Until Amy - Jessica Ames Page 0,50
That’ll make his punishment less severe, though I can’t imagine Omen going easy on him.
He still slipped the knife in and twisted it.
We get to the meet and Havoc cuts the engine. I pull my gun out and check that it’s loaded before sitting it on my lap. The waiting is the worst. The scheduled time we set up for the meet comes and goes and there’s no sign of the Fallen Demons. I start to hope we’ve got Mac wrong, that he’s not the culprit, when I see the headlights in the side mirror.
Fuck, he did this. He sold us out. That little fucker sold us out to an enemy. Rage roars through my veins as I clench and unclench my hands. This kid should never have been sponsored. It’ll destroy Crank knowing a kid he brought into the club betrayed us.
“Show time,” I say to Havoc.
We climb out of the van and we’re quickly surrounded by bikes. My heart should be pounding as I take in the fact we’re clearly outnumbered. There’s at least five of them to one of us. Not good odds.
They’re not wearing kuttes, no colors that identify who they are and they have ski-masks on, hiding their faces. Sneaky fuckers.
The lead biker stops near to us and pulls a gun at the same time we raise our own weapons.
“Kick your weapons over here,” he demands, and suddenly we’re facing off more guns.
That kicks my heartrate up a notch. I glance at Havoc and toss my gun over. He does the same. Four guys move over to the back of the van and open the doors. I growl under my breath, I can’t help it. I know there’s nothing in there, but the fact they’d take from us pisses me off.
“Do you know who the fuck we are?” I sneer.
“You’re the guys getting robbed,” the lead guy says. This earns a laugh from the others.
“Sons won’t take this shit lying down,” Havoc snarls. “You’re all fucking dead.”
Havoc’s whole-body jolts back before I hear the shot. He goes down, his legs folding beneath him. I make a grab for him and manage to grab him by the shirt as he hits the ground. Blood spreads across his white tee like spilled ink. Fuck.
I press my hands over the wound. I’ve seen so many gunshot wounds over the years, enough to know this one hit him high on the shoulder. Thank fuck the guy is a bad shot.
The fuckers unload the van into their own.
“Thanks for the goods,” the lead guy caws and then the bikes and van take off again.
I don’t watch them go, my attention on Havoc.
He’s still alert, but the glassy pain in his eyes worries me. While he’s still conscious, I pull him up to his feet and get him into the van. I strip my tee off and roll it into a ball, pressing his hand against it and slamming it against the wound.
“Keep pressure on it,” I order.
I run around the front of the van and climb in, my heart hammering in my chest. Havoc ain’t dying, not on my fucking watch. I’ve never driven automatic before, so it takes me a second to realize there’s only two pedals and that I don’t need to change gear.
I press the accelerator to the floor and peel the van out of there.
The drive back to the clubhouse feels like it takes ten eons. I should take him to a hospital, but I know a gunshot wound will raise flags and we can’t have the police sniffing around. Besides, I know how the fuck to fix a gunshot wound. I’ve patched up more brothers in the army and MC than I can count. The dangers of our world, of the worlds I chose to put myself in.
“You still with me, Hav?”
Havoc groans. “Unfortunately. Fuck, getting shot hurts.”
“Just hold on, brother. We’ll be there soon.”
Relief floods me as I see the clubhouse come into view.
I don’t breach the gates, though everything in me screams to get inside as fast as possible. It’s a one-way ticket to dead. The brothers would open fire immediately, so I have to get out of the van and run to pull it back. I get back in the van, ignoring the blood coating my hands, ignoring everything. The back tires squeal as I hit the accelerator again and the van lurches forward.
I slam it to a stop in front of the back doors and come around to the passenger side