HARDCORE: Storm MC(131)
Cain started toward Gooch's bike in the garage, then shot a bittersweet glance at Missy as she mounted his bike. “Take care of her, okay?” he said.
Missy raised an eyebrow as she strapped her helmet under her chin. “Are you talking to me, or the bike?”
Cain smiled. “Both, I guess.” He straddled Gooch's bike, using his one good hand to rev the engine with the customized handlebar controls. “Time to make ol' Gooch proud.”
“Okay, fellas, this is it!” Hunter called out, addressing the Eagles. “We all know why we're here, an' we all know what's gotta be done. We'll only get one shot at this—we fuck it up, an' we may as well dig our own graves. But if we can move in hard an' fast, take down Gaspar's guys, grab his guns an' leave the rest for the cops, we'll have sent our message loud an' clear: You fuck with the Blood Eagles, an' by God we fuck back.”
The Eagles cheered, and Missy cheered with them. She'd had to watch these warriors ride off to battle before, but she'd never rode with them, and now she found herself tasting the same tang of adrenaline that was probably in their mouths as well. Her brain was already jabbering at her anxiously about the hundred different ways in which she could be hurt or killed by what came next—begging her to consider the pain of bullets and knives entering her body—but her heart and her guts were pumping fearsome energy through her veins that made her feel invincible.
The van started down the road and the bikes followed. Missy saw people peering out from the windows of their houses, then closing their curtains quickly. In one driveway, she saw Fernando practicing kick-flips on his skateboard. When he saw the procession of bikes, he picked up his board and retreated inside the house.
She threw her head back and laughed. Let those people play it safe. Let them stay in their safe houses and watch their safe TV shows and live safe lives and die safe deaths.
This was where she felt she belonged, strapped with weapons and riding hell bent for leather toward action with her brother at one side and her lover at the other.
For the first time in a life of bland disappointments and feelings of being left out, she finally felt truly free.
Chapter 38
Missy
Hunter pulled the van into the parking lot of the Teepee, followed by the horde of Eagles. Hunter got out from behind the driver's seat with an AK-47 slung over his shoulder and an unlit Molotov Cocktail in his hand.
The other Eagles dismounted their bikes, brandishing their artillery and marching on rooms 12 and 13.
Once they were all standing in front of the motel rooms in a loose semicircle with their guns drawn, Hunter handed the bottle to Missy along with a lighter. “Care to do the honors, sis?”
“Sure,” Missy said eagerly, lighting the fuse. “Which room? Twelve, or thirteen?”
Hunter thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Surprise me.”
Missy nodded. “Lucky thirteen it is, then.” She drew her arm back, and pitched the lit Molotov through the window. It crashed through the glass, and the glow of its flames quickly filled the room, along with several voices yelling fearfully in Spanish.
“You still throw like a girl,” Hunter commented.
“Fucker!” Missy laughed, cuffing him on the shoulder playfully.
A second later, the door swung open and two tattooed young men in baggy shorts and t-shirts ran out screaming, “Fuego! Fuego!” Behind them, Missy could see what looked like stacks of plastic-wrapped bricks of narcotics burning.
The two men had guns drawn, but as soon as they saw that they were surrounded, they dropped the weapons and held their hands up. The door to the neighboring room banged open. Three more armed men in baggy clothes ran out, realized they were outnumbered, and dropped their guns to raise their hands.
Cain's eyes drifted down to the men's shoes, and he frowned. One of them, a man with overlapping spider webs inked all over his arms, was wearing a pair of pointy-toed cowboy boots that looked very familiar.
Slowly, menacingly, Cain walked up to Spider Webs until their faces were inches apart. Spider Webs met his harsh gaze without blinking.
“Remember me, motherfucker?” Cain growled.
“Yeah, I think maybe I do,” Spider Webs said, grinning. “But it's tough to be sure 'cause last time I saw you, you was on the ground getting stamped out like a cigarette butt.”
Cain nodded. “That's right. You know why?”
“I dunno, ese. Maybe 'cause you're a faggoty little leather-boy bitch, how about that?”
Cain shook his head. “No, see, it's because I was outnumbered. That's all it was. But take a look around you, asshole, and tell me—who's outnumbered now, huh? I could pick eight guys at random to make a circle around you and mash you into fucking tomato paste right here, and you couldn't do a thing to stop it.”