Perfect fucking timing.
About five Chinese assholes in suits came running out, guns drawn, just in time to get blinded. I didn't even duck as all three of us crashed through the gate, flattening it underneath our bikes.
Shots were already going off behind the warehouse, off to the side where our boys had driven into the big blast.
Fucking shit. The prospects at my side didn't have my aim. Most of their shots went all over the fucking place, but they managed to pin the mafia assholes down. A strange calm came over me, allowed me to put all five of 'em down like dogs with neat shots to their rotten heads.
I didn't kill my bike and step off it 'til I saw them stop moving. Then I charged, yelling after those fucks behind me to follow, hoping that shit Roman had on the hill wouldn't lob another flash bomb and blind us.
No way of knowing how many assholes we'd taken out. The shooting off to the side was dying down.
I hit the service door and found it locked. I swore, gave it my best kick, and cursed bloody murder when it didn't budge an inch, hellfire running up my leg.
“Get the fuck over here and pry this thing open, assholes!” I screamed at the prospects. “Gotta see what the hell's going on around the corner. Gotta –“
Another blast cut me off in mid-speech. We weren't the only ones who'd brought a few bombs to the fight.
The latest blast was just a distraction. No sooner than I looked at the latest orange plume rising high into the air, a van came tearing out the opposite direction. Fucking thing grazed Carbon's bike and nearly took out mine before it swerved.
It wasn't slowing down, not when the driver knew there was hell behind 'em.
It went tearing through the gate we'd knocked down, trying to catch it, but the motherfucker was just too fast.
I prayed to whatever gods had saved this club's ass in the past that Roman would take out their tires and cut them down before they got away. I prayed even harder that Elle wasn't inside, that we weren't too late to save her.
We couldn't be wasting our time here, killing assholes who were nothing but a distraction, while the real bastards escaped.
Too much shit was happening at once. The prospects busted open the door to the warehouse just as two more bikes rolled up, a very dazed and cut Veep with Rabid at his side.
Relief rolled through me to see them safe. Thank fuck for small favors.
They jumped off their rides and followed behind us as we pushed our way inside, guns drawn.
I almost puked when we walked through the dirty old cafeteria. It smelled like a fucking slaughterhouse. We saw why about a second later.
Men with bloody Grizzlies MC cuts were stacked up in a pile, dismembered and rotting.
“Holy fucking shit!” Brass swore, smacking himself across the forehead in disbelief. “That's gotta be half the Tacoma charter!”
The prospects lost it. They both dropped to the knees and barfed their guts out, Carbon and the other guy alternating holding each other.
I couldn't even roll my eyes. I'd expected some nasty shit before, but I'd never seen a fucking abomination like this.
Forced myself to keep moving. Had to. Not 'til I had Elle home and safe.
As the only asshole who wasn't paralyzed, I walked up and started combing through the dead bodies, holding my breath while I shoved severed limbs aside. All the guys had their throats cut, and it looked like the chop shop came later.
I held my breath, desperate to see whether or not there was a woman in there too.
Had to know if Elle was with them – even if it was gonna kill me as dead as all these poor sorry bastards.
“Christ, bro, what the fuck are you –“ Rabid grabbed me by the shoulder and flung me around just as I finished.
“She's not here,” I said, trying not to shake. Then the brief flash of giddy joy I hit the fucking wall. “Oh, fuck. The van...”
“Yeah, shit, we'd better check with Roman. It's all up to him now.” Brass took one look at the gory mess I'd just combed through and shook his head. “Fuck. We're gonna hang this Zee asshole from his goddamned balls when we catch him. I can't believe this shit. All these guys with a Washington patch might be fuckers, but they're our fuckers.”
“We'd better get our vengeance going fast,” Rabid snapped. “We've got about five minutes to light this place up before every cop in the whole fucking Seattle area sees the smoke and descends on this place. I'd be surprised if some asshole hasn't phoned it in yet.”
Shit. He was absolutely right.
Grizzlies always made a policy to cover up our battles, and we didn't have much time at all to burn this place to the ground. At least it would buy the club some time to bribe the investigators who'd find what was left, and save everybody in Washington from Fed snooping – if there still was a Tacoma charter worth saving.