Axl (Sons of Chaos MC #1) (19 page)

Axl pulled out his cell phone and dialed. I wondered who he was calling, but I didn’t have to wonder for long.

“Vargas,” he said grimly. “You know who this is.”

Vargas’s voice in the speaker spoke faintly, but I couldn’t make out the words. He sounded hostile as hell, whatever he was saying.

“Need you to meet me down at the Saguaro Junction tomorrow,” said Axl. “Yeah. 8am sharp. No, just me. Bring whoever you want. Yes. I’m fucking serious.”

He hung up. “We’ve got a date tomorrow.”

It was a restless night for us both, and we got up around five, before the sun rose. We headed out to the Junction on Axl’s bike, the frigid morning wind stinging our skin.

The Junction turned out to be nothing more than an isolated rest stop with a bathroom and an old visitor’s center that resembled a gazebo with windows. It was still pitch black outside when we dismounted the bike, and Axl pulled a flashlight out of the bike’s saddlebag. He shined it on the small, freestanding visitor center. But the beam of light stopped against the glass, and I couldn’t see what was inside.

“One-way glass,” said Axl, walking toward the structure. I followed. behind him, carrying the camera I’d checked out. “We’re gonna post you up in this bitch. Need you to get
everything
on camera,” he said. “You’re sure this’ll pick up the audio?” he asked, motioning to the mic I’d set up under his jacket.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then let’s get you situated in here. Soon as you see Vargas and his cronies roll up, hit it.”

Axl returned to the bike and got a crowbar from the saddlebag, then returned to the door of the visitor’s center where I stood. He started to pry it open.

Finally, the door popped open with a crunch. Axl shined the light inside. It was empty, abandoned, containing nothing more than a chair and a bunch of cobwebs. “Get cozy,” said Axl. He chucked the crowbar down into the corner, where it bounced off the ground with a clang. “Never wanna see another one of those,” he said. “You good?”

I nodded. “I’ll start on your signal,” I said. “Be careful.” I stuck my neck out and planted a kiss on his cheek, his thick, wiry beard scraping my lips. He kissed me back on the lips, filling me full of warmth. “This’ll be over quick, darlin’,” he said. He walked out, pulling the door shut behind him.

I brushed the dust off the old chair and sat down. I mounted the camera on my shoulders, turned on the audio monitor on my headset, and waited.

The sun eventually came up, and just like clockwork, a fleet of motorcycles pulled up right before eight o’clock. I heard Axl’s voice in my headset. “Go,” he said. I hit the red record button with my thumb, and the camera started. I framed the scene with the viewfinder and waited as the bikes came to a stop.

I recognized Vargas by his sheer size as he dismounted his bike and approached Axl. I zoomed in on the two of them.

“Archer,” came Vargas’s voice over the mic. “This’d better be fucking good.” Then he added, “The hell happened to you?”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Axl, pointing to his face. “The Sons did this to me.”

Vargas snickered. “Nice club you got,” he said.

“Just two of ‘em,” Axl replied. “And one of ‘em is Lynch.”

Vargas’s face reddened visibly in the camera’s viewfinder. “That sonofabitch’s killed a dozen of my guys.”

“I know. You want him dead.”

“Goddamn right I do.”

“Then we have a mutual interest.”

“What’re you sayin’?” asked Vargas, his eyes narrowing.

“I’ll lead him into your arms. Lynch’ll be all yours,” said Axl, “But the other one who’ll be with him, you gotta turn over to me. It’s personal.”

“Why the hell would I trust you?” said Vargas. He stepped closer to Axl, but Axl didn’t back down. “I’ve killed so many of the fuckin’ dogs in your club. I think you’re settin’ me up,” he growled.

“Stop the tape and come out,” said Axl. I heard Vargas bark in surprise as I switched the camera off and came out around the building. 

The half-dozen Reapers saw me instantly, with the camera on my shoulder.

“Guess you gotta trust me now, motherfucker,” came Axl’s voice through my headset. “Just got your murder confession on tape.” 

One of the men standing behind Vargas darted out around him, heading straight for me. But Axl turned and plowed his balled-up fist straight into the guy’s temple, and he went down hard. 

“Know what a cloud upload is?” said Axl. “Try that shit one more time, and the video goes straight to the Feds.”

I cringed. That was a bluff. The camera was totally not hooked up to the Internet. I couldn’t even send a damn text out here. But it was apparently a good enough bluff for an old crony like Vargas.

“Alright, alright,” growled Vargas, motioning for his men to stand down. “We do this your way. But when it’s over, that video is gone. You rat on me,” he said, holding his fist out toward Axl, “You and your old camera lady there ain’t
never
gonna be safe.”

“Agreed. You help me round up Lynch and Dash, I scrub the video. You’ll have the upper hand in the war against the Sons, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

Axl held out his hand to shake, but Vargas just stepped back and spit in the dirt. “I better not,” he said.

Axl shrugged and put his arm back down at his side. “Tomorrow, one p.m.,” he said. “Be at Exit 74. Bring traffic spikes. And for fuck’s sake, wait for the first bike to pass before you throw ‘em down,” he said, “Cause that’ll be me.”

I slept in Holly’s bed at the NOMAD compound that night, and woke up the next morning fired up.

The golden morning sun streamed in through the cracks in the blinds, illuminating Holly’s skin. It was so precious, so delicate, almost translucent in the light. I ran a hand down her neck, over her breasts, feeling her soft nipples under her tank top as she slept. Then I slid my hand down to her belly, and held it gently. That was my future kid in there, and no way was I gonna let my future kid grow up without two parents. No way was I gonna let him or her end up like a lost, wandering feral kid like me.

Holly stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She looked up at me and smiled wistfully. “You ready for this, babe?” She asked.

“Never been more ready,” I said. Confidence and determination surged through my body.

“We’re outta here when it’s done, right?”

“We’re outta here,” I send, bending down to kiss her on the forehead. “You stay put here where you’re safe. I’ll be back before you know it.” I squeezed her hand and got out of bed.

It was fucking go time.

The key to all this was that today was the Sons’ monthly arms pickup with the Russians. It always happened in the same place—a valley about a mile and a half off Exit 74.

Lynch and Dash would be there. They always were. And I was gonna lead those cunts right into the Reapers’ arms.

Never fuckin’ thought in a million years it’d come to this. Going up against my own club. But I knew now, that in this life, no matter how much control I thought I had, it was all an illusion. There was no such thing as control in this life. All I could do was respond to the fucked-up curveballs it threw at me. And sometimes, they were
really
fucked up.

I geared up, putting on a set of heavy leathers. I threw an extended mag into my Glock, and two more on my belt.

I was gonna need ‘em.

The pickup always happened at high noon. I headed out an hour early. I had to be there and in position before either club showed.

As I left the NOMAD compound, I passed a guy in the hall I hadn’t seen before. He wore leathers, but no patches.

“Ride safe, man,” he said to me with a smirk as I passed him. I whirled around to speak, but he kept walking.

Fucking sketched me out for some reason, but I trusted Big Mikey. He vetted everyone who came in here, and he was doing double security duty now.

Still, I doubled back to Holly’s room, going the opposite direction of the man. When I got there, I cracked the door. She was sleeping soundly.

“Be back soon,” I whispered. I locked the door from the inside and closed it. Then I headed out of the compound.

I got to the drop-off point on time. It was an old warehouse in a valley off the side of the road, secluded from view of the main highway. The hills surrounding the valley were thick with desert brush—a perfect place to hide my bike. I roared up the dusty hills, praying not to get a flat as my bike climbed the dirt-and-brush road. Eventually I got to the top of the hill and killed the engine.

Looking down, I had a perfect view of the valley and warehouse below. But anyone down there wouldn’t be able to see me up on the hill, obscured by the vegetation.

I grabbed my canteen off my bike and sat down. I closed my eyes and drank as I waited.

Twenty minutes later, I heard the rumble of bikes.

The Sons got there first. I squinted, looking down at who’d come. Looked like Ryker, with his unmistakeable ponytail, Dash, Lynch, Sandbag, a prospect, and four men I didn’t recognize.

I pulled my Glock off my belt, pulled the slide back, and released it. A golden glint flickered through the ejection port as a round entered the chamber.

Then, I leveled my gun at the warehouse below. I aimed squarely for the building, not the men—I wanted these fuckers alive. Then, I pulled the trigger over and over until I emptied the mag. Each blast was defeating, and my eardrums burned over and over with pain, the loud cracks striking my eardrums.

The men below scrambled for cover, grabbing guns off their own belts.

I cupped my hands against my mouth. “On the ground!” I bellowed, my distinctive, deep voice booming over the valley.

Of course, I didn’t expect those fuckers to lay down and die. The sound of my voice would be the only thing Dash and Lynch needed to hear, and they’d be after me like hyenas.

I jammed the Glock in its holster, ran to my bike, and started the engine. Voices and the roar of bikes drifted up from the valley. It was now or never.

I thundered down the side of the dirt hill, the bike bucking wildly up and down, the suspension being jarred by every pothole and rock in the road. I held onto the handlebars for dear life, almost being thrown the fuck off into the prickly pear cactus that dotted the mountain.

When I hit the bottom of the hill, I stuck out my foot, turning the bike sharply, and heading for the highway. Just as I pulled up onto the road, I spotted two bikes in pursuit.

Dash and Lynch. Just as I’d expected.

I popped the clutch and twisted the throttle as hard as it’d go. The 1500cc engine between my legs rocketed to life, and I felt the g-forces build against my chest as I launched onto the highway, Dash in Lynch in hot pursuit.

At that speed, it only took a little over a minute to get to Exit 74, but it felt like an hour.

It was now or never. Vargas’s guys would either be there, or I was fucking screwed.

I came around the final bend, twisting the throttle all the way until it stopped. I shot past Exit 74, twisting my head to look over my shoulder.

Four guys with Reaper jackets ran out from behind the hills on either side of the road, throwing spike strips out across the highway.

Dash and Lynch didn’t have a chance to hit the brakes. Their bikes thundered over the spike strips, and four loud pops echoed over the hills as their tires punctured and deflated. Behind them, a group of Reaper bikes roared to life, pulling up beside them and boxing them in. The entire fleet slowed down and came to a stop, Dash and Lynch unable to go any further on their flattened tires.

I hit the brakes hard, coming to a full stop. I executed a u-turn and slowly rejoined the group on the highway.

Energy surged through my body, down my legs, up my spine. I fuckin’ had them.

Reapers piled off their bikes, rushing up to Dash and Lynch. They pulled the pair off their bikes and threw them to the ground. Everything according to plan.

Then, something happened that I didn’t expect.

Another bike came down the highway. But it wasn’t Ryker, or the prospect.

It was the man I’d seen at the compound earlier.

And on the back of his fucking bike, was Holly, with a gag in her mouth.

Unable to hold onto the bike with my tied hands, I squeezed my legs together for dear life, trying to glue myself to the tiny passenger seat beneath me.

I’d been dozing in the early morning when I’d been awakened by a terrifying cracking noise. My eyes flew open just in time to see a burly, leather-clad figure enter my room, cross the room quick as a bullet, and stuff a hand over my mouth.

The next half hour had been a blur. The man covered me with a blanket, snuck me out of the compound, and threw me on the back of his bike.

Where we were going, I did not know until we got there.

As we approached Exit 74, I saw that the road was completely blocked by a mess of bikes and bikers. Two bikes were tipped over, and their riders lay on the ground, pinned down by other men.