Final Ride (Lords of Mayhem 4)

“No, girl. I’m mad at myself. You didn’t do anything wrong. We need to change some parameters when I get back, yeah?”

She watched him from beneath lowered lids with eyes full of uncertainty and mistrust. The look gutted him. I hurt her.

“Hmmm.”

“Are we back here again?”

“Back where?” she asked.

“Where you resist me and I remind you how this works.” He cupped her pussy. “There are things that I have come to think of as mine. This is one of them.”

She gasped. “When I get back I’m going to explain thoroughly what else I’m claiming until you understand that everything you are now and ever will be belongs to me.”

Her body trembled. “Hawk.”

“I wanted to tell you before I left. So there won’t be any confusion when I come home and fuck you until you beg me to let you come.”

“Oh, lord,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “Keep the bed and my pussy warm for me,” he said, kneeling on the bed to kiss her forehead before he force himself away from her.

Adrenaline flowed through his veins, giving him a high like no other as he steered the powerful bike down the back roads. Shooter was leading the charge with Tiny, and Hawk had Moose as his wingman for the north location. Behind them prospects hoping to earn their top rockers were following with a van ready to light the place up with Molotov cocktails. This was their main cook house. He cleared his mind, not thinking of the workers counting, cutting, and mixing chemicals. They’d made their choice to stand with the Angels. He’d learned a long time ago to accept casualties as a part of this life.

Each time he rode out, he took a risk of not coming home. In the end, it would be him or the other guy. He wanted to live, so he would do whatever it took to make that happen. When he was younger he’d waffled. He tried to show mercy and suss out the situation. It almost got him killed when he’d misjudged a baby-faced biker bunny. The gangly limbed blonde with the face of a fairy had blown a hole in the door millimeters from his face. He’d put one between her eyes and vowed to take a pirate policy of no prison

ers.

He and Moose would be the distraction that got the security detail out of the building and engaged in combat. From there, the prospects would creep in. In the heart of the neighborhood, they’d grown lazy. No one bothered the Angels’ production centers. They knew it was a death sentence.

He clenched and released his fists, sending blood flowing through his hand as he and Moose rounded the corner. His heart thudded, and time slowed around him. The world narrowed to what was in front of them. They pulled up to the chain-link fence, and he pulled out his Glock 18. The door flew open and he and Moose unleashed a barrage of bullets. Bodies hit the ground and more came out like a line of soldiers arranged to continue pushing back the enemy and holding the main line of defense. His breath was ragged as he breathed through the skull handkerchief he had wrapped around the lower half of his face.

Bullets whizzed by, hitting the ground. One hit his arm.

“Fuck.”

The van roared up from behind, acting as shield as it broke through the fence and headed for the building. He quickly ejected the magazine of the Glock and shoved it into his saddle bag along with the weapon. The gun was untraceable. They’d paid a sickening amount of money to make sure of that. Glass shattered, screams rent the air, and tires squealed over the pavement, and he focused on keeping his grip on his bike as he and Moose took off. A flow of warm sticky blood spread from his shirt to his hoodie. Pain radiated through his left arm.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to continue riding. They needed to get away from the scene. Fifteen grueling minutes later, he broke the formation to pull over into a rest stop. His head felt too heavy to keep up, and his vision was waning. He pulled into a parking spot and Moose rode up beside him.

“You okay, Veep?” Moose asked.

“Nope.” He slumped over his bike and Moose swore.

“I got you,” Moose said wrapping an arm around his shoulder. He jostled is left arm and Hawk grunted.

“Where are you hit?”

“Left arm. Think the bullet is still there. Did we get the building?”

“I think so. It was flaming up when I last looked. Only a matter of time before it blows with the meth they were cooking up.”

“Hope you’re right,” he said as his teeth began to chatter.

“Shit, this is not good, brother,” Moose said.

He slipped in and out of consciousness as he focused on staying upright. Moose’s voice was full of concern as he spoke with someone.

“You still with us, Veep?” Moose asked. His accent is thicker. That means I’m worse off than I thought.