Page 68 of Queen of Blades

Shit like that went down when there was a new president. Motorcycle clubs were notoriously volatile. Honestly, any other criminal syndicate was the same; they just weren’t so loud about it. Family organizations, like Paul’s, Dario’s, and the Irish, tended to rid loyalists from the old regimes quietly.

If Diesel murdered all the men in Harper’s family, Paul wasn’t sure how well she’d bounce back from that. She may have taken her dad in stride, but they were in the thick of a war. There was no way she’d actually processed it yet. If more bodies piled up, he could see her absolutely losing her shit. He wasn’t sure what that would look like, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

From what he knew of her, it could go one of two ways. She’d either withdraw within herself or explode into a murderous rage. It was a fifty-fifty shot, but Paul would put his money on Harper not taking things lying down. She was a spitfire. It was one of the many things that drew him to her. She’d definitely want Diesel to answer for his crimes. She was on the right side of the law, after all. So, her sense of justice was pretty secure.

Honestly, for that dickweasel Diesel, Paul agreed. He deserved to get what was coming to him sooner rather than later.

Glancing around the inside of the vehicle, he took another mental count of their assets. Behind him were four of his soldiers, all checking and rechecking their guns. Eddie was behind the wheel, strapped with quite an arsenal himself. Another two SUVs rode with them, each containing another four soldiers. Every man they had was on call tonight. They each had one assignment or another.

His father, uncle, and two cousins stayed back. Sam wasn’t much for getting his hands dirty—the wannabe politician didn’t like blood on his suits. Mickey needed to watch over their legitimate businesses, especially with Eddie riding along with Paul. They’d taken quite a chunk out of the organization for this raid on the bikers. Someone had to make sure everything ran smoothly in their absence.

Joseph and Michael were busy fabricating alibis for Paul and Eddie, between carrying the brothers’ personal cell phones and ensuring vehicles were positioned in the right places. They’d be watching in their own way, though. It was a well-coordinated effort, as strikes like this were intended to be.

All Paul had to do was make sure things went off without a hitch on the ground. His goals were clear.

Patting the leather sheath tucked under his left arm, Paul made sure, for the hundredth time, he had his ice pick along with the two Glock 34s tucked away under his jacket but over the body armor. Strapped to his ankle was another Glock 19, and in his pocket was the small silver lighter Harper had given him. There was no way any of those ratty-ass bikers were escaping this.

“You sure you can do this?” Eddie asked.

Paul nodded. “You sure your intel is good?”

His brother smirked. “Sebastián assured me they would finalize their deals with them this evening. They’d hang around for a few hours, enjoy the hospitality, and then head out before we show up.”

“And it’s going according to plan?”

Eddie unwrapped, then rewrapped his fingers around the steering wheel. “He confirmed Diesel and Harper are there.”

Paul stiffened at the comment. “He saw her?”

“Yeah. She’s in rough shape but still breathing. No sign of Little Junior or Baby Boy. Sebastián couldn’t ask, but he knew them from dealing with Snoopy. They aren’t there.”

Paul swallowed hard. No one had Harper’s back. She was deep in the bowels of hell with no protection.

Gritting his teeth, his gaze flicked to the speedometer. Had he been the one driving, he’d be testing the limits of the vehicle.

It was better that Eddie had the wheel. They needed to stay under the radar and draw the least amount of attention possible. If they got pulled over, this whole thing would implode.

Closing his eyes, Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. “How much longer?”

“Another twenty minutes until we get there, but we have to wait for Sebastián to give us the all clear.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know.”

One hour and twenty-three minutes.

That was how long they waited for Sebastián to give the signal. Paul stood in the woods flanking the clubhouse while his men spread out. He watched cars and motorcycles come and go from the large lot surrounding the old redbrick armory that was repurposed to be the Roughneck Riders’ clubhouse in Boynton, Oklahoma.

Finally, the phone in his pocket vibrated. It was time to go.

Taking his first gun from its holster, Paul crouch-walked toward the building just as the lights went out. His men had cut the power to the building, including their backup generator.

Chaos erupted from the front building. Half-dressed women and men spilled from the front door. They were the perfect camouflage for him and his men to gain access.

Hellfire would soon rain down on the bikers.

39

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