The Boy I Grew Up With

I didn’t know if they had guns. I didn’t know if someone would attack with a knife.

No lights were on, so they were moving in the dark.

All I knew was that Channing could fight. He was the champion of Roussou’s underground, but I also knew I was ready to tear into them, with my bare hands if necessary. Every second I waited was a lifetime.

The asshole.

He went in there with only one friend.

He left us all out here.

He was selfish.

He was reprehensible.

He was—BANG!

He was the love of my life.

I was up and running before anyone could stop me.

“Heather!”

“Heather! Stop!”

I didn’t care.

Bang! Bang!

Two more shots, and my heart pounded in my chest.

I went down that hill as if my life depended on it, because it did. The guys were in pursuit with me, and I was keeping up. Adrenaline gave me an edge over my normal speed, and I hit the fence hard, using my momentum to climb up and over. This was an old hat I used to wear.

When we were kids, we’d climbed over fences, up trees, through houses. Through creeks and rivers or in the ocean—I would go anywhere with Channing, and today that meant I was storming into an MC warehouse.

After those three shots, there’d been no other sound. The lights were still off, but I was beyond caring.

I ran to the side door and shoved it open.

After that, I stopped. I could smell the gunpowder.

I heard the guys climbing over the fence outside, a few grunts. Someone landed hard on the ground, then nothing. They were as silent as Channing and Lincoln had been.

“Heather.” Moose was behind me, looming over me.

My heart was trying to pound its way out of me, but I held back. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Suddenly, someone cursed. “Fuck this.” The room was flooded in light.

I blinked a couple times, seeing stars. When my eyes could focus, my heart stopped in a whole other way.

Seven guys sat in chairs, their mouths stuffed with rags, their hands tied behind them. Their legs had been zip-tied to the chairs. Lincoln had a gun pointed at someone on the floor, and a pool of blood seeped from beneath him.

And Channing—God, where was Channing?

I heard a footstep from the back hallway, then another.

He appeared, rubbing his hands with a towel, blood splattered over his front and his jeans. There was a smear of blood on his face, but it looked like he’d used something to wipe it off.

“Well.” He looked up, saw me, and surveyed the room. There was no surprise, just a grimness as his jaw clenched again. “If we weren’t at war before, we are now.”

27

Channing

“It’s not your fault, Channing.”

I heard the words. I’d been there myself. I knew what had happened. The cops knew what had happened. Detective Miller said ballistics would back me up too, along with the eight other witnesses in the room.

It still didn’t ease the dread in my gut.

Traverse leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “The idiot drew his gun on you, tripped, and shot himself in the head. He literally shot himself. You have nothing to be feel bad about.”

I grunted. “You’re right. Except that one of Richter’s guys is dead because of me. He won’t give a damn if it was indirect or not. I scared him. He pulled a gun, and he’s dead. That’s all Richter will care about, and you know it.”

That shut him up.

We were sitting in the back section of Manny’s. Heather had left us earlier to go open, so I’d sent Moose and Chad with her. The rest had stayed with me as we released Traverse’s guys and the cops showed up. Apparently, when Heather kicked open the door, it had triggered an alert. In a way, I was thankful the police knew I hadn’t killed the guy. I didn’t want that hanging over my head. After giving our statements, and once everyone was cleared to leave, we’d come here.

I wanted to be close to Heather, and she was fine with closing off the back room at Manny’s for us.

“Let us worry about Richter,” Traverse finally countered. “This is our war, not yours.”

It wouldn’t matter. “He’ll blame me.”

“He’ll blame me, not you. If the cops hadn’t shown up, there wouldn’t be any record of you guys being there.” One of Traverse’s guys held up a hand, starting to say something, but he was shut down. “We would’ve destroyed the security footage,” Traverse continued.

The guy lowered his hand.

I’d seen that footage myself. It only started an hour before we broke in. Feeling Moose’s gaze on me, I didn’t react. He’d watched it with me. The other guys didn’t know.

They were watching me. They were waiting for orders. This wasn’t the scariest shit we’d been in, but they knew the protocol. We had a lot of members in our crew, but not everyone lived here. I hated making the call, but…

“We need to circle the wagons.”

One by one, they nodded at me and stood to leave.

They didn’t go together. Each went alone, except Lincoln. He lingered by the door, and I knew what he was waiting for. Digging into my pocket, I chucked him my keys, and he held them up in a last salute before he left.

“What are they all doing?” Traverse asked.

They were going to visit every one of our members. Those who couldn’t come back to help would be on alert. They’d know so they could protect their families. The ones who could come back would, and every member’s home and business would have round-the-clock surveillance. The ones who didn’t have to go to their jobs wouldn’t. Tuesday Tits would be protected. Our warehouse would become the base of operations for everything. Heather would be protected—at Manny’s and her home. Brandon wouldn’t know it, but someone would be on him too.

Some members had local families, so as many as possible would set up camp at the warehouse.

We’d even ask Ginger Gypsy if she had any new visions for us.

But all I said to Traverse was, “You and I are married. You know that, right?”

A grimace crossed his face. “Come on. This is our fight.”

I made sure my face didn’t move, but this guy was fighting me on this? Why? He wanted a mutiny. I promised I’d help, and he got one. Now nothing.

Traverse told me Richter had found out what he was doing and tied them up. According to Traverse, they’d been there for weeks.

They didn’t smell like they’d been tied up for a month.

They didn’t look starving, or thirsty. No one was gaunt in the face or had trouble standing on their feet. They looked…like they’d been tied up just before we broke into the compound. That’s what they looked like, smelled like, acted like.

That damn tape. There was only an hour of footage on it.

It all added up to us being set up.

If that was the case… I played along for now. I had to. I didn’t have enough to make a move. I didn’t know enough to make a move.

I needed more information.

“I don’t care what you say,” I told Traverse. “Richter’s been after Roussou since he took over the Red Demons. He might hate you, but he hates me too. And you and I, we’re in this together.” I paused. “Aren’t we?”

I wanted him to put his cards on the goddamn fucking table. I wanted to know what men he had, what men he could call for, where they’d come from, when they’d show up, and if he had already called for them. I wanted to know the blueprints for his playbook. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">