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  “Why would that be stupid? Knowing how things work? There’s not nearly enough people who can fix things.”

  “Yeah?” He looked surprised, and she took a moment to wonder where the reluctance was coming from.

  “Who told you this was stupid?”

  One-shoulder shrugs pissed her off, especially from her teenage son.

  “Was it Dad?”

  Brayden sighed and set his pizza down, too. “Dad and Jasmine. They want me to go to university. Dad said if I insist on messing with motors I should at least get an engineering degree. But I can’t see myself taking anything that hard.”

  She loved her son and believed he was brilliant, but book smarts were not his strength. He knew it, she knew it, and her ex-husband refused to believe it. Sharon had always tried to instill in him that being happy was what was important. How much money he made was an unhappy person’s measure of success, and she wanted him happy.

  “If you want to go to community college and learn how to fix car engines I completely support that, Brayden.”

  “I know, Mom. But Dad won’t pay for that. And I don’t think I qualify for student loans.”

  Sharon mulled it over for two seconds. “It’d be cheaper to take something like that around here. Live with me and we’ll figure it out from there.”

  He stared at her as though he was waiting for her to crack up, show she was just kidding. When it was obvious she wasn’t pulling his leg he shook himself out of his shock. “Mom, Dad’ll never go for it.”

  The more despair she heard from her kid the more pissed off she got. He shouldn’t be this jaded at sixteen. “When you graduate high school you’ll be eighteen. You can decide where to live. Apply for a few scholarships in your senior year to help out and we’ll see where it goes. Do you know where you’d want to go?”

  Brayden shook his head, but his voice sounded a modicum more enthused. “Hadn’t thought about it yet. I was mostly trying to figure out what to take at university.”

  Sharon picked up her pizza again. “Okay, so here’s the deal. You can take the job at Grainger’s but,” she held up a finger before he got too excited. “You only detail. You don’t deliver a box somewhere if they ask, you make sure that what you’re doing is legal at all times.” She paused before taking another bite. “And how did you know who they were?”

  Brayden shrugged. “I was just talking to Jolene, I told her who my mom was and she introduced me to her husband. Mikey?”

  “Mickey, yeah.”

  “Yeah. And there was a guy named Buck, too. They seemed nice.”

  Sharon sighed. “They’ll show you some stuff about engines, and that will be cool. But that’s all I want them to show you. Understand?”

  He nodded, and his grin was wide as he dug into his pizza again.

  Well, this should be interesting.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Shit, look at this. Fucking Turnbull’s got a website for his election campaign.” Spaz made a dismissive snort. “Nice layout. What is this, 1992?”

  Fritter ignored the kid, focusing on the glass of Jack in front of him instead. It was just the two of them at the moment, the crew was coming back from a run and Fritter and Spaz had drawn the short straws to stay home. Jayce wasn’t on the run but he was taking his brood back to the airport in Bakersfield. Trinny and the kids had been down for another visit. It had only been two weeks since they’d had the shower for David Junior—or Davie, as he was becoming known—and the family was already back for a visit. Things were looking brighter for the McClune’s.

  “Jesus. These are professional portraits and he still looks like a bloated corpse. Normally I wouldn’t make bets on elections based on appearances, but there’s no way this guy’s beating Downey in a popularity contest. No matter how rich he is.”

  “He’s rich and so are his friends,” Fritter mumbled, twirling the glass on the table top. “He’s got more money to campaign than she does.”

  “So what? I don’t think anyone wants to see him squeeze his gut into that uniform.” Spaz sighed. “Fuck, I hope he loses. Downey in that uniform really fucking turns me on.”

  The flare of jealousy was slight and he ignored it. He’d managed to avoid seeing the Sheriff since their little spat and she’d stayed out of his thoughts since. Well, mostly.

  The club had tried to make a donation to Downey’s campaign last week. She’d turned it down. Jayce offered to make it in his name, privately. Still she said no. There was something going on with ties to the club and he felt some guilt over that.

  Fritter was really hoping they didn’t cost Sharon her job. But really, he tried not to dwell on it. She was done with him, she’d said so, so he had to take his hurt little feelings and deal with it. She was a grown up. She could handle it and so could he.

  They’d had the Fourth of July club barbecue in the lot the previous weekend. For the first time he could remember the Sheriff did not attend. It had not gone unnoticed.

  “Downey doesn’t even have a website, though. Just a Facebook page. I wonder who’s administering it for her. She doesn’t have a personal profile anywhere.”

  Fritter frowned, tilting the last of the Jack into his mouth. “Why the fuck are you talkin’ so much?”

  “What?”

  “Jesus, you won’t shut up. There’s nothing wrong with silence, you know.”

  “You’re making me nervous. Normally you talk a lot. It’s actually you being quiet that makes me talk.”

  Fritter got to his feet. “Sorry. I’ll leave you to your solitude, nerd.”

  “That’s better,” Spaz said with a sigh as he left the office.

  At least everything with Sachettis was holding. That was the bright side of life at the moment. Every week or two the club had work to do for them. And after the disgusting find out in Hazeldale, Spaz had been asked to devote more time to hunting down Tiffany and Brian Pullman, as well as any other properties they had owned or rented in Markham County. His list had been compiled on the property front, so at the worst case scenario they were shutting down more trafficking depots. Best case scenario, they’d find the Pullmans and take them out. They had no qualms killing a Dirty Rat, as long as his friends were far, far away.

  That was the plan that would take place in the next couple hours. They’d scoped out the locations that were on Spaz’s list. They were all types of properties, some in great areas and others where anything and everything could be taking place. The Nomads were already in town, taking over the main room of the clubhouse at the moment, all to help the mother chapter take out six locations at the same time. Two of them were trailers, they’d only take one or two men. The others, full houses, would require more manpower. Especially since they didn’t know what was inside. There were strange people coming and going in the bit of surveillance the Rebels had already done, but if it was drugs or kiddie peddling it was hard to tell. Rats had only been spotted at two of the six spots. The rest all looked to be manned by Mazaris.

  The anticipation of some unadulterated violence had him humming. He couldn’t wait. Anything to take his mind off the blonde sheriff and the stupid shit he’d said to her.

  Talking about feelings like a whiny bitch.

  Guido, President of the Red Rebels Nomads, approached Fritter with a chin nod. “The crew is pulling in right now. Jayce should be here in ten.”

  “How’s the armory looking?”

  Guido grinned. “A thing of fucking beauty, man. You getting a good deal from Sachetti on this shit?”

  Fritter gave a heave of his shoulders. “It seems expensive but compared to street value, yeah. They want their underlings to have nice things.”

  “Lucky pricks.”

  They had crossed the room to the club’s board room; a space closed off behind the bar with a long scarred and marked table with mismatched, ancient, uncomfortable-as-fuck chairs. At the moment it looked like a press conference where the cops were showing off seized weapons. There were enough AK-47s for each man to take one. Glo
cks, Rugers, Colts, whatever your preference, they were all there for back-up firepower. Then of course they had hunting knives, but most of the crew already had a blade that was near and dear to their hearts. The clips and magazines for all the firearms were lined up at the far wall on a second folding table.

  “All the AK’s are new, they come in without serial numbers. Handguns are from our old stock so they’ve had the numbers filed down.”

  “Who the fuck’s using the Enfield?” Guido mumbled as he brought the rifle up, resting it on his hip as he looked it over. To be fair, it was awfully pretty.

  “That’s for Tims. He’s our sharpshooter. Whoever has him in their crew will be lucky. I’d just set him outside to pick off anyone fleeing.”

  “He’s that good?” Guido’s eyebrow was raised.

  “Yeah. That’s how Tank and two other guys took out a crew of Gypsys that were coming to ambush them.”

  “They had a heads’ up.”

  Fritter laughed, taking the rifle back and setting it in its place again. “Yeah, okay. That’s why.”

  Guido was laughing too, then picked up his beer to take another drink. “Fuck. I wanna get going on this, man.”

  Fritter nodded, noticing how his fingers were drumming on his own belt, where he had his thumb hooked. “Fuck. Me too.”

  “Are you ready to meet your fucking makers, motherfuckers?”

  It was screamed from the doorway, and the cheer it wrought was deep, lusty, and aggressive. Knuckles stood in the double door way of the board room, arms out and over his head, eyes closed.

  Fritter hoped he was on Knuckles’ team for this raid. The guy was nuts; no fear, ice water in his veins on this kind of thing. So fucking calm his hands didn’t shake and he was as steady as any of them were on any regular day. But he lived for this. He may have served his country, but a part of Fritter wondered if “sanctioned homicide”—as he called it but only to himself—wasn’t the biggest allure of the Army.

  “Where’s Jayce?” Tank asked, walking around Knuckles like he wasn’t holding a sermon to the God of blood and war.

  “On his way. He’ll be here soon,” Guido answered as he clasped hands with the big Vice President.

  “Think we can talk him into staying here?” Fritter asked.

  Tank just laughed.

  It was Fritter’s main function to keep Jayce safe. And he would; he’d absolutely put himself in front of a bullet for the man. But sometimes Jayce liked running head-long into danger, meaning Fritter was chasing him more than protecting him.

  “Everyone got weapons?” Tank rumbled. He never really had to shout. His deep voice carried just fine.

  “Come to Poppa, baby,” Knuckles said, shoving between Tank and Fritter to get to the table. He grabbed a new AK-47, freshly oiled and prepped courtesy of the prospects. “Oh God, she’s gorgeous. This one’s mine. Her name’s Chiquita.”

  “Like the bananas?” Fritter asked, frowning.

  “Fuck you,” Knuckles replies, eyes still on his date for the night. His hand swept the length, forend to buttstock, licking his lips. “She makes me fucking hard.”

  “I ain’t riding with him,” Guido pointed out, reaching over to pick up an AK as well.

  Fritter himself grabbed a Ruger and clip first, tucking it into the small of his back under his hoodie. He grabbed a few magazines and then one of the AKs, not sure what made Chiquita so special since they all looked the fucking same. As the weapons were being divvied out Jayce finally arrived, Spaz behind him. Spaz had a few papers in hand, and he looked even paler in the black sweatshirt he was wearing. Fritter knew the kid was nervous, but he was going to have to nut up. It took more than sitting at a computer to be in this club.

  “Listen up,” Jayce bellowed, and Guido helped the room get quiet with a loud whistle. Jayce nodded his thanks. “I take it everyone knows the plan. The Mazaris are the fuckers that beat up the old lady of one of our brothers, first off.” Jayce nodded to Buck as he spoke, and the silent one gave a jerk of the chin in response. “They’ve come into my town, beating up my dealers. Throwing acid on one our dancers, now my VP’s old lady.” There were grumbles around the room, and Tank gave a nod to show he appreciated the outrage. “And that’s all bad, don’t get me wrong. But that’s not how they’re earning. That’s them making a nuisance of themselves. They make bank by trafficking flesh, and they’re bringing kids into this country to be sold, raped, and then ... who the fuck even knows.”

  Fritter was watching the Nomads. He could immediately tell only Guido knew that part. The other Nomads grew still, but their hands tightened on whatever they held be it an AK, the arms of their chairs, or a beer bottle. And the room got really fucking quiet.

  Jayce noticed it too, nodding. “You don’t have to have kids to know that fucking shit cannot stand. I admit, I dragged my feet a little, worried about who the Mazaris might have business with. But right now I don’t give a shit. A store of kids was found in Hazeldale a couple weeks ago, ten kids who’d been tied up and used. Left starving in the meantime. I hope it makes you all ill. I hope it makes your blood burn and your stomach turn to stone. There is no guilt in taking out these assholes. They’re not human. They don’t deserve to draw breath around my wife, my kids, your families, anyone you care about and even people you can’t fucking stand.”

  There were a few chuckles at that, and when Jayce smiled it was stone-cold serious. “So we move in unison. Strike all at the same time so no one can be alerted. They got weapons, I’m sure of it. They seem tight with the Dirty Rats so they at least have the means to be armed. But don’t be scared of them. Remember who they hurt. And they cannot have the same effect on us.”

  “Fuck no!” Knuckles all but screamed, Chiquita clutched to his chest.

  “Because we are not children. We are not unarmed women. Let them try fucking with someone who can fight back. Watch ‘em curl up like the fucking pussies they are!”

  The room erupted, and Fritter’s adrenalin kicked in faster than a mainlined narcotic.

  “Spaz has the assignments,” Jayce went on, hand up to silence the crew. “Each sheet has the names of the men you’ll be paired with, the address of where you’re going, and our best estimate of how many people might be inside. These are the groups I want you to stay in. I don’t have to tell you to keep it fucking quiet until it’s party time. We hit them all at once. Smooth. Take ‘em by surprise. No one is left breathing. If you find kids, don’t try to help them. Take care of business, call in an anonymous tip to the Sheriff’s department and fucking ghost. No bikes, no kuttes, no colors. We got vans, SUVs and a few cars. Your list also indicates what vehicle to take.”

  Spaz made the circuit with the assignments, handing them out to specific people. Fritter didn’t get one so he was on someone’s paper. He tried to peek at Guido’s sheet but he couldn’t make out the chicken scratch.

  “When it’s done head back here immediately. You run into trouble, ditch the weapons if you can. Wipe ‘em down, or do that now and grab some gloves. But just as important: torch these sheets. No evidence of the plan. Also, no one gets left behind. We all get back here. No matter how it happens.”

  The room grew silent at that. It wasn’t fear. It was a somber acceptance.

  “Now let’s roll out. Your map has the ideal location to park and approach marked out. Get there now. We hit every spot on that map at exactly 11:50pm.”

  Like everyone else, Fritter checked his watch.

  “Right now I got 11:13.” Jayce shouted and a few people reset their times. “11:50, tonight. We’re taking out these assholes once and for all. We gave them every opportunity to get the fuck out of Markham and they didn’t. So we exterminate. We’re not starting a war. We’re ending it.”

  “Fuckin’ rights,” Guido muttered among the other rumblings of agreement.

  “Thank you to the Nomad charter for coming to our assistance once again.” Jayce shot a grin straight down the length of the table at Guido. “Our markers are really star
ting to add up here.”

  Guido chuckled. “I’m keeping track. Don’t worry about your math skills.”

  “Now everyone get your shit together and clear out.”

  The room filled with moving feet, the shifting creak of leather and over two dozen weapons being selected, examined, and adopted. Fritter knew he’d be on Jayce’s crew, so he followed the Prez out into the clubhouse. Jayce snagged Knuckles, Tims, and Tiny as well. Fritter was pleased; that was a fucking dream crew in his mind.

  “We got a ranch house over near the school,” Jayce began with, spreading his paper out.

  “The school?” Knuckles sounded properly outraged.

  “I know. Now it’s a pretty big place, but looking at it, I think it’s close to the layout of my house, just reversed.”

  They stared at the photo of a house front, and Fritter nodded. “I think I see it, yeah.”

  “We park at the house next door. It’s the Jacobs’ place, and they’re on an Alaskan cruise right now. Those old fuckers, the Coopers, are on the other side and they’re both deaf as a post.” Jayce pointed out the directions in reference to the house front. “Not a lot of coming and going from this place, based on recon. I’d say this is just a place they’re living at. It’s too high profile to be doing anything really sketchy.”

  “How many bedrooms your house got?”

  “I’m glad you don’t know that,” Jayce said with a smile at Knuckles. “We had four, but one was in the basement. A guest room. I’m guessing this is a three-bedroom spread on the main floor, no idea if it’s a finished basement.”

  “Your place was open plan, right?” Tiny rubbed his chin, squinting at the sheet.

  “Yeah. So if this place is the same, the only small space is the hallway. Sweep the main rooms, move to the hall, clear bed and bathrooms, then the basement.”

  “Fucking basements,” Knuckles muttered, shifting in his boots.

  “I know. We got no choice, though. Tims, I want you by the vehicle outside in case anyone gets out. Take ‘em out right on the lawn.”