And it sends a clear message to the man who hit Ember.
That I’m coming for him, and what he gets will be worse.
18
ATOM
The Bratva are canny rivals.
They’re organized, smart, and better funded than we are.
They seem to get the upper hand on us more times than we get one over on them.
And I wonder what it’s going to take to get rid of them forever. Tonight was a close victory.
Doesn’t necessarily feel like it, with Grudge getting stitched up by the private doctor we have on our payroll.
But they seem to be better able to take their losses in stride. There are more of them than there are of us. If one of us gets injured, we lose a significant part of our leadership team.
Makes me think we need some of the older members to play their part a bit more. Perhaps they could step up and cover some of the more mundane tasks. They could play observational roles.
Wraith has a master plan to grow the club through prospects like Caleb, Wynn, and Haynes, who have the skills, smarts, and strength we need.
At three thirty in the morning, I ride slowly up Main Street, conscious of the noise my bike makes. There isn’t a soul on the street. The businesses are locked up tight. The small apartments above the stores are all dark.
And I’m very aware of the two bikers keeping watch who will wonder why the fuck I’m there. I have my excuse ready and rehearsed. Couldn’t sleep, too jacked up over what happened tonight, and decided to take a ride.
But something in me just needs to be near her, to know she’s safely tucked up in bed, or even just see the lights off in the apartment above the bar.
Even if she wasn’t being watched and there wasn’t danger, it’s too late to be hitting Ember up if I want her to know she’s more than just a booty call to me. But what I wouldn’t give to be crawling into bed next to her. To feel that sweet sigh when I wrap my arms around her and pull her body up against mine.
My chest to her back, my nose buried in her hair.
A fog drifts eerily across the street in the distance. It’s a hot night with a clear sky, which makes the fog unusual. But when I ride closer, I find it’s the kind of rolling black smoke that indicates a fire. I speed up, urging the bike forward as I realize it appears to be coming from the block containing Whiskey Fever.
Ember!
My heart races. A strange dropping sensation makes me wonder if it’s about to break free of its bindings. The tightening in my chest makes it harder to breathe.
The smoke gets thicker the closer I get, and when I pull up outside, I can see the double doors to the bar are open. Through tumbling black clouds of smoke, I see orange flames lick their way up the walls, and I’m met with a blast of heat as I kill the engine to my bike.
On the ground outside is a neat little stack of covers from the smoke alarms.
Fuck, whoever did this wanted to cause maximum damage and death. They were smart enough to turn the alarm off, break in, remove all warning systems, and then start a fire designed to destroy.
For half a second, I’m paralyzed with fear. Then, I look up and see that there are no signs of flames upstairs…yet.
I climb off my bike, grab my phone, and dial Ember’s number. “Come on, babe. Wake up,” I say. Thankfully, the fire hasn’t reached the alcohol along the bar. But when it does, things are going to get even worse, quickly.
Ah, fuck!There are all the gas lines in the kitchen.
When she doesn’t answer, I dial 911 as I start to run to the exterior staircase, wondering where the fuck the two men meant to be guarding the place are.
Once the call is answered, I bark details and instructions at the operator, not paying attention to what they’re asking me. “Get here quick,” I yell before I end the call.
I dial Ember’s phone, again. Still no response. As I run down the side of the building to the rear, I call Wraith.
He’s the lightest sleeper of us all. If anyone is gonna answer, he will. And I know he was headed home after the run, not back to the clubhouse like Butcher, who is probably already balls deep in one of the club girls.