“You can try,” I say. “But I only need one bullet to put you in the ground. And after tonight, I am in a charitable mood. I am offering you a way to make money and walk away breathing.”
Xavier laughs. Not loud. Not long. Just enough to curdle something in my gut. “Send me a time and a place. Twenty-four hours. I will bring a gift.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone a beat longer, then slip it away and step back into the warehouse.
Women shuffle past me in blankets and torn dresses. My brothers stand guard with guns down and hands open. Jayne moves through it all, touching shoulders, cupping faces, promising safety she intends to deliver if it kills her.
The end game is there, flickering at the edge of my vision. A meeting. A trap inside a handshake. An ending that does not leave any of us dead.
For that to work, every single man in this club has to follow me without flinching. I do not know if I have earned that yet.
But I know this.
We did not wait tonight. We did not hide. We hit back and took them out from under him. Xavier felt it. He will feel the next one worse.
I catch Jayne’s eye across the floor. She is smiling tired and fierce, cheeks wet, arms full of a girl who will not let go of her.
There's something else in her eyes. Uncertainty, maybe. Now isn't the time to be having second thoughts. She brought this problem to us to fix and that's exactly what we're going to do.
It's time to end this.
We are not done. Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 34
HE’S FLIPPED
JAYNE
Chaos rattles my bones. I can't shy away from it, though. I asked for this.
I jump down from the truck and the air hits me like a wall. Salt, diesel, old fish, and gun smoke. My eyes water. The warehouse lights flicker and smear everything with that sick hospital yellow. Men are yelling. Boots hammer concrete. Somewhere to my right a woman sobs so hard it sounds like she is choking.
“Jayne. Cages.” Spike’s voice cuts through the noise.
“I see them,” I call back, even as my stomach tilts.
Eight cages line the far wall like a row of animal kennels, the kind you see at a pound on kill day. Chain-link shines under the dim light, like spot lights. It's maddening. How could anyone be asked to survive like this.
Fucking animals wouldn't survive.
Padlocks hang like little iron hearts. Inside, bodies fold into themselves. Knees jammed to chests. Arms wrapped tight. Eyes blown wide. One girl clutches half a teddy bear, the stuffing coming out of a seam.
I swallow hard, grip my med kit until my knuckles creak, and run.
“Hey. I am here. We are getting you out,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of the first cage. The lock is thick, ugly. Lash’s bolt cutter snips it like a breadstick, metal squealing. I pull the gate wide and raise both hands, palms up. No sudden moves. “I know you are scared. My name is Jayne. I am with the men in the vests. We are Chrome Creed. We are not here to hurt you. We are here to take you out of here, right now.”
They do not move. Four pairs of eyes track my hands like I am holding snakes. A fifth pair lashes from me to Lash’s gun, then back. A girl about sixteen bares her teeth at me. Her lip splits where it is already split and a bead of blood pushes to the surface.
“I get it,” I say softly. My throat is tight. My heartbeat rams my ribs. “This looks like a trap. I know it does. But listen to my voice. We are leaving. Today. You are not property. You are not stock. You are breathing and you are leaving.”
Behind me a shotgun booms. The sound slams through my bones and rattles my teeth. I flinch and press lower, a hand out to shield the girls even though there is nothing but air to shield them from. Someone hits concrete and the wet smack of it yanks bile up into my mouth. I do not look. I cannot. If I look, I will freeze. If I freeze, someone dies.
“Water,” I whisper, shoving a bottle through the opening to the girl with the teddy bear. She stares like she has never seen clear plastic before. “It is sealed. Watch.” I twist the cap and that little crack of plastic is the best sound I have ever heard. I drink first, a swallow, then offer it again. “See?”
Her hand trembles as she reaches. Our fingers brush. Her skin is cold as a fish. She does not drink. She just holds the bottle like a relic.
