Page 71 of Huge Dynamite
“Julius? Who took her? What are you talking about?”
“A couple of minutes after you left. Three guys in Dog jackets. They grabbed her, man. I wanted to fight them, but she screamed for me to run and find you—” He’s out of breath and obviously panicked.
“You did the right thing. Were they on bikes?” I grip my clutch hard as I speak.
“Nah. A big black truck.” The tone of his voice rises. “She was fighting them, but there were three of them. They tossed her into the back of their truck.”
“Which way did they go?”
“West, out of Greenville.”
West out of Greenville is Rumble. The same place I’m headed. I left before them, which means Holly is on the road somewhere behind me. Spinning my bike around in that direction, I rev the engine and pull off to the side of the road. Dust and dirt kick up at me, and little pieces of broken asphalt scatter behind me as I take off, racing directly for their truck.
If I keep at this pace, I’ll run into them within maybe ten minutes and then—
Then what? Slowing my bike, I begin to see clearly. What will happen? There are three of them and one of me. The best that can happen is that I get a clear shot at one, maybe two—and then I’m dead, leaving Holly in danger.
“Fuck!” I scream through my locked jaw.
I can’t do this. For once in my life, I can’t act like a stick of dynamite, ready to explode. I have to own up to my mistakes and do what I never do—ask for help.
“I’m sorry, Holly. Hang in there. I’ll get to you, I promise.”
Spinning the bike, I cut off into a side road, heading for Hoppa.
***
“Thank god.” Taking the turn into the parking lot of Hoppa’s Taphouse way too fast, my tires make a screeching sound. The knot in my freaking stomach that I’ve been carrying for the past five miles relaxes when I see all the Knights’ bikes. Then, at the same time, my stomach flips over. It’s time for me to fess up and come clean.
Pulling into a spot near the front door of the Taphouse, I barely take the time to turn off my bike before I jump off and rush inside. Bursting through the door, I stand perfectly still—sweating and panting as I take in my surroundings. The guys are sitting at the bar, most wearing their colors, and Nick is behind the bar opening a beer. He sees me first. Standing up tall, he looks me up and down and then nods to me to follow him to the back room.
No doubt he can read the fear and worry on my face.
As I hustle to the back, I glance around, seeing a good number of civilians. They’re people who don’t know a damn thing about the Unchained Dogs or what turf they run. They’re just hard-working people who come here to grab a beer after a long day behind a desk, or teaching school, or collecting trash. Shit. By being here at Hoppa’s Taphouse, all of these people may be in danger—just because I can’t control my temper.
Hurrying into the back room, I can feel the guys—Bullet, Bullseye, Bucky, Texas, Small Fry, and Vil—follow. As soon as we get inside, they form a semi-circle around me. Nick moves to speak, but he’s interrupted by the back door opening.
Grabbing for my piece in my waistband, I ready myself for what’s coming through that door. In my peripheral vision, I catch the other guys who are carrying doing the same. They may not know why, but they’ll follow my lead.
“What’s going on?” It’s Colt.
Exhaling, I release my grip on my gun as he comes in from the back.
“Guys? Dynamite?” Colt looks me in the eye. “What’s going on?”
“That’s what we’re waiting to find out,” Nick explains. “Dynamite?”
Looking at Colt, my body stiffens. I want to protest him being here and send him home, but I can’t. He’s a man now, and he deserves the respect of one. His brow furrows as he looks at me, but I can barely look him in the eye.
The hell with it. I have no time to be a wimp. My knees bounce from adrenaline, and I take a deep breath, trying to still them, but it doesn’t work.
“Dynamite.” Nick nods to me. “What is it you need to say?”
I don’t have time to take a breath. “I fucked up. Really fucked up.” The words pour out of me. Looking from man to man, I finally settle my gaze on Bullet. “And because of it, Holly’s been marked and kidnapped by the Dogs.”
“What?” I can hear the concern in Nick’s voice.
“You heard me. You know they’d been snapping pictures of her—and sent them to me with a death threat. I-I ran to their clubhouse and held Luther in a chokehold.”
