Fury: Book 2 in the Vengeance MC series (26 page)

I don’t know how much time passes between Deke leaving me with Sarge and me passing out, but I assume it isn’t much. I’m not sure how long I’m asleep either before I hear raised voices, a scuffle, and then the bellow of the man I love.

“Avery? Goddamnit, where is she? Avery!”

Deke called just as Maddox and I were getting into position to scope out one of the two bars Rebel Warriors members are known to hang at when they’re not at the clubhouse.

After clearing the air with Saint, Gage came back to the room, both of us heading down to meet up with the rest of the men so we could lock down a plan of attack for tomorrow. Boss had a fair idea of how he wanted things to go, however, because of the circumstances and the players involved (namely Saint, Jonas and myself) he was willing, just this once to take our input on board.

Between the thirteen of us, it was decided that we’d hit them once, and we’d do it hard.

Jump was paired off with his brother Cash. Boss with Gage, since it’s Gage’s job as SAA to cover his Presidents six and all. Maddox with me. Diesel was on Jonas duty, something I wasn’t envious of. Saint had chosen Glock, who was a last minute addition, but happy to come along for the ride nonetheless. And Reaper and Tank were in charge of showing Ghost the ropes in an operation such as this.

Usually, it would have been one of our own partnered up with an inexperienced, newly patched member like Ghost, but all of us had jobs to do. And unfortunately, Ghost’s training was something that was going to have to wait.

“We’ll use tonight to get the lay of the land. See who’s talking and if they’ve got anything worthwhile listening to. No color, though, boys. We don’t want anyone tipping them off that we’re in town,” Boss gritted out.

Diesel follows that up with,

“Any of you hear anything, text. Calls can be overheard, and we’re not taking any chances here. Cash and Jump you’re on Sapphires. Rebel Warriors bought out the old owner when they set up shop. The strippers there were loyal to the guy who owned it before the MC took over, so no love lost there. You might be able to get something out of one of the waitresses. Go in easy. Don’t freak them the fuck out.”

Taking that as his cue, Boss continues.

“Maddox, Fury, Saint, and Glock, you’re heading to The Trojan. MC doesn’t own it, but it’s a known haunt of theirs. The guy who runs it is a third generation barkeep so he sees everything but knows how to keep his mouth shut. You won’t get shit from him, but his staff? Who the fuck knows. The rest of us are going to be at Rusty’s. Again, not club owned but one of the two men who run it are affiliated with the MC. How? Fucks me. All I know is what I was able to get from the lady who’s working as the manager of this joint.”

Reaper chimes in stating,

“I think we’re all straight on tonight, what’s not sitting well with me is tomorrow.”

Reaper, aka Max Andrews, ex-FBI agent and current SAA for Devil’s Spawn MC, is one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever met. Under all the muscles, tattoos, and fierce glare, he’s got an IQ of one hundred and sixty which is a benefit in situations like these.

He can find the weak points in an operation, assess the level of threat under fire, and can hit a target from nine hundred feet away. Reaper’s an asset, not only to his club but ours too.

“Rebel Warriors have church tomorrow at ten. It’s common knowledge around these parts that they commune every Sunday for, at least, an hour and none of them leave the clubhouse until twelve at the earliest. It’s a large enough window for us to plant what Gage has in stockpile and get the fuck out of there before they know what hit them,” Boss answers.

Gage picks up where he left off, saying,

“Since we’ve got four groups; five, four, two, and two, I’ve rigged eight, hundred-ounce units of C4. One for each group of two, and two each for the others. It’ll pack enough punch to level a fifty-story city building, so there’s no concern about its ability to take out the shit hole they’re calling a clubhouse. The units are remote detonating. I’ve installed the software on your phones already, so all you’ve got to do when the time comes is type in the detonation code. Nine-One-One.” After a few chuckles, Gage grins. “Thought it was apt, all things considered.”

“Drop points are marked on the blueprints Brookes emailed through, which all of you have copies of,” Boss clarifies. “We’ll wait until ten-thirty to make sure everyone’s inside, doors are locked and church is in session before breaking off and planting what we’ve got. Prospects are relegated to the main room of the clubhouse during church so no one will be hanging around outside. On the off chance someone is, keep in regular contact and wait for new orders. I don’t want anyone going off half-cocked. We meet back at the rendezvous point at ten-forty-five, head count, and then we’ll let nature, or in this case, C4 take its course. Any questions,” Boss prompts.

Everyone shakes their heads or murmurs their assent before he goes on to add,

“Good. You’ve got three hours. It’s eight now, I want everyone back here by eleven to debrief. Any of you gets even the slightest hint you’ve been made, get your ass out and meet back here.”

Dispersing, Maddox and I make the seven-and-a-half-minute trip north, parking in The Trojan’s back lot. Backing in our bikes, Maddox dismounts first, hanging his helmet off one of his handlebars, pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his saddlebag and lights up.

“Jesus, I’ve been jonesing for one of these for days. Lonnie’s all over my ass about quitting, says it’s setting a bad example for the kids or some shit,” he grumbles, taking a deep drag.

“She’s not wrong, brother. Those things will fucking kill you,” I return, lighting one of my own.

“You can talk. Avery’s as anti-smoking as they come. Just you wait, she’ll be jumping on Lonnie’s bandwagon in no time,” he scoffs.

Both of us crush out our butts with the tip of our boots, heading for the front entrance.

The Trojan isn’t what I expected from a bar in the middle of nowhere, otherwise known as Hope Springs. The exterior is nothing to write home about, but it’s obvious someone’s seen to its upkeep.

A standard, nondescript, brick building with two large windows at the front and faded paintwork doesn’t do the inside justice. I can tell the second I set foot in the dimly lit interior, The Trojan is somebody’s pride and joy, not simply a source of income.

The floors are clean, polished hardwood, and the bar which takes up a good portion of the far left wall is in much the same condition. Hanging lights over each of the booths lining the walls aren’t bright enough to light the space, but with the addition of multi-positional recessed spotlights, they add to the ambiance. Never thought I’d say that about a bar; that it had ambiance but this one does.

Waitress aren’t dressed in the usual tight tops and slut skirts, they’re all wearing jeans and tank tops with the name of the bar across the upper curve of their tits. The bartenders are similarly dressed, the only exception being they’re wearing t-shirts.

Maddox notices a few of the Rebel Warrior members gathered in one of the booths in the far right corner. They haven’t paid any attention to our arrival, which on a whole is a good thing, just not for them. You’d think as a member of an MC you’d have a mind to what was happening around you, but not these guys. They don’t give a fuck. I could walk up to their booth right now, pull my piece, and down all of them before the last one reached for their weapon. Lazy motherfuckers.

“Over there,” Maddox grunts, signaling to a free table.

Placing our order with a perky, far too young waitress, Maddox reclines into his seat and I do the same. Well, until my cell rings that is. Waving his hand telling me to take the call, I answer,

“Yeah?”

“Fury?” Deke’s voice echoes down the line.

“You got me, brother. We’re in the middle of something, what do you need?” I ask, knowing Deke wouldn’t call unless it was important.

“Fuck, brother, there’s no easy way to tell you this so I’m just gonna let you have it,” he returns. “Avery found herself in some trouble earlier. Three guys broke in, bound her, scared her, and one of them hit her,” he growls.

What the fuck? No. No. Fucking no.

I don’t get a chance to ask that before he goes on to say,

“She’s good, holding firm. It wasn’t like last time, brother. None of them touched her like that. Sarge has been sitting with her since her and Blaine showed up, and he believes her story. Fucking pains me to say this, Fury, but my cousin instigated this shit. Avery confirms it. She was solid enough to give us descriptions on the three other guys too. I’ve rounded up a few of the boys, and we’re heading out in a few to go hunting.”

When he takes a breath, I snarl,

“You better fucking hope you find him before I do, brother because if you don’t there will be nothing left of him to find. Now, tell me how my woman really is, and why the fuck she hasn’t called me herself?”

“Don’t know how, but Lawson got wind of where you are and what you’re doing. He told Avery, and her first response when Sarge said he was gonna call you was to flip the fuck out and make him promise he wouldn’t,” he answers.

“And why the fuck would she say that?”

“She says she doesn’t want you losing focus. Avery knows you need this, so she’s willing to wait till you get home to break it to you,” he replies quickly.

“Yeah, well, she won’t be waiting long,” I hiss.

I stand up, making the sign for Maddox to follow me, and push my way through the crush of people until my boots hit the parking lot.

“I’ve got to call, Boss, find out what he wants Mad to do, and then I’ll be on my bike heading your way. Keep her at the clubhouse, brother. And for fucks sake, find that motherfucker before I get there.”

Hanging up, I turn to Maddox and fill in the blanks for him. He heard my side of the conversation, so it isn’t any wonder he already had the gist of things.

“Gage or I’ll pack your shit, you just worry about getting home to your woman.”

Boss wasn’t happy about my departure, but I didn’t give a fuck. Avery’s more important than any vengeance I could dish out here, and it’s about time I showed her that.