Page 79 of Jasper
I shoulder my rifle and fire, aiming for a seam running down the center of the hood where two plates of armor meet.
Slate’s already at my side, glass shards raining down as he blasts the driver-side windshield with his shotgun. The buckshot spreads, punching through the thin lamination, but it’s not enough. The bastard driving it is shielded behind reinforced plating. This was good planning on their part, but we’re used to fighting dirty.
“Engine block,” I growl. “Center fire. Dump everything we’ve got on the center seam between the plating. If we don’t stop this thing, it’s going to be sitting in our clubhouse in a few minutes.”
Slate switches to his long gun. We both open fire again, this time focused on penetrating the seam along the armor plating. I squeeze off shot after shot, each one aimed to chew through casing and engine. The truck veers slightly. Flames lick under the hood. Then it jerks hard to the side and slams into the edge of the porch, metal crunching as the front axle snaps.
The explosion is instant. Something rigged beneath the vehicle must have gone up—maybe a secondary payload or a last-ditch effort to breach the clubhouse wall. Heat floods through the cracked window, the shockwave knocking dust loose from the beams overhead. Dark smoke billows out across the yard.
And then they come. Hyenas come riding in behind the chaos, weapons drawn, masks on, bodies moving fast and low. It’s clear they are intent on this being their final attack. They’re here to end us.
Mica yells from the ground floor, and I hear the unmistakable rhythm of automatic fire answering back. Onyx is posted just inside the main entrance, firing through the narrow side slit we reinforced last month. My brothers are keeping the line tight. No one is getting through that door.
I drop another target. He falls near the burning wreck, writhing in a way that tells me he won’t last long. Two more step over him—one with a sawed-off, the other with what looks like a modified nail gun. I take them both before they reach cover. One bullet per man. Clean shots, both of them.
Then pain tears across my shoulder, hot and sharp. My body jerks from the force of it, and I stagger back from the window.
Slate grabs me by the back of my vest and hauls me down, keeping low. “Graze,” he says. “You good?”
I grit my teeth, nod once. My shirt’s already damp. “It doesn’t matter. I can still shoot.”
“Then let’s bring these fuckers down,” he growls, and we rise together, rifles back at the ready.
Smoke and blood choke the air. The yard is a war zone. But the clubhouse still stands. And so do we.
The pain in my shoulder doesn’t register anymore. Adrenaline takes over, allowing me to continue the fight. I slam a fresh mag into place and move down the hall, boots pounding over wood worn smooth by decades of lives lived inside these walls. I’m not about to let a single bastard tear it down.
Mica’s pinned near the kitchen, crouched low with his sidearm drawn. The door’s wide open behind him, smoke curling in through the broken frame. A Hyena hurls in a piece of fucking dynamite, with fire dancing along its fuse. Mica doesn’t hesitate. He dives forward, catches the damn thing mid-air, and tosses it right back.
“Are we clear?” I call out.
“Clear enough,” he snaps back, dragging himself to cover near the pantry. His knuckles are bleeding, but his eyes are clear and he’s still able to fight.
I move to the nearest window and fire three rounds in fast succession. Another Hyena drops near the old fence post, hisrifle clattering to the gravel. I duck back and press the comm pinned to my shoulder.
“All units, fall back to the clubhouse. Full lockdown positions. First floor, second floor, rooftop. Watch your zones, rotate fire so no one gets cut off from escape.”
The line buzzes with quick confirmations. My brothers trust my leadership, so there are no questions or hesitation. Unity and coordination are our strengths.
Onyx storms past me with extra clips, slapping Mica on the back as he goes. Slate’s already on the rooftop. I can hear his boots thudding above my head. He’ll be laying down cover fire by the time I cross to the next window. The clubhouse tightens around us. Every door is reinforced. Every angle covered. This building isn’t just shelter. It’s a fortress.
Snipers reposition. I see Jinx is now perched on the west dormer, rifle trained on the gate. A quick crack sounds, and a man goes down before he finishes climbing the fence.
The Hyenas keep coming, but they can’t get close. Every one of them who breaks the thirty-pace line catches a bullet from us. We’ve drawn a circle around this place with our weapons’ fire, and I’ll be damned if they cross it.
Smoke rises from the garage. I see two of them tearing through the few remaining bikes in there and our supply of parts, smashing fuel tanks and tossing tools. One’s dragging chains behind him, probably for setting more fires. I raise my rifle, track him through the scope, and squeeze the trigger. He drops hard, his limbs jerking.
I keep looking. Scanning.
Where is their fucking leader, Leo Marquez?
The best way to get them to break ranks, leave, and not come back is to take down Marquez. I spot him near the tree line, standing in the headlights of several bikes. He’s pointing and shouting orders. He’s got a red bandanna tied tight around one arm, a tell I’ll remember.
My grip tightens on the stock. Marquez dies tonight. I don’t care how many bodies I have to stack to get to him. This is our hallowed ground. We won’t give up a single inch of it. My club brothers and I don’t back down.
“Slate. The back parking lot is overrun. Spring the back trap,” I say into the comm, my breath tight. “Do it now, brother.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Instead, he just double-clicks confirmation on his phone. A heartbeat later, the back of the property lights up in a wash of orange. The ground rolls beneath us with the force of it, followed by the concussive boom of several propane tanks going off in tandem. Heat flares against the windows, and I see bodies flung like rag dolls through the smoke. This is turning out to be one of our bloodiest battles.
