Page 55 of Hounds Ascend
“I was born ready, son. Let’s go.”
Clayton leads the way, walking into the woods that separate the bar from the old store. To our surprise, a fresh path was already cut, a white paper ghost hanging from the first tree in the path. Clayton chuckles and snags the ghost down.
“He said he’d beat us here. Looks like he did.”
We follow Clayton down the heavily wooded path until dim neon lights shine through the trees as we are near the bar. Once we make it to the edge of the parking lot, Scott peers through the trees to ensure no one is around. There are a few motorcyclesparked in the front, but no cars or trucks. The music is playing loud enough to mask any sounds we would make.
Making our way through the last few tree branches Ghost left to hide the trail, we get a good view of the bar. Ghost wasn’t lying. The place is rundown and looks like it’s barely survived for the last thirty years.
The paint on the exterior walls is chipped to hell and back, the gutter is hanging down, and the door is lopsided and doesn’t shut properly. It couldn’t be very secure. The parking lot is full of large pot holes and the gravel is thin. It looks like someone had abandoned the place in the eighties and squatters had been living here since.
“Hell of a makeshift clubhouse, huh brother?” Scott asks, taking in our surroundings.
“I’ll say.” I walk around toward the side of the building, hoping there’s a window I can see inside through. As I suspected, there is. Inside, I see Keith sitting at the bar with a patch on either side of him and one behind the bar who’s likely a prospect. I can’t tell from this angle.
The smell of gasoline creeps into my nostrils. I look around, finding the source. Clayton is kneeling a few feet away from me pouring gas into a glass beer bottle.
Before I can react, Clayton stuffs a piece of cloth into the tip of the bottle, lights it, and hums it directly through the window. It explodes upon entry through the window, causing instant chaos inside. Fire spews toward the men at the bar, small bits of itlanding on them.
The bartender ducks for cover while the two patches that were sitting next to Keith draw their weapons and disappear. I no longer have eyes on anyone; they’re hidden from sight. Clayton looks at me, then at Scott.
“Now or never, boys,” Ghost’s voice rings out from behind us in the brush.
“I’ve never been one to half-ass anything. It’s go time.” I raise my pistol and crouch down, making my way toward the door. Scott and Clayton are on the move, too, and Ghost…well he’s doing what he does best. Disappearing.
Taking a deep breath in, I kick the crumpled door open, and all fucking hell breaks loose. Whoever was firing off rounds was a complete idiot. They’re shooting wild, with no target in mind obviously, because bullets are flying in every direction. I’m still outside, standing beside the doorway, just out of sight. I can no longer see Scott or Clayton, but I have to remain focused, if not I won’t be walking away from this place upright.
My arm stings from the flesh wound of a bullet grazing me that I hadn’t noticed initially, but when I lean against the chipped boards that make up the outer walls, I almost howl under my own weight.
Biting my lip to subdue any noise that might escape, I ease off the wall. Instantly, there’s relief when my weight is lifted from my arm. I can hear movement inside and what I assume are supposed to be whispers and hushed voices. They suck at that concept, though.
“Get Kingston and his guys on the phone. Let ‘em knowwe’re being attacked at the bar.”
I’d recognize that voice anywhere. Keith. Moccasin VP. Leader of chaos. Or at least that’s what he used to be. Because tonight, he won’t be any of those things. Tonight, he’s going to be another toe tag in the morgue. Ghost never misses a target and some half-wit douchebag won’t be the first, of that I’m certain.
From the sounds of their footsteps, I figure they’re behind the bar. Which is far enough to the side that I should be able to get inside the doorway and take out at least one of the guys before they realize I’m here. Fuck. I hate this part.
I rush around the corner, my nine aimed and ready. I’m able to get off one shot as I suspected. Straight to the head of a short, young man. He dropped and I quickly duck back outside.
“Come on, Cass. Doing your own dirty work, these days?” Keith’s tone is challenging.
“Better than sending some fucked-up zombies out to do the job, don’t you think?” I fire back, hatred lacing his voice.
“Keith, look out!” one of the men shouts, followed by a gurgling moan and a loud thud.
I do a mental recap and count the number of men that should be left: one. I waltz through the doorway, a very disgruntled Keith standing behind the bar with a highly amused Scott behind him with the barrel of a gun pressed against his head.
“Hey Pops, you can come in now,” I call loudly as he approaches Keith.
“Think I got it from here, brother.”
Scott lowers his weapon and shoves Keith forward. His grungy hair covers his face with the motion. He snaps his head sideways in attempt to get his hair out of his eyes so he can see.
“I’m not scared of you. You’re nothing more than a wannabe. You can’t even run your own goddamn club right!” he shouts.
I laugh in his face. “You don’t knowanything about running a club. Hell, you don’t know anything about running a damn thing other than dope.”
“I knew how to run dopeandfirearms. I’ve made more money off that than you could even fathom.”
