Page 44 of Johnny Gun

“They’re here!” Viper pushed in the door and threw himself on the floor. He crawled as a deafening barrage of automatic gunfire peppered the front door and the exterior of the clubhouse.

Shouts of surprise filled the air.

Caught unawares, guys ran for cover while attempting to load their weapons. The front windows shattered, andbroken glass flew all over the floor and anyone nearby. Rounds struck the supporting beams and the big mural.

“The windows. Cover the windows.” Alex propped his weapon on the window sill. Instantly, Gomez recognized the deadly, effective, and oh-so-sexy HK416. He’d always wanted one. Axel had to know someone in the military or had acquired it illegally. He watched with envy and admiration as Axel emptied his mag, slapped on another, and resumed firing. Damn, that was so hot, he got a fucking boner. Meanwhile, with his AR-15 in place, Deacon returned fire through the widow next to Axel.

“Get those motherfuckers.” SIG in hand, Colt rushed out of the hallway. A bullet struck the Dalton Enforcer in the thigh, and he tumbled onto his side. Wincing, he shuffled, struggling to sit up against the wall. Seeping blood rapidly turned his jeans dark. Colt bit the cuff of his shirt. With a hard pull, he ripped off the sleeve, then tied it around his thigh.

“They’re going around the back,” Tank shouted from his firing spot.

“I’ll go,” Trent yelled back.

“You need backup.” Gomez hunched and dashed toward his friend, despite bullets striking and ricocheting all around him. The big painting with the biker chick collapsed sideways. The corner crashed to the floor.

“Stay where you are,”Trent warned.

“I’m closer to you.” Ghost, the road captain, scrambled toward Trent, who’d already gone down the hallway.

The initial blitz slowed from a nonstop stream of gunfire to sporadic shots. But as Gomez took a position behind the sofa and steadied his Glock to fire, Ghost’s yelp and a heavy barrage came from the rear of the clubhouse. A wave of pungent black smoke billowed forward and swirled around the sitting Colt. Covering his face, he coughed.

“Shit. They want to cook us in here,” Gomez muttered to no one. Dropping to his knees and elbows, he moved to Colt. Ignoring the guy’s pained groans, he dragged him to the front room, where the air was clearer.

Holding his rifle at the ready and wearing a scarf to protect his nose and mouth, Viper jumped over fallen debris and ran through the hallway toward the rear of the house to join Ghost and Trent. Seconds after he moved out of sight, the attack stopped. Except for a clink of broken glass falling, silence fell in the clubhouse. Viper and Trent returned, helping Ghost hobble. The road captain was hurt, but Gomez couldn’t see where.

“They’re gone,” Viper said with a bewildered expression. “I don’t get it. Someone, call emergency. We have injured men. The cops are on their way. If any of you owns an illegal gun, put it away before they get here.”

“They burned something out back,” Gomez said.

“You’re right. Those fuckers came prepared. They lit up rubber in some kind of drum and forced the door open. The paint outside is charred in places.” Viper scratched his forehead. “When I got there, Ghost was down and Trent was searching the grounds. This entire thing makes no sense. Clearly, they had us. We weren’t ready. Why did they leave?”

Gomez wasn’t interested in Viper’s questions. He frowned at Trent. “You left Ghost to go look around?”

“I had to. I knew Ghost would be okay. What if they were hiding in the woods?”

“But they weren’t.” Gomez still wasn’t happy with Trent’s response.

“It’s okay,” Ghost said in a thready voice. “I told him to check.”

“He did,” Trent agreed.

Nope, Ghost’s defense didn’t work for Gomez. But for now, he would drop the matter. The Devils’ Spawn MC rules and covenants were simple and few. Hands down, everyone upheld rule number one: never leave a fallen brother behind. That was the unbreakable tenet. Trent had ignored it. And it bugged the shit out of Gomez.

“Wake up, sunshine. We’re here.”

Johnny’s deep voice swept through Isolde’s brain, scattering the fog of sleep. Frowning, she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Still disoriented, she glanced out the window and found no help there. The skinny, willowy trees all around looked nothing like her home in Dalton.

“This is different.”

Johnny chuckled. “It is, shortcake. We traveled over three hundred miles south, and it’s much warmer out there.”

“Hmmm…I slept, didn’t I?”

“Yup. You curled up in the seat and went out before we left Atlanta. I’m glad you did.”

Oh, yes. Isolde was also glad. Thanks to being asleep, she’d missed most of the long ride. However, her human needs came alive with a vengeance. Her full bladder demanded instant relief. Squirming, she pressed her legs together and pushed the door handle.

“Don’t you dare open that door.”

---