Authors: Kaylee Song
Aidan
I cocked the safety back with my thumb and clicked it back into place. The smooth metal of the handgun had warmed with my touch. A piece loaned to the MC from Strike, it had been scrubbed clean of any identifiers, the serial long since filed off.
It had been crazy. The man had a fucking arsenal.
I was an expert marksmen in most areas, but my highest marks were with the hand gun, so I had opted for that.
I slid it into the band of my pants, double checking the safety before I pulled my shirt over it. Sure I was good, I pulled myself off of my bike and walked towards the group that was forming.
I’d had no idea how many men were going to waiting for us, but I knew it was a strong number. Turned out there were almost twenty of us, all in top condition aside from Mick, but he was our base. He was going to be there, keeping the truck running and shit ready if we needed to hop in the back and make a quick getaway.
It was a good plan.
Strike might be a prick, but he knew how to handle these operations, and he knew how to handle his men.
“Got an old map of the place from county. The place ain’t much. Just a square warehouse with loading bays. I figure we take it from all sides, teams of five, and figure out the weakest point. Radio each other for it.”
I nodded. It made sense. Scout out, find the best point of entry, and then storm the place.
If he was right, and they didn’t spot our approach, we’d have a chance to catch them with their pants down.
“Rage, you lead a group, two of your guys, two of mine.” He pointed out his men and went through each section. “Hawk, you got these four.” I was in that group. “Go around to the south entrance. And I’ll head up the North with my lieutenants. Mick’ll hang back in case we need a quick extraction.”
We had our orders. I pulled my gun and kept it down, Tommy behind me as we trailed Hawk through the brush.
Strike’s brother was wiry but strong. He pulled brush out of the way of our path, leading us around the entire building until we came around the backside of the building.
The structure was made of stone. It had been littered with so many differing layers of graffiti that only bits and pieces of the original paint on the building shown through. What wasn’t tagged was broken, the glass of the window panes smashed in.
It was long since abandoned. The perfect place for a hideout. No one even bothered to cut the grass. The damned stuff was clear up to our hips.
Hawk crouched down in the grass to avoid being seen and I followed suit, wading through it quietly. It’d been a while, but I’d been trained for this.
I scanned the territory, watching for quick movements and debris that might trip me up or alert our quarry. Tommy followed in my wake, stifling his disgust each time we came across snakes.
By the time we reached the back entrance, I’d kicked six snakes out of our path.
The rotted and decayed loading bays were wide open, echoing and empty, but the doors nearby were locked. The cement structure was crumbling, but the stairs were still solid. Parts of this place were kept up while others were allowed to fall by the wayside. Strike had been right. Someone was holed up in here.
Hawk crawled up against the wall, and peered into the darkness of the warehouse, scanning it before turned to us and smiled. “They don’t even have a lookout stationed over here.”
He radioed Strike.
We were the first to make it to the building.
Rage and Strike joined us at the back entrance a few minutes later, and Strike took the lead, making his way into the warehouse. We all climbed in through the doors, the open bays, broken windows, anyway we could get in.
And we found… nothing.
“Shit.” I cursed, looking around, the adrenaline levels in my blood rising.
Shit, shit, shit
.
“We’ve got to get out of here. Now!” I shouted to Rage.
His eyes grew wide. He knew what I meant.
There was no one. No sign of life. The place was completely abandoned. No one had been here in months. Whoever had fixed up the place, no group had ever fucking headquartered here. It was totally vacant.
It had to be a trap.
“Get the fuck out! Get out now!” Strike screamed at us, but it was too late.
I saw them come from the brush, and I heard the first shots raining down from the roof, plowing through three of the men who ran out of cover. Fuck.
I ducked behind what remained of one of the bay doors and shot the first target I could find. The recoil of the gun rippled through my hands into my shoulders as I hit target after target, in the shoulder, in the arm. It was easy, too, like picking off geese.
Most of the men were not that great of a shot. They liked waving around a piece, but they’d never been trained. Not like I had been.
I took out enough of our attackers that the rest of our men could start moving through the warehouse, heading for the front doors. They raced and dived for cover, using any rocks, boulders, any old stonewalls they could as shields.
I continued shooting, replacing my clip once, twice. I aimed for anything that would make it impossible for the bastards to work a gun. That was what Strike had said: no fatalities. But that was before everything went to shit.
He probably didn’t give a fuck now, but I did.
I had too many lives on my head.
I’d never felt so calm, not since… not since I’d come home. I knew these jagoffs couldn’t touch me. Couldn’t do worse than what’d already been done.
They’d intended it to be a massacre, and it was, but not the kind they were expecting.
Rage was just as good with a gun as I was, and a hell of a lot more deadly. He covered for me so I could make my way through the debris, and I covered him a few seconds later. I could tell by the way he was aiming he was going to have some shit to answer for when his time came. But right now, right now it was fucking self-defense.
We ran through the grass, Hawk beside me as we made it into the bushes. I was grateful I had gotten my damned prosthesis refitted. I might have taken a bullet otherwise.
As it was, a man threw himself at us, swinging a shotgun like a club at Hawk. He’d likely run out of ammo.
That was the thing with shotguns. They could be deadly no matter how you used them.
Hawk sidestepped the blow, but the shiny blade in the assailant’s hand caught him a second later.
He groaned and then punched the guy. There was no time for a second blow. I came up behind him and slammed the butt of my gun on against the fucker’s head. I was out of ammo, too, now.
“Fuck man.” Hawk was bleeding from his eye to his ear, the gouge deep and ugly. He’d be lucky if he didn’t hit the ground from blood loss. We needed to get out of there. Fast.
“Get to the fucking truck. Now.” I nodded to his face, wiping sweat away with the sleeve of my shirt.
Hawk touched his face and then pulled away, stunned. I pushed him forward and kept moving. There was a swelling wave of voices rising around me, urging me on. I didn’t understand them. I didn’t need to. I heard sharp cries and quick shots followed by grunts and groans.
Our attackers had a few decent shots in their group, too, then. If they had been stationed near where we had been, we might have been pinned down longer.
As it was, I cursed, wishing I had brought a few more clips with me.
Without a functioning gun, I had to get creative. Hawk had to get back to that fucking truck so Mick could take him away. If I failed to bring him out, I knew what would happen. Fire and Steel would suffer for it. Strike wouldn’t forgive us for his brother’s death.
This shit was nuts, but I knew exactly what I was doing. What had to be done.
I pushed our men to safety, remembering my own superiors in the army and barking orders at them. The tone worked and most responded. When I reached the string of broken down vehicles we were using as barricades, I helped hold the line with Rage and Strike, while the rest of our men got out of there.
I counted. Every single fucking one of them made it out, but there was a hell of a lot of blood, and I wasn’t the only one limping. They all piled into the back of the truck.
Mick revved up the engine and shifted gears just as a couple of shots rang out.
Noting the origin point of the shots, I swiveled my head to see Mick gasp out in pain. His hand was gripping his arm, but it didn’t stop him from taking off.
I jumped on my bike, and Strike and Rage grabbed theirs, and we headed off down the highway, speeding up to get ahead of the truck.
We had radios in our helmets.
“Shit. Everyone make it out?” Strike asked.
“I did a double count. Got ‘em all out,” I answered
“How many fuckers you think we killed?” Rage panted into the radio.
“I tagged several, shouldn’t’ve killed any.” I shrugged. That was my plan anyways.
“I wasn’t fucking playing. What the fuck, man?”
I could hear the anger in Rage’s voice mounting. It was meant for Strike.
“You think I fucking knew that was going to happen? I went in there with you, you son of a bitch, and so did my men.”
“Easy,” I interjected, keeping my voice calm. “We all got hit. We all got out.”
“Fuck… What about the bikes?” Strike asked.
“I’ll talk to George. Get him to come back around later. We need to get those bikes back.” Rage thought for a minute. “What about you?”
“I’ll make a call to my old man. He’ll bring in a few other… resources,” Strike answered
“Think we can get it reported as a bunch of kids target shooting?” Thrash asked, coming up beside me. The look he shot me acknowledged me as a brother in arms. I was no longer the new guy.
“Exactly what I was thinking,” Rage agreed.
I listened, amazed by their connections. Fuck. Between the two groups, it sounded like they had the whole game rigged. I didn’t know who this ‘George’ was, but it was clear he was some kind of authority. And the Irish Mob? Hell, I’d be surprised if anyone even fucking heard about this shit.
It paid to have powerful people in your corner.
“Wrath, you were fucking cold as ice. I saw you out there, just pop, pop, pop, like it was nothing. That was target practice for you, wasn’t it?” Thrash’s voice was amused, and impressed.
“We got everyone out,” was all I said.
“That we did, man. Anything clip you?”
I did a mental check of my entire body. “No. I’m good.”
“Damn.” Strike sounded more worried than impressed. “Shit’s worse than I thought. Seems I got two suspects.”
“Who?” We turned up the highway and headed down the two-lane road as fast as possible, the truck trailing us. It was a thirty-minute ride back to Braddock, but at this speed we’d make it in less than twenty. I could see Mick in my rearview mirror. He was holding on. Still sitting upright, and still driving a truck full of bullet-battered men.
Strike sounded like he was caught between rage and grief. “Our traitor is either my father’s fucking watch dog, or… it’s my brother.” I thought about the damage to Hawk’s face. That hadn’t been an insider’s blow. It had been meant to maim the man for life, if not kill him.
That slice was going to need major fucking stitches, and his pretty boy smile was only going to be pretty on one side.
“It ain’t Hawk,” I said. “Your brother’s going to be scarred up pretty bad. You’ll get it when you see him.”
“
Fuck
!” Strike sounded so pissed.
Rage was already breaking things down, figuring out our next move. “Better not send a call to Donal. You don’t know how your father is going to react.”
“He didn’t order this. Not on his only sons. That would be fucking stupid. I’ll call him, but I know what he is going to say,” Strike answered.
“Yeah?” I eyed him. If he was wrong, he was going to be in for an ugly surprise. Easiest person to pick off was the one who refused to see the truth right in his own house.
We headed across the bridge at East Pittsburgh and caught sight of the steel mill. Braddock. We were close.
“He’s going to tell me to take care of it myself.”
Strike was right.
“Shit’s personal. You got us and we can still fight.” Rage was dead serious.
I was glad. Someone deserved to pay for this shit.
And I wanted to be a part of the punishment.
Emma
I was just starting to drift into sleep when my phone buzzed. It was Layla.
Oh shit, what now
? Were they hurt? Was Aidan…? I couldn’t even think about it. I just answered the phone.
“Yeah?” I hadn’t been able to wait around at the clubhouse. After a few hours, I had gone home and tried to sleep so that I was fresh for my 8AM the next day. I felt even more tired, though, as if even sleeping was stressful without Aidan there with me. He was out doing god only knew what…
I winced as my chest pinched with worry, but Layla had the news I needed to hear.
“He’s back. They’re back. We need you to get over here.”
“Is he okay?”
“He is, Cullen too, but they are both a little banged up. You are going to school for something medicine, right?”
“Sports medicine, but I just know basic first aid and a little extra.”
In high school I’d been training to be an EMT, just in case I couldn’t get into college. Always have a back-up plan. EMT had been a solid job with a lot of hours, even if the pay was barely that of a fast food worker.
“Great, get your ass outside. I’m waiting in the truck.”
“Oh shit!” I scrambled out of bed and threw some clothes on, grabbing my purse and first aid kit and running out to the car.
The ride over was tense and what I found when I got there didn’t do much to relieve my stress.
It looked like a triage center in the middle of a war zone, with cots set up everywhere. Men were lying on benches, cots, and even the floor in the front room. And in spite of all the work the women had put in, there were still too many patches of red around the room.
We needed more supplies.
A tall woman with gentle curves and the most beautiful caramel skin I’ve ever seen greeted me, but she had no time for smiles or flowery words.
“You the first-aid girl?” she asked as she looked me over.
“I’ve got basic knowledge. Completed some EMT certification,” I answered.
“Good. I’m Desiree. Nice to meet you. I’ve been working on the more serious of the victims, got some gunshot wounds, got a few big tears, but I need an extra hand with the basic shit. You know how to do stitches?”
“It’s been a long time but yeah.”
“That’s okay, if it scars strange, big fucking deal. We got two guys who need ‘em. I’ll do the one, shit is deep. Wanna make sure there is nothing more serious going on. You handle that dickhead down at the fucking corner. He needs his face stitched up, abrasions above the eyebrow and just below his chin.”
I was surprised to realize the “dickhead in the corner” was Thrash.
“Stupid fool is my brother. Always rushing into shit he shouldn’t.”
I nodded, scribbling down a list of supplies we really needed more of. “Where’s Layla? Layla!”
I explained to her where to find the good stuff: the big boxes of bandages, and skeins of stitching thread, alcohol, gauze, and the like. If these runs were normal, we were going to need more medical supplies.
I eyed Thrash, worriedly. The cuts were superficial, but they were bleeding a lot. When Layla took off, Desiree passed me a handful of thread and cloth in my hand. It would have to do.
Aidan came up from behind me, kissing my neck before he mumbled, “See, I told you it was going to be alright. No one got killed, at least that we know of.”
Relief washed through me like cool water. It had scared me that I hadn’t been able to find him in the crowd.
But we didn’t have time for snuggling.
“We’ll talk about this later. Right now I have a bunch of morons to patch up.” I pushed past him, weaving through the small sea of people until I could squat next to Thrash.
“You banged yourself up, huh?”
Thrash shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. From what I knew, coming down off an adrenaline rush usually didn’t feel that great. And when your face looked like it had been used as a punching bag? Yeah, he was going to be feeling that.
“I’m not too bad. Maybe got a concussion.”
I nodded.
“She already ask you the questions?” They were basic: what had happened? Did he have a headache? Had he blacked out? Was he feeling tired?
“Yeah, I know my fucking name and I know what the day is. I don’t give a shit where we were, but I know where I am. At the clubhouse. You satisfied, woman?”
I grabbed Thrash’s chin and pulled it up towards me so I could see his cuts.
They were smaller than I’d thought, the result of being pounded in the face rather than sliced with a blade.
“Someone got you with fists, huh? Pretty damn hard, too.”
He growled and pulled away. “That fucking hurts.” The abrasions on his chin were oozing puss and would heal ugly if we didn’t get to work on them. Infection was nothing to sneer at.
“I need to clean this out before I put something on it.” I turned towards Desiree. The cloth in my hands wasn’t going to cut it. “You got any more kits on site?”
“All that shit is over behind the bar. They keep all the medical stuff special.”
I nodded, stood and went scrounging around for a kit. It had everything, even a set of switch needles.
I sighed with relief and handed her my kit. “Here. For the guy who got his face sliced up.” She had a towel already full of blood in her hands. “You know how to use the staples?”
She didn’t, but I promised I’d be over in a minute to help, and told her what to do till I got there.
“It’s your lucky day, Thrash. You get stitches. You know how to care for them?”
“Yeah, keep ‘em lubed up. Try not to get ‘em wet. This ain’t my first rodeo.”
I wiped the cuts down and tried not to chuckle when he hissed.
“You sure about that? You’ve got such a baby face.” I joked at him while I threaded the needle.
I clamped the medical pliers over each stitch, using the pressure to push the thick thread through his skin. It took a total of four stitches on the chin and another six on his forehead before he was done. It wasn’t the most beautiful work I’d ever done, but it would do, and hell, it was free.
I helped two other people before I found Desiree. She was bent over the face of a man who was absolutely gorgeous. On one side. The other half of his face was ruined. I cringed. The pretty boy was going to have an ugly ass set of Frankenstein tracks across his cheek.
When Layla arrived, I hurried over and helped her pass the supplies out.
She looked about as harried as I felt. “Could you check this stubborn old mule? He won’t let us touch him.” She pointed to her uncle.
He thrust out his chin and shook his head, insisting he was fine. But he wasn’t. His face was ashen, and his was breath ragged as he breathed into his nebulizer. The oxygen tank had been parked beside him. “Make sure everyone else is okay first.”
It was when he put down the breathing treatment mask and reached for his oxygen that I saw it. The damp swath of blood oozing through his shirt. He had been bleeding a while. It had stained everything but his leather cut.
“Fuck. What happened?” I pulled up his shirt to see the bullet wound.
“Didn’t hit anything vital, just a damn bullet.”
“Yeah, but the bleeding! Is it still in there?”
“Yeah, need to get it out. Don’t want it to damage the bone more than it already has.” He knew his shit, but I couldn’t do this. I didn’t have the training, and I doubted Desiree did either.
This wasn’t the movies. We couldn’t just go in digging around for a bullet. His body was made of flesh. And no matter how tough men acted on the outside, their insides were squishy and sensitive. Digging around in there without the right tools or training would do more harm than good, and could cause nerve and arterial wall damage.
I wasn’t going to touch that shit.
“We need a doctor, Desiree. He needs to go to the hospital.”
“No hospitals. No doctors. No cops,” Mick ground out. “You don’t know nothing about this. We gotten get this shit taken care of, keep it quiet. I walk in there with a bullet wound and it’ll raise eyebrows. They’ll start asking questions.”
“He’s right, but let me make a call.” Aidan was behind me already digging in his pocket for a cellphone.
“Who?”
“Old buddy of mine. Field surgeon. Been home for a while now.”
“And he won’t talk?” I asked.
“Not if I ask him not to.”
It just reminded me how little I actually knew about this man. He had a whole life that he lived before me, away from me and our country.
Before he dialed he walked over and pulled Rage aside. They talked it over a bit and then he made the call.
I cleaned Mick’s wound as best I could and surveyed the situation. The old man was right. His injury was serious, but it wasn’t life threatening. As long as we kept the bleeding in check – and got the bullet out, he’d be fine.
“He’s coming. But you’re going to have to fucking deal with the pain, Mick. He knows you have COPD and he can’t give you anything to take the edge off. It is too fucking dangerous.”
Mick nodded.
I blanched.
Was this going to be my life? Every Saturday night I was going to be called over to clean up a bloodbath? To come and do first aid on a bunch of mobsters and gang members who got in too deep?
I looked around at the faces around me. Half the people around me were in pain, while the other half sat around drinking and chatting.
None of them looked like this was unusual. This was their life.
This was going to be my life.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Aidan asked, pulling me aside. I was too numb to respond. He pulled me into the hallway of the club and looked me over.
I was still in shock.
“What’s going on, Emma? You look like you you’re about to faint. That ain’t the tough girl I know.” Concern filled his face.
“Yeah, well, you don’t know me.”
He frowned. “What?”
“This is bullshit, Aidan. Look at this. Really look at it. Is it what you want? Because this is fucking
stupid
.” I glared at him. “You could’ve gotten killed. Is that what you want, to die for this - this club?”
He looked down at me, his face withdrawn and his voice serious. “If I hadn’t’ve been there, they would’ve gotten killed. You don’t understand, Emma.”
“Understand what? That you are signing your life away to a bunch of jackasses who think this is how to live? They fuck people up, Aidan! I get that you respect Rage and all that, but do you see who he’s working with?”
“You don’t understand,” he repeated, and I just about popped.
“
What
don’t I get? That you want to get yourself killed?” I was
livid
, my breathing ragged and my chest heaving. I was so angry I wanted to punch him. My fists wouldn’t make him blink twice, but I wanted to take it out on him, this fear that was threatening to choke me.
“I was on that path before I ever got involved with the club. Fire and Steel has given me everything. A job. A better living. A reason to get up in the morning. They led me to you.” His voice faltered on the last syllable, and I saw him stiffen in an effort to get it together. “Shit wasn’t looking too rosy for me before now, darlin’. I was alive but I was about to hit the rocks. So I’ll thank you to keep your shit together. These men protect us. They are what’s keeping you safe right now. I’m what’s keeping you safe right now.”
“Oh,
really
?” I hissed, bristling. “Then why the fuck am I still getting shit from Samuel, huh? And why do I have to look at the bruised face of my man, thanking god he didn’t get shot like Mick. Or worse.”
“Fuckers couldn’t shoot worth a shit. Mick was a lucky shot.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I snarled, backing away from him.
Maybe it was the words. Maybe it was the way I reared back. Either way, I’d gone too far. Aidan’s smug grin disappeared, replaced with a glare that burned me – and not in a good way. I flinched as though he’d struck me.
He looked down his nose at me, and turned away. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait! Fuck, how am I supposed to get home?”
He shrugged. “Get a ride with Layla. I don’t give a shit.” I followed him out the door and watched as he hopped on his damn bike, starting it up and taking off down the road.
The fucker didn’t even look before he turned onto the highway.
I just watched him go, my hands falling at my side. There was nothing I could do to keep this from happening. I’d pushed him too far.
I should’ve known better.
But I’d meant what I’d said.
Welcome to reality. Honesty didn’t always pay out.
I took a seat at the picnic table and stared up at the night sky. It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but everything was fucked. I’d gotten no sleep. I was going to miss yet another class. And I was tired as hell.