Page 24 of Toxic Biker

We immediately head to the right, Angel and Ripper going to the lower level, Wrench and Lunatic head towards the main office on this floor, while me and Powerhouse head to the upper level. There are multiple VIP lounges and private glassed offices up here, and not being sure where this motherfucker is, we’re all forced to split up into our partners. Our plan is to alert the other by walkie if we find who we’re looking for.

As we pass people, they quickly move out of our way, but then suddenly the fire alarm is activated. Screams overtake all other noise as people freak and try to get outside. They begin to shove and plow through others and out every door they can find. The shrill blaring of the alarm sounds over and over, and it seems like every single light in the place flashes while people do whatever they can to escape.

The pandemonium is enough of a distraction to the employees that they don’t notice us at first, as they attempt to figure out what to do. They can escape with other patrons and live to see another day if there’s a serious fire like the alarm suggests. The other option on the table for the staff is they can leave the club in a hurry, while all their cash potentially gets stolen, and then they’re forced to have to run and hide as the cartel hunts them down like wild boars. It will get ugly for them fast, as the cartel will kill the men and ship the women away to the highest bidder to recoup their lost income. If they don’t choose option one or two…well, the third could possibly be being burned to death if they remain at their stations.

I don’t envy them. I also don’t pity them. They should know better than to work for these fucks in the first place.

“Hey!” someone shouts as we pass and rather than shoot them, House double backs. He plants his fist in the dude’s temple, knocking him out cold. I swear he has that shit down to a science. He’s a big, goofy fucker, but when it comes to kicking some ass, he’s the smartest person I know. It’s why I always place my bets on him, because if he ever goes down, then there’s a decent chance he’d already bet against himself to put more money in his pockets with the results than with the payout for winning.

Employees take in our vests with the bright ATF stamp and either begin radioing for their bosses, or they take off to escape. I figure the ones radioing for backup will end up with a bullet in their heads while the ones running away must believe there really is a fire or something and have a good enough reason to bail. The people leaving are the only smart ones, the rest seem to have a death wish if they’re willing to go up against who they believe to be is law enforcement. Dumbasses.

“It’s been called in. We’ve got about twelve minutes before the fire department arrives on scene and sixteen for the cops,” Blow lets everyone know through the group channel that our earpieces are linked to. “If they get SWAT, it could be sooner, so move it.”

Angel and Lunatic were looking up all kinds of shit early this morning, comparing response times to different locations, traffic patterns, the time of day, and everything else under the sun. Collectively, they were able to come up with an idea of what we should expect once law enforcement or emergency services are contacted. We also got lucky in that area, being in a big ass city that has a terrible track record of showing up to the scene quickly. Especially being it’s the weekend and plenty of people are out partying. There was a game earlier tonight too, so more people are in town for that, adding numbers and driving up the need for the cops and EMTs even more.

I can’t help but wonder if Carlos Montoya believes we’re a club full of dipshits or if he’s stopped long enough to consider the potential consequences if we show up with a legit plan? Either way, it’s too late now, we’re here and ready to fuck shit up. He never should’ve underestimated us enough to think we’d willingly fall into a trap set by him.

He must have an inkling at this point that I’ve seen the location he sent and I’d be on my way before long. I just took the option of him knowing when my arrival would be completely away from him. Well, surprise motherfucker, we’re here.

A drunk chick falls to my feet, distracting me. As she sobs, tears track down her cheeks, and she begins to throw up. Fucking gross. I step over the chick, because I’m not here to rescue her. I’m only here for Seth, then to get the fuck out alive and with my brothers.

I never said I was a hero, only that I plan to be Lacey’s. I don’t give two fucks outside of her, my club, and my family. My mom’s nearly dead, and she’ll be the last of them to go, leaving me alone, so not much to think of anymore where family is concerned. I still fight the devil on a daily basis, not being able to save her or do anything to help her, for that matter. You have any idea how fucking difficult it is to have a parent (and not a shitbag human, but an honest to God, good parent) on hospice and she won’t let you do a single thing for her? Not only that, but nothing-not even offering your own life up to whoever will listen, will save her?

Yeah, I’m bitter inside.

I’m well past the sadness of knowing I’ll lose her soon, past the bite of denial, and the relentless bargaining I was willing to do to save her. I can’t change the outcome, which is the one thing in the world I would ever ask for. I don’t have to like it or be fucking a-okay over it either.

Thinking of her only brings my simmering rage to the surface, and the first guy to pull his gun I notice, I send a bullet to his chest, then another, and another until Powerhouse is jerking me to keep moving. Carlos Montoya has no idea who he’s up against if he comes for Lacey after this, because I’m not one to sit by idly for the people I care about. Just ask my shriveled up, bleeding black heart—it gets broken each and every time someone I love either leaves me or dies.

“Here,” my brother holds his palm out to me. A light green tablet rests right in the middle of it. Any other night and I’d pop it without a second thought, but that’s not tonight.

Shaking my head, I divulge, “I don’t want to be too calm for this. They need tofeelall of my rage.”

“And they will, but you have to be able to focus in order to deliver it. You completely zoned out back there, killing that guy. I kept shouting at you because a few others came up behind you.”

My forehead wrinkles as I try to process and think back on anyone else being around me. “The fuck do you mean they were behind me?”

He nods, ordering, “Chew this shit up, snort it, or whatever the fuck, so it hits you right now. You need to seeeverything,not only what’s in front of you.”

I’m going to die if I don’t reel my shit back in. Without any further hesitation on my part, I toss whatever he’s given me into my mouth and begin chomping it up, knowing it won’t be as strong as it would on others since I partake in pharmaceuticals far more often than not. Anything to help numb the pain or blur shit enough so I don’t have to think about anything outside the club.

“You’re dangerous and in danger if you can’t focus.”

I nod, swallowing the disgusting, chewed-up, tangy shock of whatever he gave me as well as leaving a small bit under my tongue to soak up faster, wondering if it’s going to hype me up or bring me down. With renewed clarity from him calling me out, I allow him to lead, so I don’t get us both killed tonight.

We make our way to a wall of lightly tinted, blue glass offices. There are a few people inside that we can easily see, sitting on two dark green, plush, velvet couches. One faces us, while the other looks out a giant window toward the now empty dance floor. Both men appear relaxed, one arm spread along the back, their opposite hands each filled with guns, while someone sits at their feet, blindfolded, gagged, and tied.

“Seth,” I murmur to myself as I realize who the man on the floor is. I’ve been friends with him for too long to not be able to recognize him, even blindfolded and gagged. Part of me believes I’m making it up in my mind, that he’s actually dead, and I’m projecting that this person is him.

“Looks like him,” Powerhouse agrees. I’d showed everyone some pictures of Seth ever since I told them what was going on, so all my brothers have seen his face several times at this point.

“Fuck,” I mutter, not sure if it’s good or bad that he’s in there.

Chapter 12

When you see something beautiful in someone, tell them. It may take a second to say, but for them it could last a lifetime. - unknown

Plague

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