Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance by Carter Steele (books recommended by bts .txt) 📕

age as he slowly climbed into the trailer. He didn't acknowledge me and what we'd obviously done with everyone else away. The look on his face was one of dark determination, the look of a hardened war vet rallying troops to go fight without much hope of things working out.

“What do I need for fire power? Am I just cleaning up strays or do the boys need heavy cavalry?” Wreck asked, pulling on his jeans.

“Bring every fucking gun we have!” Mac growled through fits of catching his breath. He looked as if he hadn't moved faster or more urgently in a long time. He threw Wreck a set of car keys. “Dunk is dead.”

18

Wreck

Mac had to be wrong. That motherfucker was half deaf. Mac must've misheard Dreamer, that's probably what happened. Dunk is ex-special forces. It'd take a goddamn army to kill him. Buck and I used to joke that when the bombs all dropped the only thing left would be cockroaches and Dunk ordering them around.

The steering wheel of the GMC Yukon strained under my white knuckles as I took a hard turn. All the guns I'd grabbed were loaded and ready to grab and go...and also loose and rolling around the back seat with the exception of a sawed-off shotty I had seat-belted into the passenger seat. I wish I had the time to give more of a shit about securing the rest of the guns when I left, but I couldn't think about that now. The safetys were on all the ones that had them so I forced my hands to relax a little, if I squeezed any tighter I might rip the fucking wheel off the steering column. I didn't know where Mac found this twenty year old fucking monstrosity, but it handled like a boat carrying shipping containers. At this hour in the early morning no one was on the road, which was good because with these bald-ass tires I needed all the lanes I could get for maneuvering.

Mac had to be wrong about Dunk.

It was a simple plan, similar to shit we'd done a dozen times. Show up super early, ambush Billy Bones’ crew and torch a mechanic shop. Except Mac told me there was a last minute change in plans and now the guys were trapped in a Thai restaurant down the street named My Thai. I didn't know what the fuck went wrong, but as I turned the last corner between me and them and heard the assault rifles going off I was about to find out.

Half a dozen jeeps were at the front entrance, My Thai just tearing the building apart with semi automatic weapons fire. Broken glass and discharged bullet casings carpeted the pavement and twinkled in the streetlights. Anything that wasn't brick or steel was being turned into powder. Between the dirty blue-collar clothes and the beater Jeeps they drove, I could tell immediately these new guys weren't Billy Bones’ bougie crew. Had to be Mikhail, the Russian's guys. Despite the eventual double-cross by us or Billy, the operation was to kill that motherfucker and torch his shop.

How'd Mikhail get the jump on both us and Billy Bones?

Driving head-on against that firing squad was suicide so I took a hard right down a side street a block before the restaurant. I didn't need to see it, the sound of the carnage kept me company through the several turns that brought me toward the back entrance of the building. Dread sank in my stomach like a bowling ball and immediately I knew Mac didn't mishear. No one could survive that kinda firepower for long. I didn't need to see his body to know Dunk was dead. Whoever these motherfuckers were, they brought an army.

The guards posted at the back entrance meant that Mikhail wasn't stupid either. This plan of theirs had all the basses covered. They only thing they didn't count on was someone being stupid enough to crash such a one-sided party.

“Fuck it,” I growled to myself. I threw the truck in reverse, slammed on the gas pedal and used it as a battering ram. The gunshots masked most of my approach. When the group of five or six men began turning from the building to me I'd fully ran over one of them and clipped at least two more. The Yukon XL didn't give a fuck that the Russians had barred the back exit trapping my brothers inside, at nearly forty-five miles an hour I blasted through the whole back wall.

The impact sucked, but going backward meant I was pulled into the large seat instead of away from it. I wasn't even dazed when my driver's side window exploded from the incoming fire of the two guys that were lucky enough to have been out of the way when I crashed. I leaned over hard until the Russians emptied their clips then came up with the unbuckled sawed-off shotgun. The fuckers didn't even have time to swear at me before I put them down like rabid dogs.

The rear end of the truck was as obliterated as the wall was. It probably wouldn't be getting it's inspection sticker this time around but the engine and transmission were fine. I tossed my empty shotty onto the passenger-side floor, put it into four-wheel drive and pulled right out of the rubble like it was barely even there.

In the one mirror I had left I saw men start to stagger out of the hole I'd just made. Yoga had an arm around Buck and one of Billy's Giorgio Armani-clad enforcers, helping both wounded men out of the rubble. A common enemy made strange bedfellows. The few surviving guys left in Billy Bones crew scattered like rats from a house fire. Dreamer carefully walked backwards out of the restaurant expertly laying down cover fire for everyone's retreat. When Buck was loaded into the Yukon Yoga called out for Dreamer who dropped the rifle and dove into the back seat.

“Dunk?”