By Sin I Rise: Part Two (Sins of the Fathers, #2)

I sat in the back of the van beside Drooping-Eye, which wasn’t his name but I didn’t like the guy enough to bother remembering his name, especially because it was complicated and old-fashioned.

Peppone and Dimo sat in the front. Peppone threw me the occasional look through the rearview mirror. He obviously wasn’t too excited about working with me, but he like Luca’s other soldiers knew better than to disobey.

Usually I preferred to sleep during long drives but I would sure as hell not close my eyes around these guys, not before I knew them better.

“Quite the social rise you’re pulling off by becoming Marcella Vitiello’s man.” He paused. “If this was your plan all along, I’d applaud you.”

I cocked one eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Just a lucky coincidence then, I guess, finding love with the Capo’s daughter while she’s being held captive by you.”

He was really starting to piss me off, but I wanted to prove to Luca that I could work with his men.

“I’ve always been a lucky guy,” I muttered sarcastically.

Luckily we chose a motel that night, and I paid to have a separate room, despite Peppone’s protest.

The next morning, he seemed to have gotten over his sour mood from the previous day. It took us two more days to finally find a group of Earl supporters, all of them Nomads. They were hiding in a long abandoned safehouse of Tartarus out in the woods. Earl always liked to have our safehouses and clubhouses to be in the midst of the woods. Maybe that was why Gray had a penchant for trails and nature in general.

“I need to collect your phone,” Peppone said as we parked a good distance away from the house.

“Why?”

“Just to be safe. This mission is too important to risk anything. And your loyalties are still a risk.”

“If Luca sends me on a mission, he must think I can be trusted.” That was of course not true. I knew that Luca didn’t trust me, and of course Peppone didn’t either, which was why he asked me for my phone in the first place.

“This is my mission and I need to make sure it’s a success. So either you give me your phone or I can’t let you join the attack.”

I didn’t point out that I could betray them even easier if left behind. I shrugged. “If it stops you from shitting your pants, then here you go.” I handed him the phone. I’d messaged Marcella in the morning so she wouldn’t expect me to write again until evening.

“Good,” Peppone said. “What’s your plan?”

I cocked an eyebrow. Wasn’t he the boss of the mission? “I’d scout the area for possible traps and take a closer look at the safehouse. The gas station clerk was only sure he’d seen two bikers but he didn’t sound certain. It could very well be that more Nomads have joined the group by now.”

Peppone nodded and exchanged a look with the two others. “Then let’s go.”

We spent the next hour creeping closer to the house. I didn’t spot any obvious traps. Not everyone could build them. Gray and Gunnar had always been the specialists.

Eventually, the four of us had found a spot on a small hill that had a good view of the house. We counted three men walking past the windows or leaving the house, but that still didn’t mean there were only four, but without going in we couldn’t say.

I recognized all three men. I’d never had much to do with them. Nomads rarely visited our clubhouse, but Earl on occasion met up with them to make sure they gave the club a percentage of their income.

The door opened again, and a fourth man emerged.

“Another one,” I said. “Definitely one of Earl’s supporters.”

Peppone, Dimo, and Drooping-Eye exchanged a look I didn’t like one bit. I kept talking, pointing at the fat guy, whose name I didn’t remember because Earl had actually always called him Fatguy. He’d always been a fan of Earl. The only reason why he had mostly been a Nomad was because he was an intolerable asshole who got into fights with everyone, which was poison for the mood in a club.

“So we’re up against four?” Peppone asked me.

“Well, we’ve been watching the area for two hours and those are the guys we saw, but we won’t know for sure unless we go in, which is risky, or wait this out for a few more hours or maybe even a night to see if anyone else comes by.”

“What would you suggest?” Peppone asked.

“I’d risk it. Even if one or two more are inside, we can handle them. Most of these guys haven’t fought in a battle in a while. Nomads are rarely called in to support a chapter in a fight.” I just wanted to return to Marcella as quickly as possible and leave these guys behind.

“We’ll attack,” Peppone said.

And that’s what we did. We attacked, guns drawn, and one more biker we hadn’t expected, stumbled out of a shed that served as a garage for the bikes. Peppone shot him in the head without hesitation.

“Keep the fat one alive. He’s probably the leader of the pack,” I called. “We need someone for questioning!”

Shots were being fired from a window on the first floor of the house but they missed us. Then another head appeared in a window on the ground floor and fired as well. His first shot missed my head by maybe an inch from the feel of it. I aimed my gun at him and fired. He disappeared from view. I was fairly sure I’d hit him in the head.

“We should go in now,” I called as we crept along the shed beside the house.

As if on cue, the front door flung open and Fatguy stumbled out with blazing guns, firing at us.

Peppone raised his gun, sending a bullet straight through fat guy’s head. He obviously had no intention to question anyone.

“We need to keep one of them alive to find out if there are more Nomads in the area out for Marcella’s blood!”

Peppone smiled strangely and pointed his gun at me.

“Fuck.”

I dashed away, head ducked as bullets flew by, and flung myself behind a tractor wheel, but my calf burned fiercely. I allowed myself a brief glance—only a graze shot, thank fuck—before I raised my own gun. “What the fuck are you doing?” I roared.

Another shot tore through the top of the wheel. It was coming from the direction of the house.

Fuck! Now I was caught between two fronts, the Italians and the Nomads, and both of them were shooting at me. Was this Vitiello’s plan all along? To have me killed on a mission? It was a devious plan but could actually work.

“Come out, White, and die like a man and not like a dirty mouse hiding in her dirty hole,” Peppone called, sounding already like he’d won. He didn’t know me if he thought this would be an easy win. I’d fought too many battles in my life. I’d kick his fucking ass back to New York.

“Why don’t you shove your gun up your dirty hole and pull the trigger, asshole? I’m not the coward shooting at an ally!” I shouted back.

He scoffed. “You won’t ever be our ally, White. You and every other dirty biker are only good for one thing: to bleed out at our feet.”

“You really love the word dirty, don’t you?” I tried to get a good shot at him, but whenever I tried to peer past the wheel, a bullet flew at me from both directions.