched into the gravel of the parking lot. Stella's eyes darted to the people who just exited the bar. The sudden fear that they would simply carry on, simply ignore gang violence in their own backyard, blossomed in her thoughts.

Then she registered whose grey eyes stared at her. Stella's heart skipped erratically, relief and hope entwining in her thoughts. Without thinking, without considering the implications, the woman gasped, “Arthur!”

One of the men who restrained her slapped a dirty, gloved hand over her mouth.

Almost instantly, Bishop's eyes flashed to Stella. His brain worked fast to make sense of the situation, but not as fast as his legs. Propelled across the parking lot, a snarl lit from his lips, “The hell is going on out here?”

“Get back inside, Bishop,” The man who held the gun in Stella's face didn't flinch. In fact, he shifted his position so the president of the 7T would see the gun. Bishop froze a few feet away from the group of men, his eyes catching the glint of the weapon. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“The fuck it doesn't! You're trying to abduct a woman in our town.” Bishop's eyes flashed to the masked man, his eyebrows furrowed. Murder gleamed in the biker's eyes. He clenched his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms. All he could think about was bloody, violent retribution. He wanted to see the men on the ground, bleeding and groaning in pain. He wanted to see them hurt, especially if Stella showed any signs of injury.

“Yeah, that ain't gonna fly.” Coyote came up beside Bishop, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

The presumed leader of the pack, or at least the self-appointed spokesperson, glanced from one man to the other. He quietly contemplated his options.

Stella shifted in her captors' grips. Her stomach twisted unhappily as her brain whirled. The men who grabbed her would have to do something, quickly. Or else they'd be caught. It would only get worse with a brawl. Her gaze flickered to the men behind Bishop who were the rest of the Seven Tribesmen members. Well, apart from Howler and Crow.

One of them held a billiards cue in his sweaty grip, his skin pallid from worry as his eyes darted from man to man. One man had already drawn his gun, the muzzle pointed to the ground, and the other looked he was preparing to pull a weapon from his waistband. Her gaze slid to the man beside Bishop, his green eyes burning with rage and his body language prepared for a fight.

Finally, Stella's eyes drew to Bishop. He leered at her aggressors, radiating pure rage. She could almost see his eyes glow red. His gaze flicked to her for a second, a rush of simultaneous hot-and-cold electricity licked all over her body.

“We weren't planning on flying, boys,” the masked gunman purred. Stella's eyes widened as her ears caught the sound of a roaring engine in the distance. Instantly, her body jerked, her legs kicking out as she attempted to wrench her arms from the two men.

“Hold her still!” Someone roared as her abductors struggled against her sudden influx of struggles.

The group drew close to Stella, everyone intending to grab onto a part of her. Their second-long distraction was enough to for the Seven Tribesmen to advance. Near the entrance of the parking lot, a dark blue van barreled over the gravel.

Bishop charged at the group, his fist slamming into the gunman's face while his attention was diverted. The man jolted and went to swing his pistol into Bishop. A kick from Coyote's boot sent the gun slamming to the ground, discharging the chamber. The masked gunman hissed an obscenity, his hand procuring a switchblade from seemingly mid-air. He jabbed at Bishop, who grabbed the man forcefully by the arm and slammed it back at an awkward angle. A crack thundered through the air, followed by a howl of pain.

Gun shots rang out, pinging against the vehicles in the lot. Glass cracked and shattered, metal reverberated as bullets struck it solidly, rubber tore and tires screeched. Everything exploded into chaos, roaring metal, battle cries. The sounds of a brawl – flesh slamming across flesh, grunts, groans, cusses – weaved through the air. Chaos and confusion filled her eyes, losing sight of Bishop among the bodies.

Stella screamed, heaving forward to duck down as bullets and fists flew. Her captors still held tight, bruising her arms with their vice-like hold. They began to drag her backwards, to where the van rumbled over the gravel.

A yowl lit through the air, and a body fell heavily to the ground. One of her abductors stiffened before releasing Stella and whipping out his own gun from his waistband. He charged into the fray, spitting obscenities as he popped off two shots. The single abductor got his wits about him before Stella managed to wriggle free. He looped both arms around her middle, pinning her arms to her sides.

“No!” The woman screamed, her heels dragged against the rocks. She craned her neck, attempting to bite the man anywhere. She raised her legs up, using her whole mass as dead weight. The man grunted and heaved the woman along, ignoring all of her attempts to break free.

Stella's scream drove Bishop further. His knuckles smashed into faces and ribs. Bones cracked beneath his hands as he fought to protect not just himself, but his club and – hopefully – the agent. The thought swarmed his consciousness, and thrust him further and further in the throng of assailants.

She heard a van door slide open and another car door click open. Unless the van was automated, there were at least two more people to fend off. Stella swallowed heavily at that thought as her actions became more desperate, more violent.

The clambering of boots onto the van stilled her captor. Together, Stella and the man craned their necks to see the Seven Tribesmen member with the pool cue inside the van, slamming the wooden pole into the back of the driver's head. The driver's head slapped against the steering column, blood gushing from his nose. Newb spun around on his heel, slicing the cue through the air. The other man on the van caught the cue by the end, struggling to gain control of the weapon.

Hope clawed up Stella's throat. She slammed her heel into her captor's groin. A yowl of pain erupted from the man and she broke out of his hold. She didn't get far before his foot slammed into her back, toppling her to the ground.

At the same time, a gunshot rang out from the van and the sound of a body thumping to the van's floor. Bishop's head snapped up, his eyes widening as he watched Newb fall face flat. A red stain blossomed over his tee-shirt, near his chest. Raw fury swept through Bishop. He bellowed out a war cry and charged through the last two members who blocked his path.

Stella's blood ran cold, knowing who had taken the shot. The agent had no time to dwell on the development. Gravel bit into her knees and hands just before the man grabbed her by her hair. Pain exploded over Stella's scalp while the man dragged her backwards, to the waiting vehicle. She screamed in pain and kicked out her feet, wondering just what the patrons in the bar were doing. Cowering in their booths and, hopefully, dialing 911.