I didn’t point out that I could betray them even easier if left behind. I shrugged. “If it stops you from shitting your pants, then here you go.” I handed him the phone. I’d messaged Marcella in the morning so she wouldn’t expect me to write again until evening.
“Good,” Peppone said. “What’s your plan?”
I cocked an eyebrow. Wasn’t he the boss of the mission? “I’d scout the area for possible traps and take a closer look at the safehouse. The gas station clerk was only sure he’d seen two bikers but he didn’t sound certain. It could very well be that more Nomads have joined the group by now.”
Peppone nodded and exchanged a look with the two others. “Then let’s go.”
We spent the next hour creeping closer to the house. I didn’t spot any obvious traps. Not everyone could build them. Gray and Gunnar had always been the specialists.
Eventually, the four of us had found a spot on a small hill that had a good view of the house. We counted three men walking past the windows or leaving the house, but that still didn’t mean there were only four, but without going in we couldn’t say.
I recognized all three men. I’d never had much to do with them. Nomads rarely visited our clubhouse, but Earl on occasion met up with them to make sure they gave the club a percentage of their income.
The door opened again, and a fourth man emerged.
“Another one,” I said. “Definitely one of Earl’s supporters.”
Peppone, Dimo, and Drooping-Eye exchanged a look I didn’t like one bit. I kept talking, pointing at the fat guy, whose name I didn’t remember because Earl had actually always called him Fatguy. He’d always been a fan of Earl. The only reason why he had mostly been a Nomad was because he was an intolerable asshole who got into fights with everyone, which was poison for the mood in a club.
“So we’re up against four?” Peppone asked me.
“Well, we’ve been watching the area for two hours and those are the guys we saw, but we won’t know for sure unless we go in, which is risky, or wait this out for a few more hours or maybe even a night to see if anyone else comes by.”
“What would you suggest?” Peppone asked.
“I’d risk it. Even if one or two more are inside, we can handle them. Most of these guys haven’t fought in a battle in a while. Nomads are rarely called in to support a chapter in a fight.” I just wanted to return to Marcella as quickly as possible and leave these guys behind.
“We’ll attack,” Peppone said.
And that’s what we did. We attacked, guns drawn, and one more biker we hadn’t expected, stumbled out of a shed that served as a garage for the bikes. Peppone shot him in the head without hesitation.
“Keep the fat one alive. He’s probably the leader of the pack,” I called. “We need someone for questioning!”
Shots were being fired from a window on the first floor of the house but they missed us. Then another head appeared in a window on the ground floor and fired as well. His first shot missed my head by maybe an inch from the feel of it. I aimed my gun at him and fired. He disappeared from view. I was fairly sure I’d hit him in the head.
“We should go in now,” I called as we crept along the shed beside the house.
As if on cue, the front door flung open and Fatguy stumbled out with blazing guns, firing at us.
Peppone raised his gun, sending a bullet straight through fat guy’s head. He obviously had no intention to question anyone.
“We need to keep one of them alive to find out if there are more Nomads in the area out for Marcella’s blood!”
Peppone smiled strangely and pointed his gun at me.
“Fuck.”
I dashed away, head ducked as bullets flew by, and flung myself behind a tractor wheel, but my calf burned fiercely. I allowed myself a brief glance—only a graze shot, thank fuck—before I raised my own gun. “What the fuck are you doing?” I roared.
Another shot tore through the top of the wheel. It was coming from the direction of the house.
Fuck! Now I was caught between two fronts, the Italians and the Nomads, and both of them were shooting at me. Was this Vitiello’s plan all along? To have me killed on a mission? It was a devious plan but could actually work.
“Come out, White, and die like a man and not like a dirty mouse hiding in her dirty hole,” Peppone called, sounding already like he’d won. He didn’t know me if he thought this would be an easy win. I’d fought too many battles in my life. I’d kick his fucking ass back to New York.