One Wild Ride (Lords of Mayhem 2)

Moose could see the ghosts of the past flickering in his friend’s eyes.

An ex-sniper for the Marines once captured in the line of duty, Shooter had battled his demons for years before he managed to get a firm grasp on them.

“You good for this?” Moose asked.

“I’m solid, just—apprehensive as fuck,” Shooter said.

Moose laughed. “Apprehensive?”

“Hey, my fiancée is a librarian. Shit rubs off.” Shooter chuckled.

The tension was cut in two, but the underlying unease remained. Moose surveyed the area. They were like sardines with the Eights packed in beside them.

“You hear that?” Shooter asked, tensing beside him.

“Hear what?” Moose asked.

“Shut the fuck up,” Shooter roared.

The talking in the room stopped. They heard a whistle-like sound followed by pops.

“Get down!” Tiny barked. Bodies hit the floor. Windows exploded. Gunfire rang out. Casings clanked on the concrete outside as they hit the ground. The roar of an engine and the crash and rattle of the front gate were followed by a sickening thud Moose knew was the prospect they’d posted up front.

Moose scrambled toward where he thought the spray was coming from. Crawling along the filthy wooden floor, he hissed when a bullet caught his vest. The ping of bullets hitting the hard surface and ricocheting fell into the background. The thwack of a bullet hitting flesh was followed by a cry of pain. Was that one of ours? A flurry of motion exploded as people scrambled around. Tiny grabbed a shotgun from behind the bar and blew out the window. They returned fire. Tires squealed and the shooting came to an abrupt halt.

“Catch those motherfuckers! Don’t let them get away. Someone go over there and put a tourniquet on him before he bleeds out,” Tiny barked.

Moose squinted and stood. Clarity returned, and his heart sank. Maverick had been hit. A pool of blood had begun to form beneath him. The front door burst open and bikers flooded out the door.

One of the Eights knelt beside Maverick with a bandana, intent on stopping the blood flowing from somewhere in his leg. Moose still felt dazed. He saw a few others shuffling to the window like zombies. Moose’s eyes landed on Tiny.

Tiny’s eyes flashed with anger and his face was mottled red. A vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead and other smaller ones stood out on his neck. The holes in his shirt and jacket were a very real reminder of the almost-massacre.

“We got one of the bastards,” Wanderer said. Two of his men dragged in a bloodied, bruised man with a lanky frame. His head hung down, obscuring his face from view.

Moose turned.

Wanderer shoved the man onto the floor. A tight circle formed around the prisoner.

“He helped spill your man’s blood. I’m going to let you do what you need to make this right,” Wanderer said. “But I suggest you do it fast because we don’t know if more are coming. We’ll stay here and beef up your numbers.”

Tiny nodded. “You came after my family, so we both know you have to die. If you tell me what I want to know, I’ll make it fast.” Tiny gripped the man’s hair and pulled his head back. “Me, personally? I hope you don’t talk.” Tiny bared his teeth. “Then I can teach you firsthand why you don’t fuck with Mayhem.”

The blood drained from the man’s face and his eyes darted back and forth.

“You have a short time frame, ’cause I’m not a patient man. I’ll give you a minute to decide starting…” Tiny looked down at his watch. “Now.”

The silence in the room became deafening.

Moose met Shooter’s gaze from across the room. A silent exchange occurred between them. They were both okay.

“Time’s up.” Tiny grinned. “Boys, go bring in the kit.”

“No,” the man whispered.

“You expecting backup?” Tiny asked.

The man remained silent. Tiny delivered a well-aimed kick to the back of his knee. The prisoner screamed.