pajamas – a tiny little silk tank with matching booty shorts. I’m just crawling into bed when my phone rings again. It’s my mother. Why? Why can’t she just leave me the hell alone?
Pulling the blankets up over my head, I think about Travis and wonder if I’m going to have to track him down. Did he mean what he said when he told me we couldn’t do this? Did my speech about him being afraid make him crawl even further into his shell? Thinking about the way he held me all night makes my eyes fill with tears. I know he feels something for me; I just hope he doesn’t forget that while he’s trying to sort his head out.
WE’VE BEEN CROUCHING ON top of these abandoned shipping containers for two hours now. The containers are perfect for this. Ten of them surround the parking area of the abandoned warehouse. My body is killing me, and I’m beginning to wonder if this was just a distraction when the motorcycles pull into the parking lot. There are six of them.
It’s not all of the Devils, but every one of them is a patched member, and every one of them is going to die tonight. Adrenaline causes the blood to pound through my aching head while we wait for the Crips to show up. I don’t like this plan. Starting a war with the Crips is not a smart move, but we don’t really have a fucking choice in the matter.
Shortly after, a big black Cadillac drives in, entering the circle of shipping containers. We watch as five men climb from the car. Each one wears a blue shirt and baggy jeans. The Crips have arrived. Ryker looks to Reap and nods. Gritting his teeth, Reaper puts his eye back to the scope and makes some small changes to his position. The silencer on the gun makes the shot quieter, and the men on the ground don’t even get a chance to respond before one of the members of the Devils is on the ground, blood pouring from a hole in his head.
After that, everything happens in a blur. As one, each man whips out their guns, ducking and scanning the area for shooters, but we have them surrounded. Taking aim, I fire my shots, praying that I get the son-of-a-bitch that drove into the side of my ride. Gunshots ring through the air followed by shouts and curses as one by one we take out each man on the ground.
They shoot back wildly, unable to get a clear shot. Each shot they do take goes right through the shipping container, riddling it with holes. When the last man is on the ground, I look to each container, ensuring that my brothers are OK. There are only nine of us standing on our containers, looking down into the carnage below.
“Reap! I need a fuckin’ medic!” Jase hollers.
Reaper rushes down the side of his container, hurrying toward Jase. “What happened?” he yells as he runs across the lot.
“The fuckers shot me!”
Each of us turns and hurry to the ground focused on Jase, so it takes us all by complete surprise when one of the Crips jumps up and runs to the car he’d arrived in. We all raise our guns, firing shots wildly at the departing car as it peels out of the parking lot and fishtails down the street.
“Fuck!” Ryker yells. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
That guy getting away is not fucking good. He saw us. Now the Crips are going to know exactly who ambushed their fucking coke deal, and they aren’t going to like it. Remembering Jase, we all turn to where Reaper already has him sitting on the ground against the container, looking him over.
“You fuckin’ pussy,” he growls. “They didn’t fuckin’ shoot you. They grazed you.”
“Grazed my fuckin’ ear! My ear! I can’t have a fucked up ear! Ladies don’t want some dumb fuck with a fucked-up ear!” Jase cries. “Fuckin’ fix it!”
“For fuck’s sake.” Reaper stalks off toward the bikes. “Get your ass back to the clubhouse and I’ll put a damned Band-Aid on it.”
Shaking my head, I turn and
Pulling the blankets up over my head, I think about Travis and wonder if I’m going to have to track him down. Did he mean what he said when he told me we couldn’t do this? Did my speech about him being afraid make him crawl even further into his shell? Thinking about the way he held me all night makes my eyes fill with tears. I know he feels something for me; I just hope he doesn’t forget that while he’s trying to sort his head out.
WE’VE BEEN CROUCHING ON top of these abandoned shipping containers for two hours now. The containers are perfect for this. Ten of them surround the parking area of the abandoned warehouse. My body is killing me, and I’m beginning to wonder if this was just a distraction when the motorcycles pull into the parking lot. There are six of them.
It’s not all of the Devils, but every one of them is a patched member, and every one of them is going to die tonight. Adrenaline causes the blood to pound through my aching head while we wait for the Crips to show up. I don’t like this plan. Starting a war with the Crips is not a smart move, but we don’t really have a fucking choice in the matter.
Shortly after, a big black Cadillac drives in, entering the circle of shipping containers. We watch as five men climb from the car. Each one wears a blue shirt and baggy jeans. The Crips have arrived. Ryker looks to Reap and nods. Gritting his teeth, Reaper puts his eye back to the scope and makes some small changes to his position. The silencer on the gun makes the shot quieter, and the men on the ground don’t even get a chance to respond before one of the members of the Devils is on the ground, blood pouring from a hole in his head.
After that, everything happens in a blur. As one, each man whips out their guns, ducking and scanning the area for shooters, but we have them surrounded. Taking aim, I fire my shots, praying that I get the son-of-a-bitch that drove into the side of my ride. Gunshots ring through the air followed by shouts and curses as one by one we take out each man on the ground.
They shoot back wildly, unable to get a clear shot. Each shot they do take goes right through the shipping container, riddling it with holes. When the last man is on the ground, I look to each container, ensuring that my brothers are OK. There are only nine of us standing on our containers, looking down into the carnage below.
“Reap! I need a fuckin’ medic!” Jase hollers.
Reaper rushes down the side of his container, hurrying toward Jase. “What happened?” he yells as he runs across the lot.
“The fuckers shot me!”
Each of us turns and hurry to the ground focused on Jase, so it takes us all by complete surprise when one of the Crips jumps up and runs to the car he’d arrived in. We all raise our guns, firing shots wildly at the departing car as it peels out of the parking lot and fishtails down the street.
“Fuck!” Ryker yells. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
That guy getting away is not fucking good. He saw us. Now the Crips are going to know exactly who ambushed their fucking coke deal, and they aren’t going to like it. Remembering Jase, we all turn to where Reaper already has him sitting on the ground against the container, looking him over.
“You fuckin’ pussy,” he growls. “They didn’t fuckin’ shoot you. They grazed you.”
“Grazed my fuckin’ ear! My ear! I can’t have a fucked up ear! Ladies don’t want some dumb fuck with a fucked-up ear!” Jase cries. “Fuckin’ fix it!”
“For fuck’s sake.” Reaper stalks off toward the bikes. “Get your ass back to the clubhouse and I’ll put a damned Band-Aid on it.”
Shaking my head, I turn and
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