Colt (Devil's Nightmare MC #10) - Lena Bourne Page 0,67
in this world, it’s always, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I don’t plan to be a nobody enforcer for this MC until I’m too old to be useful. And I plan on taking him with me all the way, so I don’t know what he’s being so pissy about.
I headed to the bedroom I share with Blaze, thinking only to get away from his accusations and dire warnings, but I promptly fell I sleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
As a result, I was groggy and disoriented when Blaze came to wake me at just before nine PM.
“There’s a meeting. Cross wants you there,” he said, and I banged my head against the top bunk in my haste to get up.
The throbbing pain in my head doesn’t help my disoriented state as I follow Blaze down the corridor and to the main room. A couple of our brothers are sitting on the crates lining the walls of the main room, talking quietly, and I can hear yet more outside, their words carried inside on the plumes of smoke from their cigarettes and evening wind.
Whatever’s happening is happening soon. We’re moving tonight, it seems. Cold nervousness floods my stomach as soon as I realize the entirety of what that means. We’re riding to deal out death once again. I’m not ready. I never am. Not until I’m standing with my knife or my gun before the man I’m supposed to dispatch. Then I do what I must. As always, I’m gonna trust that and not think about anything ahead of time.
Cross, Ice, Hawk, and Tank are standing beside the long table that’s only holding a couple of images tonight. Five other brothers are hanging back, leaning on the wall, or sitting on crates. Ace and Rook are sitting on crates, while Scar is leaning against the way between them. His face is grotesquely disfigured by the jagged scar across his cheek. He’s in charge of torture for our club, and most men just tell him what he wants to know before he even gets started on them. He’s a legend in his own right in the biker world. The other two are Mac and Eagle, and I’m surprised to see the young half-Indian here since he’s been so critical about us not punishing the Knights for the explosion that killed Mitch. Cross clears his throat, drawing my attention away from Scar.
“Nice of you to join us,” he says, sarcasm thick in his voice. I nod and look down at the table.
A picture of Snake, the gray-haired guy who seems to be running the show for the Sinners now is in the center of the table, next to an image of the big house overlooking the town. Below that is a row of six more photos of men and houses.
“These are the Sinners’ ringleaders now,” Cross says, pointing at the photos.
“Tonight we will ride, grab them all, and bring them here, where Scar will go to work on them to find out the rest of what we need to know about who’s talking to the feds and such,” Cross says. “I’d prefer to be handling this the old-fashioned way, by leaving none alive to tell tales to cops, but there’s already too much heat surrounding this job. The explosion at the bar drew everyone’s attention, and there’s all manner of police presence around now. Feds, local cops, ATF, you name it, they’re here. And some MCs from as far up as Vegas are already sniffing around too, looking for an advantage in the Sinners’ downfall. They’re all crawling all over town and the cops have already arrested several members of Knights of the Road MC. We can’t afford any more fuck ups and we can’t afford to leave behind a town full of corpses. There are too many eyes watching. We gotta find the heart of this thing and strike there and only there.”
Cross pauses, his piercing black gaze traveling across all of us. I nod along with the rest of the guys in the room. Only Tank is looking a bit skeptical, his eyes narrowed as he watches Cross, but he keeps silent. If anyone asked my opinion, I’d tell them I think it’s a good plan, not foolproof, but perhaps the best we can achieve under the current circumstances.
“We move tonight,” Cross says. “A small operation, an in and out kinda thing. Tank, Ice, and I will take Snake at the big house. The rest of you will be