Page 14 of Deadly Secrets

The sound of gunshots rings out in the darkness from several of the broken windows at the front of the house. All are aimed towards the road where our bikes were left.

“Showtime,” Brass announces as we hastily make our way towards the back of the property.

“Stay close,” I breathe.

“Right at your six, brother,” he pants as we duck behind a thick tree a few yards closer.

Dagger and the others return fire and we stay low and out of sight to avoid any crossfire. After some back and forth for several minutes, the shots die down and we hear voices arguing. I tap Brass on the shoulder and point over where the rival MC have their bikes positioned at the backdoor.

“We gonna pick’em off as they come out?” Brass asks.

I think about it for a split second before making up my mind. Things have been too relaxed lately and I need to relieve this itch. Been looking for a good outlet and I think I’ve found the perfect one.

“Nah, let’s make it a little interesting. You bring your knuckles?”

Brass’s eyes fill with joy at the mention and his face fucking lights up. Digging into his pocket he pulls out his matching pair of brass knuckles and slides them on.

“Never leave home without’em.” He sounds like a kid in a candy store. “Let’s run this bitch and show Montana how a real chapter handles business.”

With a nod we make our way to the backdoor and stand on either side of the frame.

“Cover me,” I say, pulling out my blade. I start slashing the motorcycle tires closest to us.

Just as I make it to the last three bikes, the door flings open and guys start rushing out. They don’t see Brass at first as they haul ass to their rides but stop short when they see me. I throw my hands up in the air to buy some precious moments. When the surprise wears off, they start to lift the guns my way but Brass slams a wooden board down on the middle guy’s head. He faceplants to the ground. The rest of the guys turn away from me. It’s the perfect distraction for me to make a move. I race over, knocking out the guy closest to me with one punch to the temple. He folds like a lawn chair as I sweep my leg out to the next one before he can even blink. I follow up with a jab to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him, then nail him on the cheek. The guy is dazed so I kick his weapon out of reach, then move on to the next. Brass already has three down for the count.

A big, bald motherfucker rushes over and bear-hugs me to the ground. We wrestle for the top position, going back and forth. He rivals my height and size but I’ve got more experience on my side. The more energy he exerts the quicker he’ll tire out. I, on the other hand, can go all day like this.

The sound of boots trampling toward us has a few of the guys scrambling to their bikes.

“Let’s get out of here,” one of the guys yells.

Motors roar but they quickly learn that most of the bikes aren’t mobile with a flat tire. A few get on the ones I wasn’t able to slash and take off leaving their crew behind. Cowards.

Dagger and the others swing around from the side, getting in on the action with the Steel Grave members that got left. It isn’t long before we’ve neutralized the situation and have them all tied down.

Dagger comes over to Brass and I. “You assholes couldn’t wait and let us in on more of the fight?” Brass has his bandana plugged in his nose to stop the bleeding.

“Can’t help it if you’re slow as fuck,” Brass haughtily states with an unrepenting look.

“Prospects are on the way with the van to take them back to the clubhouse,” Dagger says after coming out of the abandoned house, making sure there wasn’t anyone left in there hiding.

“What do you want to do about the ones who got away?” I ask, brushing my thumb over my bottom lip.

“Bulldog will make that call,” Dagger states and I nod.

It isn’t long before a van comes down the road kicking up dirt in its wake. We load the bound men up and place hoods over their heads then toss them in the back. On the walk back to our bikes, Brass slaps me on my shoulder.

“Nothing better after a long ride,” he says with a big grin while he cracks his knuckles.

“Not even pussy?” I ask, knowing how much my brother loves to get his rocks off.

“Not even pussy, Reap.”

The next evening, our club pulls up to The Fox Hole. It’s a large standalone building on Bay Drive, on the Missouri River. The place is packed so the overflow parking is in the empty lot next door.

Finding all the cocaine stored in the underground bunkers at the farm on Sutton’s dad’s cult has made both ourselves and the other Dead Road MC Chapters fucking wealthy. Which means that each club is able to open and operate more legit businesses, which help us all stay off of the government and law enforcement’s radar.

I make a mental note of the flashy sign and lights around the building, which draw your eye in making it more appealing and inviting. The outside looks like a luxurious spa, or mansion, and nothing like a seedy place. The building must have the best soundproofing because when you walk into the lobby you’re met with soft sultry music. It has a lounge feel with sofas and velvet chairs to sit on. There are two bouncers checking everyone before they are able to approach the host. Everyone pays a fee to the house to get in before being ushered through another door. Once you breach the front of the house, the music is louder and the vibe shifts.