Page 29 of Gunner

“Who, Lily? Who?” he demands while other men talk in the background.

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen him before,” I cry, tears pouring down my face. “You have to help me, James. I can’t live without my son! What if they hurt him? What if they hurt my baby?”

“Try to calm down for me, Lil. I know this is hard, but I will find him. If I have to kill every motherfucker on this goddamn earth, I’ll do it. You hear me? I’ll burn them all to the fucking ground, then resurrect them from the fucking dead and kill them all over again.” He’s seething and I can feel his fury through the phone. “How bad are you hurt?”

I want to lie, so I don’t worry him, but I can’t hide the pain. He’ll see me when he gets here anyway. “Pretty bad. It hurts too much to stand, and it’s hard to talk,” I confess.

“Fucking bastards!” I’m sure he’s ready to throw his phone or hit something in anger, but he manages to tamp it down. “We’re on the way. Doc will fix you up when we get to the clubhouse.”

“I need a hospital, James. We should call the police.” Maybe I should’ve called 9-1-1 first…

“No cops, Lily. You’re in my world now, so you gotta let me and my brothers handle this. And I promise, baby, we will handle it.”

Part of me wants to object, knowing violence isn’t the solution—at least it’s not by societal norms. But I know the Disciples live by a different code, one that defies the laws and usual customs. And the bigger part of me wants whoever did this to suffer slowly, because that’s what they deserve for taking my boy.

“Just hang on, Sunshine. I’m on the way.”

“Hurry, James. I need you.” I try to remain conscious and wait for him to arrive, but an unexpected peace washes over me and lulls me to sleep, knowing my man’s coming to get me and will rescue my son.

11

GUNNER

These fuckers are messing with us. And I don’t have time for bullshit today.

I stare pointedly at one of our shipment trucks presently deserted in the middle of fucking nowhere. The prospects who were driving it, Stitch and Bear, are badly wounded, their faces hardly recognizable from the beating they’ve endured. Two of my brothers pull them to the side to assess their injuries, and I’m wondering why they were left alive at all. Most of the bastards we know would’ve killed them, so maybe this is some kind of message. We’re lucky this was the decoy vehicle, and the real drugs have been safely dropped to the buyer at a separate location. At least that’s one less thing we’ve got to worry about.

Whoever did this will fucking pay, but first we have to confirm who they are. I have my suspicions, particularly after the mayor went on the damn news and practically confessed he was planning on taking us down. But he wouldn’t get his own hands dirty with a mess like this—though he sure as fuck would outsource it to whomever was willing to take the job. And that ain’t many. Most assholes around here know not to fuck with the Disciples because it will guarantee them a slow death. But two names suddenly come to mind.

We’re still keeping a close eye on that Tony Bertelli motherfucker. He’s a low-level mob boss who’s been after Sienna, Throttle’s ol’ lady, since she defended him in a murder trial. The DA was finally able to get some charges to stick to that Teflon asshole, leaving her with an impossible task of trying to get him off. Sienna’s a damn good lawyer, but ain’t nobody the kind of magician who could get a jury to let Tony walk.

Let’s just say that motherfucker was none too thrilled with the five life sentences he received and decided Sienna owed him hers to make up for it. It was a hell of a mess for several weeks, but she’s safe now and Tony is locked up. I’m sure he ain’t done coming for her, but we have plans for him very soon. The Disciples have their own brand of justice, especially when you fuck with one of ours.

That just leaves the fucking Hell’s Outlaws. They’ve been pains in our asses for years. But lately, they’ve been rising up, showing unexpected cockiness. We’ve taken a few preemptive strikes to make sure they know the Disciples are still not a club to be fucked with. But their dumb asses are getting bold, and I wouldn’t put it past them to try to intercede one of our shipments.

Crusher helps Country load up the two prospects in his SUV while Boner prepares to drive the truck back to the clubhouse. I’m planning to follow them on my bike when my cell rings with a call from Lily.

As soon as I hear her voice, I know something fucking awful has happened. She struggles to speak, and her words are broken up by strangled sobs.

“Who, Lily? Who?”

What the fuck does she mean someone took Caleb? Where?

I’m trying to decipher what she’s saying between agonized cries and finally get the gist. “Just hang on, Sunshine. I’m on the way.”

Motherfucker!

I want to throw something, hit anything that fucking moves until it calms the rage boiling beneath my skin. I don’t know who’d want to hurt her or her son, but whoever the fuck they are, they made a grave mistake. You never put your hands on property belonging to Satan’s Disciples. Because when we find you—and we always do—it’ll cost you a lot more than you’re willing to pay.

“Doc is getting ready at the clubhouse. Throttle and Sentinel will meet us at Lily’s.” Crusher is by my side, ready to ride out and do whatever needs to be done, no questions asked. He may come across as laid-back to those who don’t know him, but he’s not our enforcer for no damn reason. The things I’ve seen this man do in his kill room are depraved and damn near diabolical. But they won’t have shit on what I’ll do to whoever did this to my woman and her son.

I clench my teeth, almost cracking a molar, but welcome the ache in my jaw as I think about how fucking weak Lily sounded on the phone. She’s hurt and I wasn’t fucking there to protect her.

I turn to Crusher, barely keeping my composure together. “Let’s ride. I don’t know what the fuck happened, but somebody’s gonna die for it.”

He walks with me back to our bikes. “You think it had anything to do with this?” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb.

This was an unexpected attack, but it didn’t cost the Disciples much. If someone really wanted to hit us where it hurts, they would’ve gone for the shipment itself, not our fucking decoy.

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