Page 42 of Fire Meets Fire

“Was,” Slugger interrupts. His grin, if anything, is even wider.

Iron ignores him as well. “Knew you were prone to go off on your own, so put a tracker on your bike so I knew where to find you.”

Helo has somehow gotten Weasel pinned underneath her, and shows she can multi-task, eavesdropping as well assubduing my brother. “You fuckin’ what?” She glares first at Iron, then at me, and adds a hint of accusation in my direction.

It’s wrong, but I’m proud as hell of my girl.My girl?As Weasel bucks and tries every trick in the book to turn the tables on her, she remains one step ahead. From the smirk on her face, some part of her is actually enjoying this.

Then Iron’s words filter through my brain and I don’t know whether I should be pleased that he was looking out for my safety or furious that he’d done it without telling me. In the circumstances, I’m angry that he was able to find us.

I’ve no idea how to get out of our predicament. Strangely, I’m not worried about myself. Outlaw MC life is always dangerous and for me to have lived to the ripe old age of forty-five is nothing short of miraculous. I’ve always lived with the company of death walking by my side, and it’s easy to come to terms with the short time I’ve probably got left. My only regret is not having time to explore whatever kind of relationship I could have had with Helo, and my concern is that if only one of us can make it out alive, then I’d want it to be her.

At the moment, while she’s got the upper hand with Weasel, there are too many of my brothers standing in line. Weasel’s no slouch and knows how to fight, so it’s a good sign she can take him on, but it’s just one-on-one. Soon, someone’s going to get bored and step in to help him.

Slugger seems be getting some amusement from the spectacle, but I can see by a twitch in his eye that he’s losing what little patience he’s not known to have. Restrained tight, I know there’s no way I’m getting loose from my captors, so all I can do is draw in a deep breath when I see him going for his gun.

Instead of shooting at or indeed threatening the combatants, he fires a shot up into the rafters. Fuck knows what ammunition he’s using, some kind of dum-dum bullet I suspect, as flakes of whatever the ceiling’s made of start to flutter down, and a largepatch of sunlight that wasn’t there before illuminates a spot on the floorboards.

The extra loud boom also startles Helo enough for Skunk and StoryTeller to jump in and pull her off their brother. The rest of us are stunned from the damage done by one single shot.

“My bad,” Slugger states, looking up. “Lucky this place isn’t yours.”

“It’s fuckin’ mine,” I growl. “Inherited it from an uncle a short while ago.” And up to today, the roof was sound.

“Oh well.” He shrugs, looking unrepentant. “I’d offer to pay for repairs, but where you’re going means you won’t need to worry about making this place watertight.”

Bringing my eyes back down and to the real danger I’m in, I move my line of sight to focus on Helo and Weasel. While StoryTeller’s still got his hand wrapped around her arm, it’s not a tight hold, and I can tell she’s not trying to get away.

Weasel has stood and dusted himself off, and now gives his attention to the woman who’d recently bested him. I hold my breath, hoping he doesn’t try to get revenge for having his ass handed to him by a woman, when surprisingly, he reaches out his hand, and she takes it with her free one.

“Impressive, Army,” he says to her.

“Marine?” she asks. As his eyes narrow, and then he nods, she continues, “Ranger training. We were taught how to beat jarheads.”

He chuckles, showing he’s not taken offence. It’s almost friendly the way members of the different services enjoy a good jibe at each other. And, of course, he can hardly refute her statement. She had been ahead of him all the way.

Then Helo turns my way and I suck in air, only just noticing she’s bleeding from a cut over her eye. Seeing her blood does something to me and I roar, and, surprising my captors, almost manage to pull away.

Irrationally I call out, “You’re going to fuckin’ pay for hurting her.”

As Weasel looks around and I see one eye already closed, and a swelling on his jaw line, he looks at me incredulously.

Slugger barks a loud laugh as he analyses the situation. “Fuck, Chaz, you’ve got it bad. Fight like a man, you’re going to get treated like one. You going to ask Weasel if he needs a band-aid for his boo boo?” He turns an assessing eye on Helo, his gaze lingering on her for a moment, before giving her a respectful raise of his chin.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HELO

Flying a mission is never simply following a plan. A pilot wouldn’t survive if they didn’t learn how to react, adapting to changing situations and being prepared for the unexpected at all times. The enemy can’t be relied on to follow any rule book. A pilot unable to take alternative action in a split second is one who’ll not remain alive long.

Even intelligence gained can be faulty, and the lack of it lethal. That was the very thing that took me down.

I wouldn’t have become a Night Stalker if I wasn’t able to analyse information at the speed of light, read every slight nuance and react accordingly, preparing for danger rather than expecting safety.

I’d thought Chaz had betrayed me, but now it’s clear he’s as innocent as I am in giving away our location. I can also see he’s burning with anger and indignation. Indignant on my behalf rather than his, but I’ve heard the conversations and know he isn’t to blame. It’s not his fault. He got me clean away as far as he was concerned. It’s just down to pure luck that his overprotective sergeant-at-arms wanted to know where he was at all times.

The man who fired the shot is obviously in charge, even over Chaz. The president over the whole of the Wretched Soulz that Chaz had told me about. Their national leadership which they normally deny. Not hard to understand, if one charter gets caught then if there’s no acknowledged affiliation, the whole club wouldn’t go down. But that makes him, to me, a very dangerous man. Every man here will do his, not Chaz’s, bidding.

His chin raise just now, that was not the gesture of a man who senses victory, more like a sign of respect from a comrade-in-arms. Forcing my fight-or-flight mode down, I use my brain to re-analyse the situation. I’m used to reading people, those under my command and those whose orders I’ve had to obey. I read faces and attitudes just as well as I read the lay of the land when I’m flying. Something about this man suggests to me that Chaz, his adrenaline running high, is getting him wrong. He’s making threats but I sense no actual urgency to carry them through.

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