past both men. Steele, heart in his throat, kept moving toward his son, terrified that Bridges or Junk would shoot the boy out of pure spite before he could get to him. More windows shattered, proving the two men weren’t alone in the house.
Zane put both hands over his ears and walked backward away from the house, leaving a bloody trail of footprints. He was getting dangerously close to the pool. The dark cloud of sparrows circled him continuously, making it difficult to see him through the spinning shadow of birds. The noise was horrendous with all the birds making a riotous racket.
The boat came at the pier fast, Lana at the wheel, Mechanic training guns on the estate. Steele threw caution to the wind and sprinted toward his son. Maestro ran with him, his body a solid wall between Steele and the house. Ordinarily, the moment he realized Maestro was in danger, Steele would have stopped his reckless behavior, but this was Zane. His son. Breezy’s son. He kept going, hoping the universe would be understanding and Maestro wouldn’t get hit.
He reached Zane just as the little boy realized he wasn’t alone out there. When he spotted Steele rushing toward him, he turned and started to run, heading right for the pool. Steele renewed his efforts, trying to put on more speed. He reached the boy just as Zane had one foot over the edge. Wrapping his arm around him, he dragged him to his chest, whirled around toward the lake and kept sprinting fast, heading for the boat, Lana and Mechanic.
Bullets hit all around them, and then Preacher and Transporter were answering, returning fire, hosing the house back and forth across the windows so that whoever was firing at Steele and Maestro had to hit the floor to keep from getting killed. Preacher had switched weapons but was no less lethal.
Zane struggled, trying to get free. “I’ve got you,” Steele whispered. His heart felt like it would explode any minute in his chest. He had his boy. His son. Safe. Relatively, safe, he qualified as he raced along the pier toward the boat. He was more exposed than ever now, right out in the open, his feet pounding on the wooden pier as he got closer to the boat, although the birds were forming another dark wall between Maestro, him and the house.
He had Zane wrapped up tightly, so nothing could hurt the boy. “We’re taking you to your mommy. She’s waiting for you,” he assured, over and over as he ran.
The boy stopped struggling as they reached the boat. Lana had pulled on a long shirt that covered her body as she drove the boat. She had the powerful craft alongside the pier and she reached for Zane as Mechanic steadied it. Steele transferred his son to his “sister.” She took him, immediately bringing him in close to her.
“Mommy’s going to be so happy to see you,” Lana said, and there were tears of happiness in her voice. “Look at him, Steele. He’s you. He’s Breezy.”
Steele dropped his hand on top of Zane’s head, just for one brief moment and then he turned back to face the house. All softness drained from him, leaving behind pure rage. He glanced at Maestro. Maestro nodded. Behind him, he heard the powerful engine of the boat as Mechanic took Lana and Zane out onto the lake, away from the Abernathy estate.
“We know how many yet?” Steele asked, all business. They moved fast, in perfect sync as they’d been doing for years. Both used the landscape and layout of the house as cover as they moved back to the firefight.
He wanted to see the reunion between Breezy and her son, but this was far more important. He had to remove the threat to her, to his family, once and for all. The Swords, as a club, would keep trying for them, but Torpedo Ink was keeping them weak, draining all money from them. They continued to keep them from making new money using old methods. As Code found it, they provided evidence against club members to law enforcement, anonymously, of course, but the evidence was too solid to ignore. There was no way the new problems the club faced could be traced back to Torpedo Ink. They were completely off the club’s radar and hopefully would remain so. They intended to destroy the Swords using every means possible.
“Seven shooters left in the house,” Maestro reported. “The others took out four. Three