Page 99 of Complete Me
“I would have taken care of things that night in the woods if you hadn’t.”
“I didn’t want that stain on you. I don’t want it now. It’s not too late to walk away, and it doesn’t make you any less of a man to do so. It actually makes you a better one.”
“You’ve carried this burden long enough on your own. I’m with you.”
“Then let’s take care of this shit and end it.”
The rest of the morning and into the afternoon is pure madness. Club members prepare for war, packing their bikes with weapons and ammo, closing up the clubhouse, and leaving a skeleton crew to hold down the fort while the majority of us go in.
I find Malice leaning against the doorframe that leads outside, his boots crossed at his ankles, whistling while flipping his knives around in his hands.
“Is that one okay? Like, upstairs?” Sawyer asks while tapping his head.
Sin laughs at the question, answering, “Malice? Yeah, he’s just got a couple screws loose. He had a fucked-up childhood that gives him a little unhinged edge, but he loves hard.”
“Yeah, when you get past the barbed wire,” I add.
Chaos’ voice shouts out over the voices around us like a knife, plunging the room into complete silence.
“We move out in ten. They’ll expect to be hit at night under the veil of darkness, we want them to be surprised, so we’re hitting them midday. Stitch, if anyone, women or god-for-fucking-bid, children, are found, you take your pick of prospects and bring them with you to help get them out. That is your only priority. Everyone else goes down. Leave their president to me. Sin, Malice, Wrath, and Rogue will be oncomms with me. That’s it. Everything else is free game. Who’s ready?”
There’s a collective cheer as Chaos nods his head.
“Then let’s go fuck shit up!”
The energy in the room is palpable, everyone ready for battle as we head outside to our bikes. The roar of engines is deafening as I nod to Sawyer to stay with me. He’s never ridden formation before, but he’s about to learn real quick. We ride through Amberwood in a massive show of force, keeping it slow and calm to not put a blatant red flag on our asses. The rumble of our bikes and the heavy scent of motor oil fill the air, giving us away. Hell’s Heathens has always been based out of Amberwood, and we’ve always stayed within the boundaries of the law . . . except when we’re provoked. Then we’re like a pack of wild beasts who’ve been cornered. We operate as a family unit, owning and supporting legitimate businesses in Amberwood and contributing to the community. The people here aren’t scared of us, but those who threaten to harm us or our territory? They’re about to find out what happens when you fuck with a Heathen.
Thirty minutes later, we’re pulling up a mile down the road from their compound in the middle of fucking no-man’s land, while a prospect and two members move forward on their own in a nondescript truck. We sit on our bikes, adrenaline pumping through our veins. My old companions, anger and vengeance, fuel me. I attempt to push everything else out of my thoughts, hyper-focusing on getting in there and ending Tyson and the club he’s brought back from the dead. But in the recesses of my mind is something bright and beautiful tugging at me, balancing the two sides of my life.
The explosion echoes on the wind, Sawyer’s head snapping in my direction.
“Chaos.”
Go time.
Bikes surge forward as we enter their compound, sliding our bikes to a stop and pulling guns from holsters. The air is thick with dust and smoke as we move in quickly, our heavy boots crunching over broken glass and shattered wood. I’m laser-focused, attuned to every sound, every movement at the edge of my vision.
The compound looks like another junkyard, which seems to be fitting for the type of filth it's harboring. It sits wedged against long-abandoned train tracks, the cars covered in graffiti, worn down in places, crumbling completely in others, the original logos faded into oblivion. We’re assuming the main clubhouse is the shipping container in the center, a large rust bucket covered in grime and the devil himself knows what else. The perimeter is surrounded by sagging barbed wire that’s more rust than metal.
Members flock out with guns in their hands, and shots are fired as we barrel forward. Chaos, Sin, Sawyer, and I run to take cover against the side of a boxcar.
“Keep quiet, let’s get in there from the back,” Sin says as we follow him along the line of the crumbling cars next to the shipping container. Just as Chaos and Sin slide between the two buildings, a gnarly looking asshole with a green mohawk jumps in front of us.
I lift my gun to shoot him between the eyes as Sawyer steps forward, throwing a punch to the assholes face, blood pouring from the crushed bone in his cheek. He doesn’t waste a moment, pulling his arm back and letting another one land. The flat of his hand uppercuts him right under the nose, pushing the cartilage into his brain, killing him. His body crumbles as Sawyer pulls out his gun again, giving me a look that conveys he didn’t break a sweat.
“Took care of that pretty easy. Show-off.”
“You said to keep it quiet, what was I supposed to do?” He shrugs.
We follow Chaos and Sin, quickly rounding the house and breaking in through the back door. The house reeks of piss, stale cigarettes, mold, and shit as we step through the threshold. The walls are covered in more graffiti, furniture torn and sagging. Beer bottles, cigarette butts, needles, and other garbage litter the floor. How the fuck can people live like this?
The building has been gutted, minus two makeshift rooms, closed off with plywood and steel sheets. Sin lifts his foot and kicks the first one down, the wood and metal clattering to the floor as a small, weasel-looking man with eyes as round and beady as a tarsier jumps backward with shaky hands and knees.
“Where’s your president?” Chaos demands as he descends on him, Sin moving to his front and Chaos to his back, pinning him in.
“In-nn-in the back room. His office.”
“You can’t force loyalty,” Chaos states with mock disappointment as he grabs the guy’s forehead and chin from opposite directions and twists at an ungodly angle. The man crumbles to the floor in a lifeless heap.
