Page 12 of Ace's Legacy
"Don't get cocky," Viper warns. "These aren't the usual foot soldiers. These are Charles's elite."
Charles. The name alone makes my trigger finger itch. The MC president who has been waging war against our club ever since Reaper disrupted his human trafficking operation and rescued Evelyn. The attacks have been escalating, but this is the second time they've brought the fight directly to our doorstep.
A volley of bullets strikes the clubhouse walls, the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass filling the air. Someone—Blade, I think—curses loudly from his position at the side of the building.
"We need to push them back," I say to Viper. "Can't let them get any closer to the clubhouse."
"Worried about your girl?"
"She's not my—" I stop myself. What's the point in denying it? "Yeah. I'm worried."
Viper nods, no judgment in his eyes. "Cover me. I'm going to try to get to that truck. If I can set it on fire, it'll flush them out."
I want to argue—it's a suicide run—but I know that look on his face. He's already made up his mind.
"On three," I say, checking my magazine. "One. Two. Three!"
I rise from cover and lay down suppressing fire, aiming at the flashes of movement behind the truck. Viper sprints across the open ground, hunched low, a Molotov cocktail in his free hand.The Vultures MC spot him and redirect their fire, bullets kicking up dirt at his heels.
My heart's in my throat as I watch him run. This man saved my life, brought me into the club, gave me purpose when I had nothing. If he goes down...
A bullet whizzes past my ear, close enough that I feel the air displacement. I drop back into cover, cursing. When I peek out again, Viper has reached a stack of old tires about twenty feet from the truck. He's pinned down, unable to advance further.
"Viper's stuck," I say into the radio. "Need covering fire on the truck."
"On it," Ghost responds immediately.
From the clubhouse roof, Ghost opens up with the M4, the automatic fire drowning out all other sound for a moment. Under that cover, Viper makes his move, lighting the Molotov and hurling it at the truck. The bottle shatters against the hood, liquid fire spreading across the rusted metal.
Two Vultures MC abandon their cover, running for the tree line. Reaper and Blade pick them off with military precision. The others are trapped now, caught between our bullets and the growing inferno.
"Push forward!" Reaper commands over the radio.
We advance as one, a coordinated assault born from countless hours of training together. Ghost provides cover from above while Reaper, Blade, and I move up through the yard, forcing the Vultures MC to retreat.
That's when I hear it. The distinctive rumble of a Harley coming up the road. We all pause, weapons ready.
"It's Wilder!" Blade calls out, spotting him first.
Wilder roars into the yard, his bike splattered with blood that I pray isn't his. He skids to a stop beside me, dropping his bike and rolling behind our cover.
"Thought you were dead," I say, unable to keep the emotion from my voice.
"Not yet. But four of them are." He pulls a second gun from his waistband. "The others broke off to come here when they realized I was alone. You get the girl inside?"
"She's safe," I assure him. "Thanks to you."
He nods once, all business. "Charles's not with them. This is just a scouting party."
The information sends a chill down my spine. If this is just a scouting party, what will the real attack look like?
"We need to end this now," Reaper says, having made his way to our position. "Before reinforcements arrive."
Wilder checks his weapons. "There's a propane tank behind the truck. If we can hit it—"
"We'll blow them all to hell," I finish for him.
Reaper considers for only a moment before nodding. "Do it."
