Blacklisted Read online

  The youngish Hispanic man who called himself Rocker and who was the president of the other club sounded rightly furious over the previous encounters.

  Heavy is the head that wears the crown, or in this case the PRESIDENT patch on the front of his cut. I sympathized with the man’s ire. It was hard enough to worry about your own well-being and if the decisions you were making were the right ones. That weight was exponentially more when you have twenty to thirty guys willing to follow you to hell and back. Guys who trusted you implicitly and who were willing to risk it all just because you asked them to. It was our job to keep everyone as safe as possible, and when we failed, the loss was crushing and often impossible to shake off.

  I grunted and narrowed my eyes as a young man with a shaved head, complete with a swastika tattooed on the back, came out the front door and lit up a cigarette.

  “We play dirtier. You sure the guy I’m looking for went in there?” So far, I hadn’t laid eyes on Coleman, and I wasn’t about to force my way in without verified information. As much as I’d taken away growing up at my father’s side, I’d also learned many valuable lessons while I was in the military. It was a combination of both brutal educations that made me great at what I did, and it was the main reason I had so many willing to follow my lead.

  “I’ve had eyes on this place since I first contacted you to verify your guy has been hiding out here. He’s definitely in there.” The younger guy rubbed his fingers over his goatee and frowned. “We’ve tried to figure out another way besides the front door, but we haven’t come up with anything. Even though the bar is supposed to be open to the public, they keep the place as secure as Fort Knox. My guess is they run meth through there.”

  I made a disgusted noise low in my throat. I wasn’t what anyone would consider a good guy, but I had a deeply ingrained sense of what was and wasn’t an acceptable way to make a living on the wrong side of the law. Drugs were a hard no when it came to my club and the people I did business with. I hated how dependent and unpredictable they made people. I also didn’t like the chain of command involved when it came to narcotics. If you cut off one head, it was likely three more dangerous versions would grow back in its place.

  Turning my head, I looked at Top, who still had a bandana with a skull wrapped around the lower part of his face. He held a pair of very expensive, very high-tech infrared binoculars to his eyes as he intently watched the bar down at the bottom of the hill where we were parked.

  “How many people are inside?” I kept my voice low as I started to ponder the best way to gain entrance to the bar while ensuring the least number of casualties. I wanted Coleman no matter the cost, but I was never one for unnecessary carnage. I wanted to extract the man from his hiding place with a scalpel, not a chainsaw.

  “About fifty. And there is an unidentifiable heat source coming from the basement, so the theory about them cooking meth is probably accurate.” Top sounded disgusted and I didn’t blame him.

  “That means we have to be careful when we go in. I don’t want our guys exposed to those chemicals.” It was too soon to lose anyone else. I wasn’t sure I had the mental capacity to bounce back from another failure. It’d taken a lot longer to get to a good place following the loss of my brothers than it had to heal from my actual, physical injuries. “You see another way in, Top?”

  My VP swore softly and pulled the expensive goggles away from his face. “The roof. Let’s pull it off the damn building and make them come to us. Why give them home field advantage?”

  The building was mostly comprised of tin siding and big sheets of tin on the roof. It resembled some of the temporary outbuildings on our ranch, or a really big shed. It wasn’t an uncommon structure out in the hill country since the material was durable and the weather was unpredictable. Top’s wild plan was a possibility.

  The young biker next to me balked. “How are you going to pull the roof off with no one noticing? That sounds insane.” He looked between me and my VP with huge eyes and a face full of confusion.

  Top snorted. “We want them to notice. If we pull the roof off the building, most of the people inside will come running out to see what the commotion is all about. The less people inside, means less risk of injury if that meth lab goes up, and less places for our side to get cornered and taken unaware. It’ll also make it easier for us to spot Coleman. If he comes out in the fray, we snatch him up. If he doesn’t, we go in after him and he has nowhere to hide. He’s who we’re after. We don’t need to start a war with strangers over one man.”

  Rocker blew out a whistle and rubbed a hand over his face. “You guys are nuts.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d heard that. One of the reasons I’d left my father’s branch of the SoS was because he often opposed my more logical and less destructive way of going about things. It took a while for me to realize that my dad’s moral compass pointed a different direction from mine. He played fast and loose with his own life, which I’d always understood as being part of his character. My friends thought he was cool. I thought he was foolish. What I couldn’t take was him being so indifferent toward the lives of his members, and toward mine. My father was ruthless. I was rational. Those two things did not mix well when it came to making big calls for the well-being of the club and its members.

  “Rave.” I called for our club secretary. He was also our youngest member. A computer hacker with a lime-green mohawk I’d recruited as soon as I got out of the military. The kid was in deep trouble with Homeland Security, so I pulled in a few favors when he was still a teenager. He was a valuable asset to my team and the closest thing I had to a younger brother.

  “We need tow chains with hooks on the end. Get the twins up on the roof and tell them to find the best place to hook on.” The young man nodded enthusiastically and immediately started tapping out messages on his phone. “We need a distraction so they don’t hear us pounding around on the roof when the twins hook up the chains.” I cut a look in Top’s direction. “You got something in mind?”

  The other man scoffed as if insulted. “Of course I do. Chaos is my middle name.”

  He lifted a gloved hand and we bumped fists. A moment later a shrill whistle split the air as he lifted a hand and indicated for the guys wearing our patches to follow him as he fired up his bike and raced down the hill in front of us.

  I turned to look at my fellow president and ordered, “You take your guys and keep the local law off our backs while this goes down. We don’t need them tangled up in this.”

  Rocker growled low in his throat and offered a nod. “Our history with the deputies around here isn’t very good.”

  I flashed a grin. “We have a good lawyer if things go south. Don’t worry too much about it.”

  He left, still grumbling about getting involved with a crazy person, but he obeyed my orders. We might have the same rank, but my reputation and lineage preceded me. Even if I wasn’t exactly close to my father, Torch’s history of violence and disregard for law and order was legendary, and I was often found guilty by association. Very few members or clubs wanted to be put on my old man’s radar for any reason. Even if folks knew nothing about me and how I led my own crew, they knew I was Torch’s one and only son, and that was enough to gain me respect and blind compliance.

  A moment later it was almost too loud to think, and definitely too loud to have any kind of conversation. The bar was suddenly surrounded in a wide circle by guys revving their engines and sending clouds of dust and dirt in the direction of the tin-covered building. The noise on the inside had to be deafening as the debris ricocheted off the exterior. Dressed head to toe in black, a couple of our members who we simply referred to as “the twins” blended in well with the night sky as they scurried across the thin road, heavy chains rattling in their hands.

  As expected, a flood of people came storming out the front door. Most of the men held metal baseball bats as they started to scream obscenities and threats while the women scattered. If there were fifty people inside the build
ing, approximately half had come out to see what the commotion was all about or to take cover. Top continued to rev his engine, spraying the gathered group and covering them in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes. Angry yelling did its best to rise above the noise, but it was no match for the powerful motorcycle engines.

  As soon as the twins were off the roof, I got a text from Rave that the tow chains were hooked up. The crowd was now gathered around the disruptive bikers. After scanning it and not seeing Coleman, I gave the order for the roof to be removed.

  It was an ear-splitting sound as the metal was violently ripped away from the underlying structure. The bending and buckling tin shrieked loudly as more and more people came running out of the bar. I imagined it was similar to how folks in these parts would react to a tornado ripping through the building. A gunshot sounded, and voices rose. Off in the distance I heard sirens start to wail, but amid all the noise and confusion, there was still no sign of Coleman.

  Heaving a deep sigh and pulling my mask back up over the lower half of my face, I sent a brief message to Top to let him know I was going inside to try and find him. I didn’t get a response, or expect one, because by now a full-on brawl had erupted in front of the club. It was bikers versus the bargoers, and the fight was evenly matched. I knew my guys could hold their own, so I circled the building, dodging a flying two-by-four on the way. Once I was around back where the mangled, crumpled roof had been discarded, I searched for a way to get over the wreckage and inside the building as unobtrusively as possible.

  Unhooking one of the tow chains, I climbed up on top of a propane tank that luckily hadn’t been crushed under the weight of the flying roof, and hooked the end onto the top of the exposed frame of the building. It took a few tries to get a solid grasp, but once I had it hooked on, I hauled myself up the side of the building and dropped down on the other side. Luckily it was a short distance to fall, and the interior of the building was mostly emptied out.

  An older man was standing behind the bar, looking like he was in shock. A few women were huddled together in the corner, clearly questioning their life decisions. A young guy across the room shouted at me and sent a worried look toward a door partially hidden behind the bar. Still not seeing Coleman anywhere, I made the decision to see what was behind the door.

  I was grabbed from behind as I made my way toward the bar. I shook off the hold and put the kid on the ground with a single punch. I ordered the women to stay where they were, and easily knocked the knife out of the bartender’s hand when he suddenly lunged at me. I didn’t want to hurt him, just get him out of my way, so I knocked him to the ground and ordered him to stay there unless he wanted to bleed. He stayed still and lifted his hands up in surrender. As expected, the men who knew how to fight were all outside engaged with the rest of my club, leaving an opening for me to find Coleman with little fuss.

  Still, as I shouldered the heavy door open, I pulled my weapon. I wanted to be prepared for anything. Coleman and his older brother had both proven to be unpredictable and wily. They were also both master marksmen, something I’d failed to consider previously. I wasn’t going to make that same mistake again.

  My boots banged heavily on the rickety steps, which led down into what was effectively a root cellar. It was dark, dank, and smelled bad. Mostly because of the heavy chemicals used in the manufacturing of methamphetamine. I was glad I’d pulled my mask back up around my face, though it only offered a modicum of protection. Noise from the outside situation rang against the hollow walls. The sounds took me back to any number of bunkers I’d had to hunker down in while in an active combat zone. Blinking back against more than one unpleasant memory, and the dim darkness, I scanned the underground meth lab for any sign of movement.

  It didn’t take long for my prey to show himself.

  From underneath a long table covered in drug paraphernalia, including all kinds of beakers and unidentifiable chemicals, I caught sight of twin barrels aiming right for me. I dove off the stairs and hit the hard, cold ground before the first shot fired in my direction made my ears ring. Rolling to get behind an old beer cooler for protection, I returned fire, hearing glass shatter as a result.

  Exactly what I’d been trying to avoid was now happening. All those chemicals were going to be volatile and loose in the air, making the situation even more dangerous than it already was. They were highly flammable, and the slightest spark could turn the entire bar into a fireball.

  “Coleman. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s best if you just come out. There is no scenario in which this ends well for you.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but the bastard had killed two of my brothers and nearly killed me. The score I had to settle with him was huge.

  “You killed my brother, Caldwell. What makes you think this will end well for you either?” The thick Texas twang didn’t have a hint of fear in it. Coleman was just as set on revenge as I was.

  I swore loudly as another shot echoed through the space. “You want to blow us both up? Idiot.”

  “As long as I take you with me, I don’t give a shit!” The words sounded unhinged, and the man wasn’t making any sense. The situation was getting more and more dangerous by the minute, and as much as I wanted Coleman in my hands, my conscience couldn’t bear the idea of the women and other innocent people upstairs getting caught in the crossfire. I couldn’t abide unnecessary casualties.

  The sound of the shotgun being reloaded had the hairs on the back of my neck lifting up. Also, the commotion from outside the bar had grown to deafening levels and I was sure bloodshed had started. This whole thing had turned into a mess, and I was reminded why revenge wasn’t always the best answer. Sadly, I’d never been able to walk away from the search for retribution. My soul was restless until the proper price was paid.

  The cooler I was hiding behind shifted as Coleman’s shot blasted into the side. I jumped a little, more because the sulfur smell of smoke and burning chemicals started to fill the air, making it increasingly hard to breathe. My eyes started to burn, and my exposed skin started to feel itchy and too tight. Things were going bad, quicker than I expected, and my options were limited.

  Swearing loudly, I shoved the cooler out of the way and took a shot at all the beakers on the now-littered table, sending a shower of glass over the spot where Jed had taken cover, as well as spilling the unknown contents all over his hiding place. I knew he would have no choice but to abandon his cover and reveal himself once his protection was compromised. The toxic smell was overwhelming and it became nearly impossible to breathe, even though I had protective fabric covering the lower half of my face. Knowing Coleman was going to try and take a shot as soon as he got to his feet, I gave him my back as I turned to run back up the stairs. I decided the chemicals clogging the air were more dangerous than the bullets that were bound to start flying between us.

  I tried to crouch down and make myself as small as possible as I dashed back up toward the main bar, tripping over my own feet because it was so hard to see through the tears rushing out of my eyes. A gunshot sounded behind me and I went down to one knee as the back of my thigh exploded into a riot of painful spots. Loud pops and a sizzling sound followed the sound of the gun going off, and an acrid, noxious smell instantly wafted up from the cellar.

  I groaned and touched the back of my bloody thigh, looking at the stunned older man who was still standing behind the bar as I practically crawled through the opening.

  I met his gaze with a watery one of my own and choked out, “If you don’t want to die in a chemical explosion, help me move something heavy in front of that door, and get everyone else out of here. We have less than five minutes before this place goes up like a bomb.”

  The older man looked shocked, but when thick black smoke started to seep around the bottom and sides of the door, he finally moved. He yelled at the few people still seeking refuge in the bar to leave and helped me muscle a heavy fridge in front of the doorway to stop it from opening. He didn’t ask about the man still in the b
asement, and I didn’t offer any explanation. Coleman had made his choice, and now he was going to have to live with the outcome.

  The old man gave me a once-over as I stumbled and tripped my way toward the exit, before hauling himself over the bar and darting toward the door. Of course he didn’t bother to help me. I would’ve done the same thing in his shoes.

  Coughing and trying to peer through watery, burning eyes, I dragged myself across the bar. My leg was killing me, but I knew the injury wasn’t fatal. The thing that was going to get me in trouble was inhaling the poison that was steadily filling the room. The blast of Raid from Presley the other day didn’t have anything on the toxic fog I was currently trying to fight my way through. I was about ten feet away from the front door, could see outside, when I suddenly couldn’t make my feet move any further. I hit the floor, my knees jarring against the wood hard enough to click my back teeth together. I was wheezing behind the mask, choking and trying not to vomit.

  Gasping, I tried to push myself back to my feet so I could muscle through the last few steps to fresh air, only to collapse in a gagging heap as toxic smoke continued to roll through the room.

  Right before I stopped breathing altogether and everything around me went black, I vaguely felt hands reach around my torso and pull me up. My head lolled lifelessly forward as I was dragged out of the smoldering, dangerous bar.

  “Sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Caldwell.” Top’s familiar drawl sounded a million miles away, but the frustration that filled it was music to my ears. This was far from the first time my VP had pulled my ass out of the fire, literally. And we both knew it wouldn’t be the last.

  Chapter 6

  Presley