Page 26 of Stone

Armed and ready to go, we make our way towards the flat-roofed, gray-walled building giving Blackjack and Mayhem enough time to take out the three guarding the perimeter. As we walk closer, I pull out my phone and find a text message from Mayhem confirming that we’re good to make our move.

There are three ways into this building. A rolling shutter door which can only be opened from the inside. A heavy-duty door with a key code, which Ghost had already cracked and had sent to Smoke in advance, and an emergency exit door at the back.

“Crave, go join Blackjack in covering the back,” I instruct quietly before we make our final move. “The rest of us will go in at the front. Mayhem will stay outside in case we have any runners.”

“Don’t forget,” Smoke hisses. “Whoever is running this set-up we need them alive. If you have to put a bullet in them to immobilize them, do it, but don’t kill them.” Then adds. “The rest are cannon fodder.”

Rifles in hand, moving fast across the remaining ground, we reach the door. Smoke does the honors, keying in the code on the door security panel. When the red light changes and illuminates green, and the quiet click of the lock sounds, he stands back, giving me room to take the lead.

With my hand raised, I count down from three to one using my fingers. When I’m only holding up my index finger, we push forward, bursting into the warehouse, ready to raise hell fire.

We know that the place is one huge open space, and we need to go in guns ready to take out the dudes before they manage to get a shot at us.

We do have the element of surprise, thanks to Mayhem and Blackjack’s crack shooting. These guys have no idea they are already three men down and have no one outside watching their backs.

As soon as we get inside, we find two men guarding the front door. My rifle already raised, I line up and pull the trigger before he even has a chance to register what the fuck is going on. I hit my target with a clean shot, center of his forehead, and he drops like a sack of shit. Edge takes out the other with a shot to the chest, his torso folding in on itself, knees buckling, unable to hold him up any longer and he hits the ground hard.

Inevitably, the gunshots alert the rest of our arrival and bullets start to fly. We rush towards some crates left randomly on the left, crouching down to take cover. I step into the center of the vast room while Edge veers off to the right. Smoke and Hurricane cover us with a hail of rapid fire.

A flash of metal in my peripheral vision has me turning, finding a gun pointed directly at me. They say that in times like this your life flashes before you. I see Sasha. I see Oriana. I raise my gun, but I know it won’t make any difference. The whizz of a bullet passes above my head and hits my assailant right between the eyes, and the shot he fires veers off far above me when his body falls backwards from the impact and hits the floor.

I look behind me but can’t see anyone until a high-pitched whistle has me looking up. Ghost is balanced on one of the horizontal metal roof supports. I’m sure the fucker winks at me before he disappears behind one of the vertical struts.

I take a sharp breath and curse myself for fucking up and letting the now dead asshole get the better of me. I then thank my motherfucking stars for Ghost and his crazy unearthly ability.

Edge goes sprinting forward, hurdling over another two bodies slumped on the floor. Thankfully none of them are our brothers. I raise my gun and follow with a little more caution, covering Edge, but I’m blindsided when the full force of another body slams into me and forces me to the ground. Letting go of my weapon doesn’t sit well with me, but on impact, I let it drop so my hands are free. I grab hold of the collar of the fucker’s jacket and put all my strength into rolling us over so I get the advantage of being on top. His punch is weak and predictable, so it’s easy to dodge.

I retaliate with a fist in his face that’s backed up by the power of my weight and skill. His hand comes up, a flash of silver as he tries to plunge it into my side. I block it with my forearm, the blade cuts through the thick cotton fabric sleeve and slices my skin. It stings like a motherfucker, but I’ve had worse. With my other hand, I snatch hold of his knife-wielding hand and snap it with sheer force into an unnatural position. I twist it once more until the tip of the silver blade is pointing towards his own body, then push up and hard into his neck, just under his chin, piercing his carotid artery. A sharp twist ensures I severe it completely.

His eyes stare back at me, his mouth gapes as he gasps against the blood gurgling in the back of his throat. I watch the light of life die in his eyes as his body twitches and falls still.

I leave the knife where it is and wipe the blood that coats my gloves onto the dead man’s shirt. The splatters to the arms and front of my top irritate the fuck out of me, but they’ll have to wait. We’ll be burning what we wear anyway, hence why the cuts stay safely at home when we’re out to kill. I get up and go further into the warehouse in the direction of the cries of pain that ring out.

When I get further into the center of the building, there’s a long metal industrial type table with a bright red toolbox on top. Five old kitchen chairs are scattered haphazardly around it, one fallen onto its back, no doubt during the scuffle.

I find Edge pinning a guy whose face is cut and bloody, down on the floor, his boot firmly on his neck, pistol butt up against the side of his skull. Crave has another pinned face down, his knee firmly pressed into the bottom of his spine while he hogties his wrists together with the remaining rope, fuck knows where he got it from, loops it around his neck a couple of times then pulls tight. The crazed look on Crave’s face tells me that he’s ready to strangle the life out of the fucker, so I intervene before he goes too far.

“Brother,” I put my hand on Crave’s shoulder but also direct my gaze to Edge, so he knows that this is for him too. “Inflict as much pain as you want, but don’t kill them. We need info.” I glance around for our Prez, but there’s no sign of him. “Where’s the boss?” We avoid using our names, not that it matters too much because we’ve done with these two, they won’t be able to say anything since they’ll no longer be breathing.

“Over there, with H,” Edge tips his head towards the far left-hand corner of the room. He lifts his foot up, grabs the dude by the throat and yanks him up off the ground, pushing him until he’s sitting on his ass with his legs tucked under him. “There’s a room with a sophisticated locking system, they’re trying to break it.”

“Well you don’t lock up stuff that’s not worth shit,” I snigger. “So, it must be holding something that has the value of a shit ton of greenbacks or it’s important to them.” The guy that Edge has a gun pointed at shifts on the spot, his eyes flick speedily over to the room then back, which tells me I’ve hit the nail on the head. “Why aren’t you over there having a crack at it?” Edge isn’t only a kickass mechanic; he also has a flair for picking locks.

“Ah come on, brother,” Crave laughs as he hauls the guy he’s holding up onto his knees. “Do you really think that he’d choose the thrill of cracking a lock, when there are fuckers to torture.” The demonic grin on Edge’s face is enough to have the guy he’s holding whimper with fear.

With a shake of my head, I set off in the direction Edge indicated. When I get nearer, Smoke has his cellphone against his ear while pacing up and down in front of a steel door. The room they’re standing outside of is around fourteen feet long, with a depth of approximately ten feet. It’s solid, no windows, nothing that can be forced open, just the metal door with a keypad beside it. Not just a simple one to zero number pad, this is the size of a keyboard with hyphens, semi-colons, dollar signs and all that shit. The possible combinations are endless, the chance of cracking it near on impossible.

“Yeah, black folder, top drawer of my desk,” Smoke barks into the phone. “Yeah, Marie Ann, what’s her date of birth.”

“Really?” I question Smoke when he turns to look at me, the phone still at his ear as he waits on what must be one of the guys back at the YOMC clubhouse to give him the information he’s after. “We don’t even know if this is the Irish and if it is, do you think that Jimmy is dumb enough to use his wife’s birthday?” The tattooed letters across Smokes fingers spell out Unlawful, so he presents with the letter L when he flips me the bird in response to my comments. “Charming,” I snigger back at him.

“Right back at you, asshole,” I snigger, but he ignores me and moves back to the keyboard. He punches in six numbers, but all he gets back is a high-pitched noise. He curses around the lit cigarette in his mouth, with each word a smokey breath spits out with it. His head tills back, and he stares at the ceiling. He’s thinking, and we all know that Smoke likes quiet when he’s contemplating what to do next. So, we keep our gobs shut, but it sounds like Edge and Crave have started the interrogation without us, if the pained cries are anything to go by.

“Is Cub there?” Smoke barks down the phone. “Well get the fucker on the other line.” He turns around to face me. “Fucking kid,” he grumbles. “I thought he’d already set up the computer. So, what reason does he have to be up at your house?”

“He doesn’t, the fucker,” I grit out. “Looks like I might need to interrogate him too when we get back, the little shit.” Smoke raises a brow at my comment before turning his attention back to the phone.

“Ask him what characters you use when texting to make a heart?” he pauses while he waits for an answer. “No, not fucking emojis, actual keyboard, you thick fuck.” Smoke rolls his eyes and I want to laugh out loud, but I can tell he’s getting angsty. “What the hell is an angle bracket?” Another pause “Oh yeah, the one that points to the left. Okay, and then a number 3?”

---