Authors: Selene Chardou
Chantal had found a group of old ladies to commiserate with and seemed to make herself right at home.
That was the nice part about the Vegas club. Most of the hard-core, old school members had old ladies. There were a handful who didn’t but the slappers were kept to a minimum and the ones that did hang around knew their place and showed respect for the old ladies. They knew if they were caught fucking club members who were married or committed to someone, they would be kicked out on their ass so fast, it’d make the Airbus seem slow.
The Vegas charter turned out to be a lot different than Ronan had expected it to be and under normal circumstances, he would have loved to run this club with Hardy at the helm. Unfortunately, he’d lost his woman and the whole situation had turned to shit before he had a chance to get comfortable and settled down properly.
Cricket threw back a shot of Bushmills before he nursed it with a bottle of Guinness. “What’s goin’ on, my brother? You can hide a lot of shit from me but we’re best bros. Losing you to another charter was like a knife in the chest. Hell, I’ve even put in for a transfer. Burns and his old lady want their kids to settle down somewhere ‘family friendly’ and shit. What that means is he’s got a ten-year-old daughter and a twelve-year-old son. He wants them to know about small town life while they still can.”
Ronan drank his shot of Irish whiskey. “That’s great, bro. I hope it goes through. What about Chantal’s schooling?”
“She already put in her paperwork to transfer to UNLV. Got in with no issues. You’d never know it by lookin’ at her but she’s a straight-A student. She works hard and parties even harder but for now, this is what she wants too. There are so many bad memories in Birch Tree at the moment. Kink would transfer too but you know he’d never leave Cillian. Plus, he’s up for a big promotion so he’s got no reason to leave.”
“What about you?”
Cricket shrugged. “What about me? I’m just a soldier. I’d go anywhere my best bro was and you got real power here. When Naomi comes back home, you’re gonna be stronger than ever. And with Hardy at the helm, I see nothing but good shit comin’ this charter’s way.”
When Naomi came home.
Ronan grasped the bottle of Guinness hard as he thought about that. Eventually she would return and he would have her back again, safe in his arms. No matter what the damage that fucking sociopath asshole inflicted on her could never stop the love he had for her. He needed her so desperately, even now.
“Bro, how do we know we’ll get her back? How can you be so sure?”
Cricket’s cerulean blue eyes glared at him with a mixture of surprise and anger. “How can you
not
be so unsure? Where the fuck did this defeatist attitude come from? She’s your old lady. Nothin’ is gonna stop us from getting’ her back. Fuck what your old man says. She is
everything
to this club.”
“We don’t even know where she is . . .” Ronan trailed off.
“Yeah, bro, actually, we do. That piece of shit prick’s got her housed in some fancy mansion in Ensenada. He owns the locals and a shit ton of land but we got a plan. We’re just waitin’ for Hardy to come back from his little ‘bitch’ errand and then it’s a private chapel meeting. Just you, me, Kink and Hardy. Fuck this waitin’ around bullshit. We’re gonna go get her ourselves,” his brother replied confidently before he swigged on the black brew.
“What does that mean? What ‘bitch’ errand? Hardy didn’t say shit to me about havin’ to do anything out of the ordinary today.”
“Well, you’re not exactly his keeper, are ya? And for the record, he had to handle some shit between Jaden and Talia.” Cricket glanced at him with a genuine look of curiosity on his face. “You do
know
what’s goin’ down, right? Weren’t you at that party for Trista and
Linx
when they officially moved here to Vegas for the gig Winter’s Regret signed? You know, the one for the two-year stint or whatever they’ll be doin’ at Vogue Hotel, Casino, and Spa? Don’t tell me you were too drunk to remember what went down?”
Ronan hadn’t been too far gone not to remember the party. It was full of Vegas bigwigs and bikers—not exactly the perfect mix but somehow, the arrangement managed to work.
There was only one incident that happened and the only reason why it hadn’t turned into a full on brawl was because one of the parties involved left in complete humiliation.
In front of all the brothers, Hardy had told Jaden in no polite terms Talia was his. He’d been poking holes in their condoms and now she was expecting a child—
his
child. Jaden could go back to Faith—the skank—and keep her because he was
taking
Talia.
She’d reluctantly agreed it was for the best while Jaden pleaded with her to reconsider. However, what choice did she have? A rocker by night and a domesticated mom by day, she already had one kid to take care of courtesy of Jaden. She wouldn’t be left to go at it alone with
two
children. Hardy had proposed to her and she’d said yes.
Since then, she’d cut off all contact with Jaden—at the insistence of Hardy—and the rocker was only allowed to see his son with the boy’s nanny. He never saw Talia because that’s the way Hardy wanted it.
Jaden had finally burned all his bridges and Hardy had gotten what he wanted in the end.
“Yeah, I remember what went down,” Ronan finally said after a long time of contemplating that night. “Sorry—since Naomi . . . nothing else . . . the drama in other people’s lives just doesn’t affect me the way it used to. Hardy got what he wanted but then again, he’s older and has more life experience. Did Jaden really think he had a chance with Talia once the Prez entered the picture?”
Cricket chuckled. “Yeah, he did. Dumbass. Doesn’t he know the guy grew up on the streets of Belfast and East London? He’s got a hell of a lot more goin’ upstairs than Jaden will ever have. Talia made the right decision.”
The rumble of Harleys pulling up to the compound interrupted their commiseration as they both stood to their feet and strolled toward the doors to the warehouse compound.
Kink, Layla, Chantal and a few of the other old ladies weren’t far behind as they all walked outside into the crisp Vegas sunshine. The weather was perfect. The temperature was a crisp eighty-four degrees; the sun felt warm against their skin. The sky was pale blue with puffy white clouds dispersed throughout.
Hardy had already parked his Harley and he got off along with another guy Ronan knew looked familiar. There was also a chick with him but she had ridden her own Harley and looked equally badass.
Holy shit! Was that the notorious Gillespie crew? The brother Kink and his father had thought was gone forever to the side of the Russians but now worked exclusively for Abandonato and Jackson.
Maksymilian
“Max” Gillespie—formerly known as Maxwell Cartier—and his old lady, Magnolia Abandonato-Gillespie—formerly known in the underground as Magnolia Reynolds—strode along with Hardy as if they owned the place.
Although neither wore biker garb, everyone knew they were a force to be reckoned with and then some. Both assassins and too damn good at their job, they were the main hold up in the deal between the Saints and the
Kitaev
Bratva
.
Almost nine months ago, Max had done the unthinkable, acting on behalf of his former mentor, Dimitri
Koslakov
. It didn’t matter why the situation had occurred—the fact was it did and that didn’t exactly set him up to have a great relationship with the top Russian on the scene.
Erik
Kitaev
could accept
why
Max had done it but the Russians were known for holding grudges. He still wanted Max to pay for what he’d done wrong, whether he was acting on the orders of his former mentor bore little—if any weight.
A better question though was why had Hardy brought them to the compound now and what the hell was going on?
“Brothers, meet Max and
Mags
. If we’re gonna go down to Mexico and get your woman then we need some real muscle behind us,” Hardy began in his quiet Cockney-accented voice. “Now, I’m not suggesting the Saints is full of a bunch of scared little cunts but we need professionals. We deal in drugs and arms—and occasionally we take out the errant criminal or two—but we aren’t professional killers. Max and
Mags
are so I figured we might as well use the best.”
Layla nodded. “I’ve heard of you both. Especially you, Magnolia. Your reputation precedes you.”
Mags
smirked though her pale green eyes warmed slightly. “I’ve been hearing that a lot about myself lately.”
Chantal looked over their shoulders, her aquamarine eyes growing wide with fear. “Fellas, this scene is starting to look strikingly familiar. There are two low riders cruising by and I don’t like the look of them at all.”
Ronan, Cricket and Kink all looked in her direction.
It was truly slow motion on Ronan’s part; one moment he glanced at the low riders—both fully restored ’72 Chevy Impalas—and the next they were shooting.
Everyone ducked as the bullets flew but the gunmen weren’t shooting at random. They had one target and once he fell to the ground, they began to drive away. Not before
Mags
got to her feet and pulled out a modified
Steyr
Aug and shot up the second Impala. Several bullets pierced the gas tank and the vehicle blew up just short of their property. The flames and smoke it produced immediately drew unwanted attention.
In the distance, ambulances, police vehicles and fire trucks could be heard.
Max grabbed her gun. “I’m gonna ditch this but ladies, go get cleaned up. Kink, collect all the guns everyone has on them. Cricket and Ronan, I’m gonna need you out here with me. Let’s go check on Hardy’s wound.”
Without thinking, Ronan spurned into action and followed Max to where Hardy lay on the ground. He spit up blood though he was still conscious, thank God.
Max knelt next to him and pulled up his upper body as Hardy screamed in pain.
“His fucking lung has been ruptured and he’s got a clean hit through the shoulder but it looks like muscle and bone could be affected. I’m no doctor but we need to get him medical treatment pronto.” Max turned toward them with those spooky aquamarine eyes, the same color as Chantal’s and Kink’s. “He’ll live but they did a number on him. If he hadn’t gone down the way he did, they
woulda
shot him through the heart to complete the job. This isn’t just a message,
who ever
did this was tryin’ to
murder
him.”
“There is no
who
,” Ronan said coldly as Cricket stood and ran to the front of the compound.
They both watched as he opened the compound doors, allowing various authority figures onto their property—including the Feds. It looked like any and everyone who wore a badge had decided to turn up to witness the macabre soirée.
“Fernando Navarro. The same sick asshole that abducted your old lady.” Max continued to put pressure against the shoulder wound as they spoke. “He’s a dead man.”
“You’re telling me,” Ronan responded in a cold voice. “As soon as we get all these fuckin’ peace officers out of the goddamn compound and Hardy to a hospital, I’m going after the asshole myself. He’s dead already, he just doesn’t know it . . . yet.”
Max’s aquamarine eyes smiled. “I always liked that about working with you guys but Dimitri also taught me a lot. Angelo and Raymond—they’ve taught me more than the Russian ever did in a short length of time. You have to know Fernando
expects
you to come after him because
that
is when he will put a bullet in your brain. You go after the ones closest to him. He doesn’t give a shit about Carlito, right? So we go after Emilio.”
Ronan laughed out loud as he shook his head. “Emilio is being held at
Supermax
in Colorado—how the
fuck
do we go after him?”
“Believe me when I say anyone and everyone can be murdered given the right circumstances. You worry about your president pulling through and leave Emilio to me.”
Two techs rushed toward them and quickly took over from where Max had left off. Meanwhile, Eve strolled their way like a pit bull that’d had her favorite toy yanked from her seductive, pouty mouth.