Page 29 of Shiner's Light

“Shiner, you couldn’t know that psycho bitch would take my woman,” Lucky remarks grimly. “Chelsea won’t hold it against you either, and you know if she heard you say that, she’d clock your ass.”

Chelsea’s one tough lady, for sure. After the bullshit she went through a year ago, this is the last thing she needs, no matter how strong she is.

Silence descends upon us as we both attempt to keep our shit together and not lose it.

The meat packing warehouse we are heading toward is a good thirty-minute drive. It gives me plenty of time to think. To plot the demise of the bitch responsible for this shit. I’ll kill her. If Milo has the slightest bruise, I’ll make sure she dies painfully. The moment she nearly killed my son when he was no more than a newborn, Sasha ceased being a woman and became a monster. In my eyes, anyone who can do what she did deserves what they get.

Just outside the warehouse, I slam on the brakes, put the truck in park, and throw my door open. I pull my AR-15 out of the gun sling attached to the back of my seat, where I keep that and two other rifles at all times. Lucky takes one of my other guns, and together, we start for the building, my brothers joining us from where they parked the bikes. Several other men come forward, and I automatically know they’re Rodion Kostenko’s men, dressed a hell of a lot nicer. Slacks and dress shirts. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen Storm’s grandfather’s men dressed like this.

“Let’s get this done,” Blow growls, stalking forward to walk next to me with Lucky on my other side. Nines takes his place at Blow’s other side.“Hard and fast. Kill anyone who gets in the way.”

“That’s the plan,” I remark, switching the safety off my gun. Its magazine is full, and there’s already one in the chamber.

The closer we get to the doors, all hell breaks loose, and gunfire rains down around us. Together, my brothers and I start shooting back, moving in closer. It’s like a goddamn war zone. How the hell was Sasha able to manage something like this? She shouldn’t have been able to. That is unless she had the right backing like that of her father. But that doesn’t feel right to me. Not with the way he came to the clubhouse. I’m willing to bet he’s got his own agenda regarding Sasha. With what he said at the clubhouse, he was going to deal with her, but how? That’s the million-dollar question.

Moving through the building, I search for my kid, not seeing him anywhere on the first floor. With Lucky at my back, the two of us head for the second floor. The third room down on the left, I come to a stop just inside. Sitting in the center of the room is my son, tears streaming down his face, a damn bomb attached to his chest. Behind him is Chelsea, her face bruised and nose bloodied, and she looks ready to commit murder.

“Get that thing off him,” she screams.

“Fuck,” Lucky growls, coming around me as I drop to my knees in front of my little boy.

“I’ve got you, kiddo,” I whisper in a hushed tone, not wanting to upset him. He’s scared and doesn’t need to be more scared than he already is. “I’m going to get this off you, and then we’re going to get out of here. Okay, Milo?” I sling my gun over, resting it against my back. That’s what having a strap is good for. It makes sure you don’t lose your gun when you need it most.

“Oh-okay, Daddy,” Milo says, his voice hoarse.

“Just stay still for me, buddy, and I’ll have you.” I want nothing more than to rage and find the bitch to kill her, but I’ve got to take care of my boy. Get him to safety. If I live to be a hundred years old, I’ll never forget this sight. The sight of him in the middle of a room with a bomb strapped to his little body.

Quickly studying the bomb, I remove it from him and gentle set it on the floor. There’s no stopping it from going off, but we’ve got enough time to get the hell out of here. The person who set this up knew what they were doing, but they also made it removable. The time on it still has ten more minutes. I’m guessing they didn’t expect us to find them in time.

I scoop Milo into my arms and turn toward Lucky and Chelsea. “You okay, Chels?”

“Stupid bitch left the moment the gunfight started,” Chelsea snaps, curling deeper into Lucky.

“We’ve got to get out of here. This place is going to blow,” I announce, rushing from the room with my kid wrapped tight around me, his little arms wrapped like a vice around my neck. His body trembles and he holds on for dear life.

Rushing down the stairs, I shield Milo’s face, holding him so his face is tucked to keep him from seeing the dead bodies scattered around the warehouse. He doesn’t need that nightmare on top of the ones he’s already going to have.

“Get the fuck out,” I shout.

“Fuckers got this place ready to blow,” Lucky yells, running behind me.

Gunfire continues, but I see the men who came in with us, along with my brothers, heading for the exit.

The moment I’m through the exit, I run like hell for my truck with Lucky right on my heels. I don’t even bother putting Milo in the back. I jump in the driver’s seat, yank the strap off my gun, pull it out from behind me, and hand it to Chelsea in the backseat while Lucky jumps in the front.

Starting the ignition, I barely get it in drive before flooring it. Behind us, I watch in the rearview mirror as the building’s windows shatter. Returning my attention in front of me, I focus on getting us back to the clubhouse. I do this not once moving my son from where he’s wrapped around me like a monkey.

I nearly lost him, and for that, I’ll never forgive myself. He’s my little boy and if something happens to him, I’ll never be the same again. Between Milo and Olive, I’ll kill. If they’re both taken from me, you might as well put a bullet in me ‘cause I’ll be dead on the inside.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

OLIVE

“This is all my fault,” I mutter aloud, pressing my cheek against my knees as I sit in one of the chairs at what I’ve learned is the ol’ ladies’ table. It’s where they all sit in the main room, and it’s just them.

“It’s not your fault, Olly,” Storm states, compassion in her eyes as she leans toward me and squeezes my arm.

Everything seems so surreal. From waking up in Shiner’s bed, knowing what we’d done last night to looking at the message on the phone he gave me. I’m finding it hard to come to terms with the fact Sasha could do something like this. She’s indeed not in her right mind and never has been. If she were, she never would have taken Milo and Chelsea.

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