STEEL
BANG.
The echo of gunfire pummels through the warehouse as I hunch behind the wooden crates. Peering out slightly to get a look at Ghost my club Vice President stretched out on the floor, my heart rate spikes as the blood oozes from his chest. The harsh breeze of a bullet stings my face as it flies right past my cheek, grazing it. The intense burn makes me grit my teeth as my back smacks harshly against the splintered wood. I breathe harsh and ragged trying not to pass out at the thought of the near fucking miss.
The sweet metallic pungent smell of blood and gunpowder invae my senses, drowning me in the knowledge that we’re outnumbered and losing this damn fight. Looking over to my left as the gunfire ricochets off the crates surrounding me, sending splinters of timber in all directions, Jigsaw the club’s Sergeant at Arms is slowly making his way over to me. He jumps up and fires off a few rounds toward the 5113 street gang. These guys are fucking scum and can’t be trusted, which is obvious from today’s drug deal going God damned south.
“Where the fuck is Crash?” I yell as Jigsaw drops to the ground dodging more bullets and rolls toward me moving his back up against the crates alongside me.
“Patience comes to those on the plateau of solace,” Jigsaw says in his Swedish accent and I glare at him and shake my head.
“Now is not the time for your fuckin’ riddles, arsehole. Is Crash on his way to wipe out these fuckheads or not?” I yell over the consistent and annoying gunfire.
Surely those fuckers should have run out of ammo by now?
Suddenly an almighty explosion sounds, the shockwave forcing the air from my lungs as I fall forward and onto the body of the gang member I stabbed earlier, his blood seeping into my 1% patch. Taking in a lung full of air as my ears ring from the violent burst of noise, I shake my head noticing the gunfire has now ceased. Grabbing Jigsaw by the scruff of his T-shirt, I stand up on shaky legs looking back to the front of the warehouse. It’s completely destroyed and in its place is the truck with Crash standing at the driver’s side smirking like he knows he’s saved our arses!
“Well, c’mon fucker or the rest of the gang are gonna get here before we can piss off,” Crash yells out and I can only just hear him over the constant ringing in my ears.
I kick the dead gang member away from me—fucker got blood on my patch—and run with Jigsaw to the front of the now completely mangled warehouse. On my way out I pass the two prospects that Chez took out when the gunfire first rang out. Alex has half his head missing with his brains splattered all over the wall and Jake has a single bullet wound straight between the eyes. Gritting my teeth and shaking my head as my blood pressure rises, I don’t stop to look at the mangled and bloodied up bodies of Chez and the other members of the gang.
They double-crossed us. I don’t have time to worry about sorting out their traitorous corpses.
“Help me get Ghost and the prospects in the truck, Crash,” I yell as I race back to Ghost and lean down grabbing his shoulders. Fucker’s heavy! Crash grabs his legs and we lift him to the back of the truck. His body thuds against the metal of the tray and I cringe wishing it was anyone but Ghost. But I don’t have time to mourn right now. The 5113ers could come back at any second and with more numbers. We gotta sprint!
We hike Alex and Jake into the van as Jigsaw grabs what’s left of the duffle bags containing the drugs and hands them to Crash just as he closes the back door of the truck.
“The drugs are like water, rare and beautiful and if you—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake Jigsaw. Enough with the riddles. Let’s get the fuck outta here!” I yell.
He nods and Crash gets back into the truck while I jump onto my Hog. Feeling the cool metal between my legs helps my spiking heart rate ease a notch. Being on the back of a bike is like an instant relaxer.
“Go!” Jigsaw yells. That’s the only words that have made sense in the last five years I’ve known him.
I kick start my bike, the engine roars to life as I turn back and look at the smoldering warehouse and the carnage of the bodies left inside. I can’t help a smile that forms across my face.
“See you in hell, fuckers!” I turn around and the wind eases the burn on my cheek as I ride off watching the moon rising over the foothills toward the clubhouse where I was raised. My life, my home.
Back to The Satan’s Savages Motorcycle Club.
