Page 142 of Dagger

“No fucker’s getting my AT4,” he argued.

I tipped my head up, cursed under my breath, and dipped my chin to study my SAA. “Told ya. We’re not takin’ a fuckin’ AT4 on a stealth job.”

“But—”

I slashed a hand through the air. “No.”

Atlas waggled his eyebrows. “How about we do a trade? Let me take the AT4, and I’ll let you take my ma on a date.”

Breaker barked a laugh. “You’d sell your mother-in-law off for a mini-rocket launcher? You really are a special kind of asshole.”

“Wouldn’t accept anyway,” I lied. “Leesy’s worth more than that.” I nodded toward the clubhouse. “We better get in there. I wanna go over the plan one last time.” I made for the building, Kit and Atlas falling into step beside me. “How ‘bout I set you up with my M4?” I asked Atlas.

His eyes slashed to mine and widened comically. “Really?”

“Yeah, if you stop jabbering about that damned AT4,” I muttered.

“Right,” Atlas crowed. “I officially authorize you to take my ma-in-law out on one date, but you gotta get her home at a reasonable time.”

“Jesus, At,” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “I’m offerin’ you an M4 carbine. Is it not worth a date and an early mornin’ walk of shame?”

Breaker chuckled.

“Fucker,” Atlas barked. “Thought we were doin’ a deal here.”

“Right.” I looked at him disdainfully. “’Cause Elise would love us doing that particular exchange. Her for a fuckin carbine.”

The door opened again, and Bowie appeared at the threshold. “Come on!” he called over. “There’ll only be slim pickings left soon.”

As if on cue, the faraway sound of bikes roaring in the distance filtered through the air.

“That’s the boys on their way in,” Atlas announced. “Bo’s right; they’ll descend on the good stuff like a swarm of locusts. Let’s get our asses inside.”

We approached the entrance at the same time as the brothers rode into the parking lot.

Bowie held the door open for us, and one by one, we filed inside the bar, making our way across the room and hitting the corridor that housed the stairs to the basement room where we kept the weapons.

“Put everythin’ in the plastic container and wheel it up to the bar,” I ordered, taking the steps down. “Put ammo in there, too.” I punched some numbers into the electronic keypad on the wall, waiting for the click before shoving my shoulder onto the heavy door and pushing hard, using my body weight.

Fumbling on the wall, I clicked on the light switch and smiled as the room lit up like the sky at dawn.

This was where we kept weapons and cash. A large safe containing almost a million dollars in bills sat in the corner of the room. It was impressive, but in my opinion, it wasn’t as cool as the wall-to-wall weapons the club had accumulated over the years.

We didn’t deal in guns anymore, but that didn’t mean we didn’t buy them, and buy them we did—a lot. We possessed an array of weapons, from a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old Winchester to a 2022 US Army-issue Sig XM250 light machine gun and everything in between.

I knew exactly what direction I needed to head in. Turning right, I walked to the wall, where two M24 sniper weapon systems shone like beacons of light. My hand reached for the first one, along with the speed loader and magazine, which had been disconnected. After I hooked everything up, I loaded the mag until it was full and clicked it into place on the rifle before moving to the next one and doing the same.

By the time I’d loaded my weapons, the plastic container was mostly full. Atlas grabbed all our ammo and added it to the cart. “Wheel it up,” he ordered, making his way to the door andholding it open to let Bowie, Cash, and Breaker through with the cart.

The year before, I’d given the go-ahead for a slope to be built so we could wheel the weapons up to the bar easier than running up and down stairs with armfuls at a time. It was Abe and Iceman’s idea after the first time the Sinners paid us a visit.

It meant that we were back in the bar within minutes, ready to hand out weapons to the boys who were arriving in a steady stream. We were heading out twenty-five strong; all the men experienced in battle as a result of their military careers. The rest were staying here with Cash and guarding the clubhouse while we were out.

We aimed to be gone for two hours at most, and our objective was to ensure that by the time we rode back into the compound, the Sinners, as a collective, no longer existed.

The low hum of chatter and the occasional chuckle cut through the room as the men picked their weapons of choice and filled their pockets and saddlebags.

Arrow glanced toward the corner of the room, and his eyes lit up. “Where did ya get the AT4 from?” he asked.

---