“STOP!” Val shouted, getting all of our attention. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. If you move Sypher, he will die. This isn’t a fucking game. I removed a piece of the kid’s skull. His brain is exposed. Under no circumstance is he allowed to be moved. So all of you better figure out another way to protect him.”
With that, the woman did an about-face and left the waiting room.
Looking at Reaper, I shook my head and quipped, “Custer’s last stand?”
“I was thinking shootout at the OK Corral?”
“Works for me.” I nodded. “Trout and Payne, if shit goes sideways, I don’t care what Val says. Get that kid out of here. As for the rest of you, go find a motherfucker and kill him.”
Looking at Reaper, he asked, reaching for his guns, checking the clips, “You ready for this, fucknuts?”
Reaching for mine, I muttered, “Just stay out of my way. I wouldn’t want to accidentally shoot you in the crossfire.”
“Anything happens to my brother, I will kill you both,” Ace snarked before he left the room with the rest of Harbor Security, ready for war.
“He’s a moody bastard, isn’t he?” Fury quipped.
“You have no idea,” Bailey groaned, walking past the man.
Moving slowly down the long hallway, the silence was deafening. St. John’s Presbyterian had just become ground zero for the start of a fucking war the table would not win. Not if I had anything to do with it. Bad enough those fucks thought they could handcuff the Biker Federation by taking the seat away from me, but when they issued a kill order on a fucking kid who spent his fucking life providing them with security, well that was something I wouldn’t allow. Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t hold with using kids to bring people to heel, and though Sypher was technically a patched brother in the Golden Skulls, most of the Biker Federation still saw him as a kid.
Myself included.
Call the Biker Federation what you want, but the fucking table was in for a rude awakening if anyone harmed one fucking hair on that kid’s head. Even I fucking knew the Biker Federation outnumbered the underworld six to one.
The odds were in our favor.
The dim fluorescent lights flickered intermittently, casting long shadows along the sterile, white walls of the hospital hallway as Reaper and I moved at a deliberately slow pace, our boots echoing softly against the linoleum floor. Each step we took was measured, each breath controlled, as we scanned the mostly deserted corridor for any sign of the men sent to kill Sypher.
My heart pounded in my chest; a rhythm matched by the steady thrum of tension that coursed through my veins. After the last few months of revelations, I was so ready to release some of the pent-up hostile energy I had bubbling under my skin. Even I knew a man could only take so much before he broke, and I was at my limit.
The stillness of the hospital unnerved me. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic whirlwind that had brought me here. My mind replayed the events of the night before, the tense buildup of worry, the fucking phone call that told us what we already suspected, and then the race against time to stop the inevitable. It was all too much even for the strongest of men. Now, the grim reality of retributive justice marred these hallowed halls of healing. For soon, these white walls would run red with blood.
Every room I passed seemed to hold its breath, the silence broken only by the occasional beep of a distant monitor or the hushed whispers of nurses tending to their patients. My hand hovered near the concealed holster at my hip, fingers itching for the familiar grip of my weapon. I knew that violence had no place in this sanctuary, but the threat against the kid left me no choice.
No one was touching that kid.
Ever.
Turning a corner, my eyes narrowed when I spotted a figure in the distance. The man was dressed inconspicuously, as he blended into the environment with practiced ease. But I knew better. I recognized the son of a bitch’s predatory stance, the cold determination in the man’s eyes.
Shaking my head, I smirked.
This was who the fucking table sent? This was the assassin, the harbinger of death sent to sever the thread of Sypher’s life.
Summoning every ounce of resolve, I advanced slowly, my muscles coiled like a spring ready to unleash. I could almost hear the ticking of an unseen clock, counting down the precious moments before confrontation. As I closed in, the assassin turned, and our gazes locked in a silent acknowledgment of the inevitable clash.
In that suspended instant, time seemed to stretch. The world narrowed into the thin strip of hallway between us. My thoughts were a maelstrom of loyalty, anger, and the unyielding promise of protection. I had come too far, sacrificed too much, to let Sypher fall prey to this merciless hunter. So, when Death creeped up behind the fucker and grabbed his head in a tight lock, he stiffened and I smiled. “Mr. Blue, I would like you to meet Reaper.”
His eyes widened and I watched as Death claimed his first victim.
After helping Reaper stuff Mr. Blue into a storage closet, we headed back down the hallway.
“They fucking sent the Primary Brothers.”
“The what?” Reaper questioned.
“The Primary Brothers,” I groaned, shaking my head. “There are three of them. Well, now two. Blue, Red and Yellow.”
