Page 43 of Crow
“I love it,” I said, welling up again. I hated that I was crying so much recently, I hadn’t allowed myself to cry for years, but I couldn’t help it. Everything was so overwhelming. I turned to Samantha, clasping her hands. “I love it,” I repeated, unable to put into words how much it meant to me and hoping that this was enough. “Thank you so much.”
Samantha pulled me into a hug. I couldn’t believe it. If ever I had cried around the Freeways and their club whores, I would have been laughed at and tormented, and at the very worst, beaten. But here, with the Rebels and their women, I was listened to. More than that, I was comforted. I didn’t know what to do with myself, but the tears came faster, chest heaving with all the sobs I had choked back in my life. Rose came up behind me, wrapping her arms around me and Samantha in an awkward, yet still somehow wonderful, three-way hug.
“Is this really the time to be doing this?” another of Rose’s cousins asked in a high voice as the sound of more gunshots, pained shouts, and thuds came from below. I took deep gulping breaths to try and calm myself, sniffling as I heard something that sounded like glass shattering, then someone shouting curses before being cut off by another gunshot.
“Why haven’t the police showed up yet?” the third cousin asked, sounding on the verge of tears. “What is wrong with this crappy town?”
“Shh! Do you smell that?” Rose broke in, raising her nose in the air and sniffing.
“What?” Samantha looked at Rose like she had lost it.
“That smell,” Rose insisted, sniffing some more. “Can’t you smell it? It’s like a barbecue, or a bonfire, really smokey.”
I froze. Suddenly, I was slammed with the memory of me curled in Ray’s lap as I suggested he just burn the Rebel’s place to the ground, the gleeful glint in his eye as he pushed me against a wall and told me he planned to do exactly that. With everything that had happened, it had slipped my mind, but now fear and panic were clawing at the inside of my stomach and making me feel like I was going to throw up. I whirled to face the others.
“We need to get the fuck out of here,” I said sharply. “Now!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Crow
The engines cut out. I could feel the room holding its breath as we waited for what happened next. I strained my ears to try and hear what was going on outside.
Then two bullets rocketed through the front door, the gunshots piercing the air. Vegas and Maverick hit the deck as the bullets lodged themselves in the wall behind where they were standing.
“Motherfuckers don’t even have the decency to use silencers,” Ripper mutters from next to me. I shot him an incredulous look.
“Is that really what you’re thinking about right now?” I hissed, and he shrugged at me. We were crouched behind the bar, and my breathing was loud in my ears as I waited for Tank’s signal to attack. I couldn’t understand what he was waiting for. My pulse was thumping in my ears, adrenaline buzzing through my muscles. This was what I had been waiting for for years now. Names scrolled through my head. Hollywood. Archer. Snake. Ink and Claymore. Jade. All of the people that I cared for that the Freeways had hurt and worse. My breathing seemed loud to me in the still air.
Then the door burst open and the Freeways swarmed into the Tavern. Ray led the invasion, with most of the Freeways splitting off from him to cover more ground. They fired shot after shot, showering us in bullets at such high speeds it was impossible for them to aim. They wasted a lot of bullets shooting at empty space, but they covered such a large area they couldn’t help but hit some of us. I heard Vegas swear and looked to see him wipe blood from his cheek where a bullet had grazed him. Shouts and more gunshots filled the air as Tank finally lifted his arm in the signal that meant we could return fire. Around the room, Rebels surged into action, appearing from behind makeshift shields made from towers of chairs and overturned tables.
The rodent-looking man I had seen using women as human shields was darting about low to the ground, and I took aim at him. Before I could fire, Claymore had tackled him, throwing punches as they rolled across the floor. It was just like Claymore to abandon the gun. Just before their brawl rolled out of sight, I saw the man grab a broken chair leg from the floor and bring it down just above Claymore’s ear. Worry lurched in my gut, but I had to trust he’d be okay. I promised myself that when this was over, I would give him hours of shit for being surprised by such a pathetic excuse for a man.
Next to me, Ripper was in constant motion, only looking above the bar long enough to fire a few rounds before ducking back for cover. He had a wild grin on his face every time a shout meant one of his bullets hit its target, more of a baring of teeth than a smile. It wasn’t long until his clip was empty, and he turned to me.
“Wish me luck, brother,” he said, then before I could protest, he was running out from behind the bar, ready to take on the Freeways with his bare hands. He ran past where Archer was standing in the middle of the room, firing bullet after bullet from the guns he held in each hand.
“It’s my fuckingwedding day,youbastards!” he was shouting. “I’m supposed to be fucking saying ‘I do!’ followed by some of the best sex of my goddamnlife, and you cocksucking scumbags willnotruin that for me too!”
The whole Tavern was thrown into chaos. I couldn’t keep track of any one person for very long, and I took shots when I could. I wouldn’t risk hitting any of my own. The Freeways had no such issues, and their spray of bullets hit as many of them as it did us. I heard high shrieks as some stray shots went through the ceiling, and my attention was drawn upward. I hoped none of the women were hurt; the image of Jade bleeding out making it hard for me to breathe.
Then I noticed I wasn’t the only one who had heard the shriek. Ray looked away from where he was squaring off with Tank to smirk at the ceiling, gesturing sharply toward the stairs. A mean grin spread across the face of the Freeway next to him, an ugly motherfucker with a scar running down his neck and a shaved head, and he headed for the stairs. I couldn’t let that happen. I dropped my empty pistol to the side and pulled the knife from my belt, ducking out from behind the safety of the bar and throwing myself into the mob. I attacked with renewed vigor, ruthless as I aimed for thighs and stomachs, watching Freeways fall to the ground around me as I plowed my way toward the stairs to head off Ray’s goon.
My single-mindedness caught Wrench’s attention, and he looked between me, my target, and the stairs, understanding dawning on his face as he put the pieces together. He aimed his pistol at the goon’s kneecaps and fired, and I watched with grim satisfaction as the man shouted and fell. When I reached him, I knocked the hilt of my knife against his temple, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he slumped to the floor. He would not pose a threat to Jade or any of the others again.
When I turned, the rodent-looking man was behind me, blood streaming down the side of his face. His chest was heaving, and he had a tight grip on a broken beer bottle. The jagged edges glinted red in the light. I wanted to scan the room for Claymore, reassure myself he was okay, but I refused to take my eyes off the man in front of me.
“You’re the one that little bitch’s been whoring around with,” he sneered, and my vision went red around the edges. I lunged forward, slashing with my knife, and the skinny man leaped back and dodged the strike before stabbing at me with the broken bottle. This close I could see the grease lying thickly on his pockmarked face. I hissed as the bottle dragged across my ribs, leaving burning trails as it tore through my skin, and slashed at him again. I managed to catch his jaw and rip the knife up across his mouth, and he fell backward with a scream. He tripped over a fallen chair to land heavily on the wooden floor, the breath knocked out of him. I was going to finish the job, take him out of the equation as he lay stunned, but then Maverick yelled. I looked away for barely a second, just enough time to see him take down his fight partner, but when I looked back, the rodent was gone.
“Fuck,” I muttered. I shouldn’t have been so careless. I looked across the Tavern, trying to find him again but came up empty. I was glad to see that there weren’t many Freeways left standing; the Rebels might be bruised and bloody, but few of us were down. Ray could tell he was outnumbered; I recognized the expression on his face as he glanced around himself, taking in his fallen club members. It was the look of a feral cat backed against an alley wall. But if anything, that only made him more dangerous. Animals with limited options were violent and unpredictable, and I didn’t like the look of gleam in his eye. I started heading toward where he and Tank were standing, just in case Tank needed the backup.
“I think the party’s over for now, boys,” Ray shouted, still aiming his gun at Tank’s chest. The only reason he hadn’t fired was that Tank was aiming for his head. “Don’t forget to toast our hosts before we go!”
Confusion made me falter in my steps, and I saw Maverick and Archer exchange looks from the corner of my eye. Ray grinned as he started backing away from Tank, toward the Tavern’s doorway. Around us, the remaining Freeways began pulling out canisters and thermoses. When they twisted the caps off, the air was filled with the metallic tang of gasoline and the sharp scent of vodka. By the time I had worked out what they were doing, it was too late. They had dumped the contents across the floor and furniture and fled the building. Ray was the last one out, grinning as he fired at the floor.
“No!” I shouted, as the spark caught and flared. Tank fired his gun at the door, curses streaming from his mouth, but Ray was already gone. I watched in horror as the flames grew and spread across the puddles of accelerant.
“We need to get everyone out of here,” Wrench said, voice raised above the crackling hiss of the fire and screech of the smoke alarm Archer had insisted be fixed for the occasion. Everyone headed for the door. Ink was dragging a dazed-looking Maverick, Claymore was supporting Archer, who was bleeding from a bullet hole in his leg, and Vegas was staggering along. None of us were getting our deposits back on these fucking suits.
