It’s high praise and a sign of respect to get a pat on the back from your prez. That’s what I’ve always liked about Alec. He knows when to be tough and when to be a leader, a brother. It’s why this club is respected, growing, and has loyal brothers.
The window rolls down on the other SUV. Drew, Animal’s ol’ lady, sits inside, pouting. “Are we leaving yet? This baby is sitting on my bladder. I’ll have to pee again if we don’t hurry up.” She pokes her bottom lip out and strokes her large belly.
It’s almost comical seeing the tense pinch of Animal’s features iron out as a grin tugs up his lips when he looks over at her. “We’re leaving, baby,” he calls out before turning back to us. “Let’s make an example out of these cunts to anyone out there thinking we’re weak. No one fucks with the Royal Bastards and lives to tell about it.”
Grunts of approval ring out. He moves away and jumps in the SUV with his woman. Seeing they have space in their car, I point out to Jameson, “Ruby and I could ride with them.”
“Why is it you need to come?” he asks, almost chest-bumping me.
The roar of Animal kicking over the engine does nothing to hurry Jameson up. He’s determined to be an asshole. “Just let him come. We have people to kill. Arguing with each other can wait,” Rage growls, stepping in between us and pushing us apart.
“They’re already pulling away. Do we have to do this?” Doc asks, slipping into the back, leaving the passenger door open for me.
“Fine,” Jameson sneers, eyeballing me the entire trip around the car to the driver’s side.
Before I even get inside, a convoy of engines roar up the road toward the front gate, drawing all our attention. Animal’s SUV pulls to a stop in front of the gate when a huge army-type truck comes into view with what looks like a giant shovel attached to the front and a row of trucks lined up behind it.
Motherfuckers.
“We’re under attack,” I bellow just as the truck rams the gate.
“What’s happening?” Doc screeches over the girls all talking at once from the backseat.
“Get everyone inside and hit the security alarm,” Jameson yells over the hood of the car. My blood roars inside my veins. Noise and movement whirl around me like a hurricane finding land.
Jameson looks at me and says, “Armory now.” Just as Animal turns his wheel to retreat, the gate comes off its hinges, slamming into him. “Fuck!” we roar in unison, watching in disbelief as our prez’s truck is pushed sideways across the lot before flipping over with him and his pregnant wife inside.
A flurry of activity comes from inside the club. Brothers race outside, armed. Some carry grates with weapons inside as rows and rows of trucks flood our lot.
“We need to get to the Prez,” I call out, pointing to the upside-down SUV still being pushed, golden sparks flickering from the metal scraping against the asphalt. Slamming my hand on the hood of the car, I bark to the girls still huddled inside, “Get inside the club.” Taking one of the assault rifles from a crate placed just outside the club entrance, I creep around the SUV and start firing at the vehicles by the back fence before moving toward Animal’s car.
“Shoot the driver of the truck,” Rage barks. A flurry of bullets fly in both directions. An engine roars behind me before the taillights of the SUV the girls were in takes off across the lot and out the gap where the gate used to be. A black Mercedes that looks out of place parks just outside the lot. An alarm sounds, and huge metal pillars shoot up from the ground where the gate used to be, preventing any more trucks from gaining access. The men not able to get inside leave their vehicles and take to their feet, ignoring the SUV speeding past them.
“Who the fuck is that?” I call behind me to Jameson. Shutters fall down over the windows of the club. Bullets whizz past my head, finding purchase in a few brothers. More brothers pour out of the club in bulletproof vests, armed with an array of guns.
“I don’t know,” Jameson shouts over his shoulder, tugging a vest into place.
“Did the girls get out?” Panic seizes my chest.
“I don’t fucking know,” he barks. “Just shoot these fuckers.”
“The driver’s down. We need to get to prez,” Rage bellows, creeping forward.
“Cover me,” I call out, racing across the lot. I reach the upside-down SUV, the ramming truck acting as a barrier between us and the enemy. Rage and Jameson offer cover fire as I drop down and check inside. Animal’s face is littered with cuts. The door on his side is bent inward, a piece of twisted metal stabbing into his leg. “Get Drew,” he says through bloody teeth, his voice wheezing. “GET DREW!”