Page 27 of What He Wants

“So, what’s the plan?”

I thought for a minute. “I go in alone.” They didn’t look surprised. They shouldn’t have. I was known for doing shit my own way, and on my own. If I needed backup I knew that I could count on them, but for now I wanted to face Shooter alone.IfShooter was in there. I glanced again at the bike. Yeah, that was his old Harley Fat Boy, solid black, even the tire rims. But what made it stand out from all others was the custom painted TM and Glock on the tank. His favorite weapon of choice.

“Don’t come in unless you hear bullets flying.”

I didn’t wait for their responses. Using the surrounding shrubs for cover, I crouched my way as close as I could get before sprinting the last few feet to the house. I came up against the side where there was a window. I couldn’t hear anything coming from inside, and slowly straightened so that I could take a look inside. Fuck! The curtain was closed. I then worked my way toward the front door, taking the steps cautiously, but the dry, rotten wood made it impossible to keep quiet. I froze at the first fucking squeak, and waited. Still, I heard nothing that indicated that anyone was inside.

When I reached the door, I pulled my weapon, took a step back, and kicked the door open. It flew back against the wall with a bang as I raised my gun and stepped inside, coming face to face with a Glock. Shit! I came to an abrupt halt, meeting the deadly calm in Shooter’s knowing eyes. He was standing there, half undressed, while a naked woman who was clutching a pillow was cowering on an old plaid sofa behind him.

“I’ve been expecting you,” Shooter grumbled, his expression not giving anything away. He’d changed, and it didn’t look like his years behind bars had been good to him. He’d gotten a little thinner, a little grayer, but he hadn’t lost his edge.

I knew that he was as dangerous now as the day he’d gone into prison.

“So it appears.” I kept my gun aimed at the spot between his eyes. If he fired, we’d both go down. “Heard you were looking for me.”

“Knew that pussy Talbot would talk.”

The fact that Talbot had obviously warned Shooter we were on our way revealed that Shooter had paid him more money. “Seems you got what you wanted.” Shooter nodded. The woman on the couch whimpered, but neither of us acknowledged her. Depending on how this played out, she was a liability we couldn’t afford.

“Rats like to stick together.”

There it was. His way of telling me he’d thought I’d betrayed the club, and that because of it half of them had ended up in prison. “Thought you knew me better than that.”

“Thought I did.” His expression turned harder, the lines of age and hard times stamped like the roads of an old map on his face. “You left. Shit went down. Someone ratted us out.”

“Wasn’t me,” I said without hesitation. “You know why I left the club.”

“Yeah. The timing was convenient.”

I shrugged. “Coincidence.” Enough of this shit. “So, where’s Demo and Whistler?” I saw his gaze shift at something behind me, a warning that came too late.

“Right behind you, asshole.”

I froze.Fuck!While I’d been spending time bullshitting with Shooter, his assassins had been sneaking up behind me. The woman’s constant sniffling had made it easy for them. It wasn’t often that someone got the drop on me, but I knew Demo and Whistler were fucking good at what they did. It seemed that their years in prison hadn’t affected their skills. I was pissed for being in this position. The only thing in my favor now was that Clay and Jumper may have witnessed their arrival.

I knew that I had to make a move when I heard the guns cock behind me. The woman began to wail louder, as if sensing what was about to happen. “So, this is how it’s going to go down?”

“Tying up loose ends,” Shooter said, with no regret. “Sucks we were friends, but you should understand club procedure.” His eyes shifted to my enforcer’s patch.

It was during that brief second that I decided to make my move, when his gaze was focused on my patch. I grabbed the gun he had in my face and twisted his arm down, swinging Shooter around in front of me at the same time. One of his brothers fired in response, but the bullet ripped into Shooter. He grunted, the force pushing him further back into me, and I let him fall to the floor, firing my weapon in the direction of where Demo and Whistler disappeared through the open doorway.

The woman was screaming now, but I ignored her and turned my attention to the door, just in time to dive behind an old arm chair to avoid a bullet. Demo fired off a couple of rounds, aiming blindly into the room. Shit! I looked at the woman. “Get your ass out of here!” I didn’t really give a shit about her, but I didn’t want to see her shot up either. She surprised me by jumping off the couch and running out of the room. I checked on Shooter to make sure that he was still down, because I didn’t know how bad he’d been shot.

A movement at the door drew my gaze there, and I saw Whistler show himself. I fired in his direction. He fired back. And then more gunfire followed, revealing that Clay and Jumper were moving up behind them. Demo and Whistler were literally boxed in between me and my brothers. I could only guess that one of them was exchanging gunfire with my brothers, while the other was focused on taking me out. A groan from the floor revealed that Shooter was still alive, but I ignored him, taking careful aim not to shoot my brothers when Demo showed his face.

We exchanged rapid gunfire, and then I saw Demo’s body jerk and a look of disbelief come over his face, a look of surprise and shock at being hit. He was hugging the doorjamb as if it were the only thing holding him up. He coughed, grimaced, dropped his gun, and sank to the ground, half inside the room. I instinctively knew that he was dead. I made my way to the front door to take care of Whistler. I got there in time to see Clay and Jumper rushing toward the house, and Whistler nowhere in sight.

“What the fuck?”

“Fucker took off when the other one went down,” Jumper explained, out of breath.

I watched Clay’s eyes follow the direction Whistler must have taken. Before he even disappeared out of sight, we heard the sound of a bike starting up and revving away. The sound grew increasingly distant, which told me that Whistler was getting the hell out of there as fast as he could. Clay came back, a disgusted look on his face.

“Some fucking assassin!” he swore in a gritty tone.

“They’re good at killing. Never said they were brave,” I snorted. “Least we got two of them.”

“Which one is he?” Clay kicked the boot of the man that was bleeding out on the ground.

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