Chapter 23: Chapter 23

The war started with a bang. Literally.

Taco’s head swiveled around, meeting the wide eyes of his brothers. One minute, everything had been quiet, calm. The next, they were leaping to their feet, cocking their weapons, and headed for the door.

Stepping out onto the compound’s parking lot, Taco was hit with a cloud of smoke filling his lungs. Normally, he did that shit to himself so it was no big deal, but this was toxic. It burned, and those it touched lurched and hacked violently as they distanced themselves from it.

“It’s a fucking pipe bomb!” someone shouted, and they broke off, disbanding in different directions, groups of men gathering together, prepared for whatever was to come.

This was something they’d talked about, had planned for.

But no amount of planning ever prepared a man for war. Never.

When he reached the side of the automotive repair shop, Taco turned to assess the damages so far. Fire licked its way up the north side of the clubhouse wall, laying waste once again to the structure that they’d spent time and resources repairing from the last time it’d been set ablaze. Thankfully, the cinderblock would hold it off for a while, reducing the structural damage, but only if they could get it out before it spread too far.

Out on the street, a distance away, he spotted several blacked out SUVs and town cars blocking the ground’s entrance. In front of them, a row of men in suits that were entirely inappropriate for the current event held automatics aimed at them.

“That was your one and only warning,” some Mexican man who Taco pegged as the front-runner of the cartel and probably Cruiz’s whipping boy, shouted. “Surrender now and we’ll talk. Don’t, and we’ll end you all here and now. No prisoners, just death.”

Beside him, Moose stood, chuckling. “These brown boys think we’re going to bow to them? They got another thing coming. We’re going to school their asses.”

Taco met his eyes and nodded resolutely. Hell yeah they were. They were going to show these bastards who was boss and send them running back to their mommas with their tails between their legs.

Assuming they were still alive when the Spartans were finished.

“Well, what do you say we stop standing around talking about it and get out there and show them what happens when they fuck with badass bikers.”

Moose grinned, all those pearly whites flashing in the sunlight. Cocking his gun, he charged off into the fray, and Taco ran after him.

Bullets sliced through the air, cutting down his brothers left and right, slamming into their Kevlar in painful, body-rocking hits that sent more than half of the men flying onto their backs. Taco took one to the torso, the pain nearly unbearable.

But it was a hell of a lot better than taking it full body. Getting shot was never a fun time, so he’d take a deep tissue bruise every day of the week if it meant avoiding that kind of punishment.

Last year, when Repo had been shot up by these guys and left for dead, the Kevlar vest he was wearing beneath his leathers was the only thing that’d saved his life. Taco was hopeful it would pull him and his brothers through today as well.

He had a kid and woman to get back to, so he damn well planned on making it out of this alive. But there was no telling what the universe had in store for him. If there was one thing he’d learned in his lifetime, it was that sometimes you didn’t get to choose your destiny. Sometimes, shit happened that couldn’t be avoided. This was one of those times. He just hoped it went in his favor.

Taco lost track of how many rounds he put out and how many clips he went through. He just kept aiming and shooting, watching the bodies fall around him. It was a nightmare on so many levels. He couldn’t seem to run fast enough, duck fast enough, push brothers out of the way fast enough.

Everything was about speed and agility. It made it impossible to think clearly. And the smoke in his eyes was fucking with his accuracy, his ability to see and react properly severely hindered.

If he was having difficulty, then so were the rest of the Spartans. That was likely the whole reason behind the molotovs in the first place. Cruiz was clever. She knew how to strike and do it well, weakening her enemies before they had a chance to fight back.

It gave her the edge they desperately needed, but when Taco stumbled and fell to his knees, his ears ringing, eyes watering, and heaving for every breath, he took a moment to take stock of his surroundings.

More suits than leathers covered the ground. They were winning. The Spartans, he realized with an inner smile, were winning this. The bullets were lessening, hand-to-hand taking its place. Quick, Moose, Country, Fish, and the rest of the prospects and brothers were cutting down Cruiz’s men left and right, using everything at their disposal. A garbage can sailed through the air, striking one mercenary in the head and laying him out flat. Part of a bench was being used to beat another into the pavement. Some were just using their fists and feet to stomp their enemy into the ground.

At once he was filled with pride. They were going to win.

The sudden pain that lanced through him caught Taco off guard. He frowned, looking down to find the source, and saw a little round hole in his upper thigh. “Well shit…”

When he looked up again to scout it source, he saw that same, handsome brown motherfucker who’d issued their last reprieve headed right for him, a gun held at his side as he walked through the battlefield as if he weren’t afraid of anything or anyone.

Hell, Taco could understand why, too. He looked as lethal as they came. A born killer. A predator on a mission. He had those shark eyes, black and glassy, soulless. The kind of eyes that would give a person nightmares. And if Taco lived through this, he knew he would. He would never forget those eyes.

But he wasn’t going to live through this. He knew that with the same surety that he knew he loved Bambi from the moment he found her crying in her car after Country kicked her off the premises and he looked into those big blue, expressive eyes and decided he would keep her for himself.

When the man reached him, his fine black suit sporting gray, smoky smudges and more than a little blood splatter, he raised his arm and aimed the gun at Taco.

He’d never stared down the barrel of a gun before, and he’d never been so close to death. Taco had always imagined that it would be terrifying, a moment when he might beg for his life, but it was nothing like that.

At that moment, he felt serenity. A tranquil feeling swept through him, and he thought about Bambi and their son. He’d finally found love, one that didn’t come with strings. It was honest and pure and unending. And for a short time, his life had true meaning. With Beau, he would live on, and Bambi would make sure to keep him alive in memory too.

Taco stared up at his would-be assassin, spread his arms out wide, and smiled. “Do your worst, vato.”

“You should have surrendered,” the man said, but the cold, calculating look in his eyes told Taco a different story.

“Yeah, maybe we should have, but it wouldn’t have changed the outcome. You were always going to kill us. Or try, rather,” he said with a cocky smirk.

A faint, crooked smile tilted one side of the man’s mouth up, confirming Taco’s words. “Luciana was wrong. At least one of you has some brain cells inside that head.”

“Thanks?”

“Oh no, don’t thank me.” A corner of his mouth turned up into a snarl. “Pray.”

Taco dropped his arms. Settling back on his heels, he closed his eyes. There was nothing to pray for. He and God never had a good relationship, so why would he be listening now? Truth was, where Taco was going, God couldn’t help him anyway.

Making his peace, Taco breathed deep and waited for the end to come.

***

The drive was too long. Bambi was usually a stickler for rules, her history with the law and the government giving her a healthy appreciation for them. Granted, she wasn’t perfect. Her willingness to break away from everything she’d worked for to align herself with a group of bikers the law was keeping an eye on was questionable to many, but she was cautious. She made decisions based on facts and figures.

The fact was, right now, she was heading into possibly dangerous territory. The only reason she hadn’t turned around and gone back home yet was because she was actively telling herself that nothing bad had happened when she was last there and nothing bad was likely to happen now.

She was just assuming the worst because that was where her mind was most likely to go. She was hardwired to expect the bad before the good. So Bambi was exceeding the speed limit, determined to get to the clubhouse and see with her own eyes that things were not what she imagined them to be.

She had to see for herself that Curtis was okay, then she would go home and relax and wait for him to get back. She laughed to herself, picturing the look on his face when she came running in only to find everything peachy keen.

He would probably think she was crazy. He’d tell her that she had lost her pretty little head, then he’d call her dollface and kiss her goodbye, sending her on her way with a promise to be back in time for dinner.

Dinner. She hadn’t even gotten that started yet. It was almost too late too. She’d have to do something smaller tonight and plan the bigger one for another day. There were just some things you couldn’t rush the process for.

The side roads weren’t ideal for this trip. Bambi probably should have taken the highway or even the main roads, but they tended to get clogged up well before rush hour. The backroads were longer, but they could also serve as a shortcut when everything else was tied up. She hadn’t been willing to take the risk. The bumps and divots were jarring, forcing her to slow down and speed up as needed.

Bambi just wanted to get there.

Her frustration only grew when she spotted what appeared to be some kind of caravan blocking the path ahead.

“What the hell is going on now?” she muttered as she reduced her speed and prepared to stop.

Three shiny black, expensive looking cars spread out across the road, creating an impenetrable wall. Men in suits stood with their backs to her, keeping watch. When they heard her approaching, however, they turned as one.

A shiver traveled down Bambi’s spine. This wasn’t good. She could feel it in her bones. Whatever she had just rolled up on was bad news, and she’d bet money that it had everything to do with the Spartans.

As that bad feeling settled in and spread out, the back door of one of the cars opened. A pair of long, toffee colored legs preceded a stunningly exotic woman with long, flowing black hair. Her brilliant red, full lips stood out on her oval face, her eyes shining with malice that wasn’t even close to being concealed by that false smile.

Cunning. That’s what Bambi saw in her. It was easy to see she was trouble from a mile away.

But Bambi wasn’t a mile away. She was just mere feet from her, and something told her—a little voice in the back of her mind—to get the hell out of there.

There was nowhere to go.

That woman…she looked familiar. Bambi stared, trying to place her, but nothing came to mind. Was she in the system? Had she come across the woman before in any of her case files? Bambi had been apart from the bureau for so long, she couldn’t think clearly.

The woman spoke, her attention fixed on Bambi but her words directed at someone behind her. One of the men jerked his head then started heading Bambi’s way. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as he approached. Bambi was on the verge of throwing her car into reverse and blindly speeding away, but her entire body seemed frozen in place.

All she could do was watch and wait.

Two thick knuckles rapped against her window, and Bambi jumped at the sound. Blinking, she pressed the automatic button to roll it down.

Standing well above her field of vision, the man’s gruff voice was the only thing that reached her. “Road is closed. Turn around and leave.”

That was it. A brusque request that left zero room for argument. Bambi wasn’t inclined to argue. Yet she was. Curtis was down that road, just beyond her reach. She wanted to tell this guy to get the hell out of her way, but she had a feeling he wasn’t the type to entertain attitude of any kind.

It was probably the gun he had beneath that suit jacket. The one he thought was concealed but that she could plainly see this close up, especially when the breeze kicked up and caused the material to flap lazily around his waist.

Her gaze flicked toward the rest of his group ahead, worry niggling at her.

What should she do? Had she still been FBI, Bambi would have drawn her service weapon and told them all to get down on the ground, and then she would have called in backup. This whole setup reeked of danger, but she was a civilian now.

There was nothing she could do in that precise moment that wouldn’t result in her ending up dead on the side of the road.

“Ma’am,” came the sound of his voice again, this time deeper and more threatening.

“Yeah, I’m leaving,” she told him, her words clipped. As she threw the car in reverse and started the slow, backward crawl, her tires popping on the gravel, Bambi’s mind raced with thoughts of what she could do now.

Drive through the barricade? No. She’d just end up shot or trash her car and then end up shot. The only other option she had was to go back the way she came and take the highway into town. But that would lead her into God knew what.

She could just call the police, tell them her suspicions, and go home to wait for word. Keep trying Curtis’s cell and pray he eventually picked up.

Inside, Bambi knew the last option was the only viable and reasonable one she had. What good could she possibly be to anyone if she was dead? Besides, she had a baby to think about. He needed his mother, and she needed to remember that he came before anyone or anything else. His needs always came first.

With a divided heart, Bambi committed every face she could to memory. She would have taken down plate numbers too, but they didn’t have any. A telltale sign that all of this was bad news.

God, where was Curtis?

Fighting tears, fighting the lioness inside her not to run into whatever possible hell was beyond that point, Bambi turned the steering wheel and pulled the gear into drive. Before she drove away, she took one last look at that woman, meeting her eyes though hidden behind reflective sunglasses, and acknowledged the voice inside her head that told her this woman was the crux of it all.

Fighting her instincts the entire drive home, Bambi pulled into her driveway feeling completely strung out. Rather than going inside and relieving Tina of her babysitting duties, she picked up her phone and dialed Curtis one more time.

Again, he didn’t answer, and Bambi decided she simply couldn’t wait around and do nothing. She was going back. But first, she was going to call the police department.

“Nine-One-One, what’s your emergency.”

“This could be nothing,” she started, self-doubt creeping in, “but I’d like to report a possible crime in progress.”