Page 101 of Biker Daddies

“That stupid motherfucker,” Grizzly sneers, snatching the bottle from me and tossing it across the room.

It hits the wall, shattering, and the whiskey drips down to the floor.

“What?” I question, needing to know why he is so worked up.

“That’s the house we grew up in. It was before I met any of you. Parents’ couldn’t afford it anymore and no one else has lived in it since. That’s where he took her. Thanks, Tomas. If you need anything, I owe you one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Good luck. I hope you find her safe. Bane, keep me updated. And call me about a job.” With that, Tomas hangs up the phone before we can say anything else.

“We are all riding. Gather your weapons. We leave right fucking now.”

We disperse and I spring to my room, gathering guns, knives, and my brass knuckles, placing them on each hand. I’m going to ride with them on because I’m not wasting time pulling them from my pockets when Harlow needs me. When I’m done, I run outside, and Prez is already on his bike.

The guys follow, the prospects too.

I hop on my bike and Prez shouts, “When we get there, I want no mercy. Do not hesitate. Shoot to kill. I want nothing left of that fucking bastard or that house. We will burn it to the ground.”

We crank our bikes and when they all sound together, the rumble reminds me of thunder, a storm waiting to release so much fury.

As a club, we follow Prez, heading to the house where Harlow is. Horrible thoughts keep entering my mind. What if she’s drugged up? What if she’s lost the baby? What if he’s abused her? My bike swerves when I lose control from that thought.

Colt pulls up next to me and I nod, telling him I’m fine. I am. I will be. I will be once I have her in my arms.

The ride is quick since we’re all speeding, but it still takes longer than I like to get there because Grizzly’s old house is on the other side of Las Vegas.

We turn down a dirt road and a run-down house comes into view. The porch is warped and the house looks like it’s a breath away from falling over. There are expensive cars parked on the side of the house and two men sit on the porch.

I don’t waste any time. I don’t stop my bike. I hop off it while it’s still running and it falls over. I can fix my bike but I can’t fix Harlow. I can’t bring her back from the dead.

I lift my gun and fire, the bullet landing in the middle of his chest. Prez is right behind me, firing his weapon.

“Hey! I got the side. We have runners.”

“Get them, Poet. Don’t you dare let them live,” I bark, lifting my front leg and kicking down the front door. It gives easily, wood chips flying in every direction.

Men from all over the house charge forward and one by one we take them down. There’s no mercy here and there will never be. I’m pissed, and nothing will be able to stop me.

I check every room upstairs and only see stained mattresses on the floor. “Harlow!” I call out her name.

Bane is checking the other rooms. “Where is she? Where the fuck is she!” he yells.

“She isn’t on this floor,” Grizzly says, opening a door that’s barely hanging on its hinges.

“I have your back,” Match says from behind him.

“Me too.” Bullwhip unwraps the whip from an enemy’s neck.

The guy’s face is purple from the lack of air and he falls to the ground, dead.

Prez opens the door and one by one we follow him down the rickety steps.

“Oh my god.” Prez stands at the base of the stairs.

The smell hits me first.

Body odor, piss, and so many other things that have me holding my breath. Prez flips on the light and Match runs to the cell a dozen women are in.

“No! No! Don’t touch us. Please. Please, just kill us,” one of them says.

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