Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
I understood her wish completely.
Pointing at the unprotected Clubhouse, I took the first step. Instantly, a ripple of action ferried through the men. We drifted forward as one.
Our boots crunched over twigs and dandelions. The moon remained hidden as if it didn’t want to witness what would happen.
My eyes narrowed, seeking out weaknesses or problems.
This was no longer a Clubhouse but a battlefield. Luckily, there would be no civilian victims. The compound was out of the city limits, built illegally on an abandoned refuse site that no one touched due to chemical waste. Didn’t they give a shit about their health?
I smirked in the darkness. Not that they’ll have to worry about their health tonight.
Motioning in the air, I signaled the men to spread out.
Silently, our group thinned, forming a moving wall, ready to surround the building like gift wrap. Extra bullets were palmed, safeties flicked, and grenade pins pulled.
We’d come prepared for Armageddon.
Once we’d finished, there would be no Club, no compound, no nothing.
My father and brother would be pieces of meat.
I would finally find salvation.
Reaching the bricked wall, my men pressed up against it, fading into the night. Grasshopper’s blue eyes narrowed, waiting for my next command.
Hefting the weight of my gun, I glared at my Pure brothers. “We all know the plan. Kill every motherfucker but leave the women and children alone. Anyone comes across Rubix or Asus, you leave those bastards to me.”
Men smiled, pressing their fingertips to their lips in an age-old oath.
My word was their law.
Mo flanked me. “Perimeter check complete. No sign of life. Either they’re all fucking high or complete assholes to not fortify.”
“You take the left; I’ll take the right. Kill can go in through the front door.” Grasshopper slapped my leather cut. “After all, it’s about the fashionable entrance.”
Mo chuckled quietly. “You good with that, Kill?”
“Yep. You take a third, Hopper takes a third, and I’ll meet you in the middle with the rest.”
Mo didn’t hesitate.
Slipping back into shadows, he darted down the lineup of bikers. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a third to go with him. His army disappeared around the side of the building in the first flank.
With a salute, Grasshopper summoned his third and moved in the opposite direction. We’d already discussed how we would attack: all at once from all fucking angles.
It would ensure swift victory. We would win.
I waited until Grasshopper disappeared with his group, before glancing at the remaining men. There were ten, eleven including me.
Each man bristled with armament, their eyes cold and focused.
They waited wordlessly, ready to begin. Looking at Matchstick then Beetle, I slinked forward.
I stayed hunched and low, fondling my semiautomatic. The safety was off. Tempers high. Adrenaline flowing.
Men deserved to die. My father deserved to die.
Boggy mud squelched around our boots as we inched around the building.
Beetle reached the front entrance first. He inspected the metal-reinforced door, seeking weaknesses.
I climbed the stoop. “Can you do it?”
Along with Beetle’s past of shoplifting and anarchy as a kid, he was also a magician with locks.
Beetle squatted, eyeing up the mechanism. “It’s an upgraded tumbler system. It’ll take a minute, but I should be able to crack it.”
Matchsticks hemmed us in. “Do it quick, else our edge will be gone.”
The other men stood patiently, watching corners, weapons drawn.
Beetle unrolled his lock-picking arsenal and set to work. Matchsticks tapped his foot. My palms grew damp.
A minute screeched past, slicing my veins with impatience.
Beetle cursed, making a fucking racket with whatever tool he used.
“Enough,” I hissed. I couldn’t wait any longer. “What’s the holdup?”
Beetle frowned. “Dunno. Something’s jammed from the inside.”
“I say we saw the fucking hinges or just blow it.” Matchsticks pulled a grenade from his overstocked belt.
Christ.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. So much for a stealth entry. Grasshopper and Mo would’ve made their way around the building. They’d seek other ways inside. But a bomb would give Dagger Rose and Crusaders time to mobilize. We’d planned on being quiet and dispatching as many people as possible before being noticed.
That idea was out the damn window.
“Any other way?”
Matchsticks shook his head. “The windows are barred. The only way in from this direction is through this door.”
Shit.
Grabbing Beetle by the shoulder, I tugged him away. Matchsticks grinned, knowing what that meant.
“Blow it,” I growled.
We had to get this done fast, otherwise our odds of a clean victory diminished.
Beetle didn’t argue. We all moved back as Matchsticks unpinned his bomb and placed it at the foot of the door. Swinging his rucksack over his shoulder, he grabbed a few sticks of plastic explosive for extra insurance. Slapping TNT to the door handle and central hinge, he stuck a countdown device with a connecting wire between the two.
Once both were armed, he pressed a button and two red digits appeared.
20
19
18
Shit.
We stumbled for cover. Damn asshole. I thought he’d just use the one grenade, not an entire truckload.