Page 30 of A Biker for Noelle
I promised to keep them safe.
I failed.
I need to focus and redirect all the chaos brewing inside me. So I take a deep breath and channel it elsewhere, needing to find my family.
Kneeling, I hook my arm under one of Poet’s shoulders. “Help me get him to the truck.”
Joining my efforts, Rooster assists me in carrying our brother outside and loading him into the cab. As I climb into the truck and slam the door closed, my phone goes off again. When I take off, I place the call on speaker, heading back toward town. “What you got for me?” My grip tightens on the steering wheel, fingers pressing hard enough to ache.
“I have eyes on the target,” Brewer says.
“Where?”
“Held up in the old, abandoned Wilson grain warehouse.”
I make a U-turn in the middle of the highway and head east. “Contact the others and give them your location. I’m on my way,” I say at the end of the call.
The need to inflict pain on the men who took my family claws at my skin as I grip the wheel of my truck, my mind racing with the thought of someone putting hands on any one of them. The dread tightens around my chest like a vice as we silently drive.
I turn off the main road, and the landscape transforms into miles of snow-covered wheat fields swallowed by darkness, withthe abandoned warehouse looming in the distance. My temples throb with tension as I spot the cluster of vehicles hidden behind an old gas station billboard sign. I cut my lights and ease the truck to their location. I reach over, open the glove box, and retrieve an extra handgun, already loaded.
Rooster opens the passenger door, the bitter cold filling the truck’s cab.
Poet attempts to slide out, growling and breathing heavily as he tries, pushing through the pain.
“Stay put,” I order.
“The fuck I will,” Poet bites back, though his pain weighs down his words.
“You’re no good to us, brother.” I take my shotgun down from the gun rack over his head, then dig a box of shots out from beneath the bench seat and place them in his lap. “Fuckin’ stay put. That’s an order,” I bark. Hearing no rebuttal, I exit the truck into the dark, cold night air.
“We have a count of how many are inside?” I keep my voice low.
“We’ve clocked at least four coming and going from the building,” Wire says.
“Listen, Prez, it doesn’t add up as to why they didn’t keep going. Why would they hole up in town?” Tech says.
The chilling wind whips around me, but it does little to cool the burning inside. “They have Ma, too,” I tell them, struggling to make sense of the situation.
“We know these motherfuckers are involved in the skin trade, Prez. Your mom is just another means for them to make money,” Wire says, his words hitting me like a physical blow.
Brewer clamps his hand down on my shoulder. “We will get them back, Prez.”
I look at each of my brothers, their faces bearing grim expressions of determination. They are all willing to lay down their lives for family.
“Let’s move,” I order.
We immediately shift into action and shuffle through the snow, closing in on the abandoned warehouse while keeping in the shadows. With my back pressed against the weather-worn building, I slowly creep up to a shattered window and cautiously peer inside. Most of the interior is cloaked in darkness except for a small diameter in the center of the open space, where at least five men are huddled around a fire burning in a barrel. In the dimly lit shadows a few feet away, huddled together, I spot my family, bound and blindfolded.
I look back at my brothers, holding up five fingers. Silently, we move, separating to surround the small building. With purpose, I raise my weapon, my heart beating like a war drum, and ready myself. As I turn the corner of the building, I come face to face with a heavy-set man around my height, smoking a cigarette. Over his shoulder, I notice Rooster, and before the bastard has time to react, my brother slits his throat, and he falls to his knees, holding his neck before falling face-first onto the frozen ground at my feet, his blood pooling around my boots.
I take a cleansing breath, drawing in the bitter cold, stealing myself in to what I must do and at any cost. Swinging the door open, we rush inside, catching the men standing around the warmth of the fire off-guard. I put a bullet in two men before they can react and return fire. My brothers and I span out, taking cover as bullets whiz by, piercing through the dilapidated walls. To my right, I spot one of the men pointing his gun at one of my men. Without hesitating, I aim and pull the trigger.
A few feet away, Noelle, Zack, and my mom walk into the light of the fire. Behind them are two men, one holding a gun toZack’s head and the other motherfucker doing the same to my mom.
My heart stops.
So does the gunfire.
