Then shots started cracking, whistling toward us, pinging way too goddamn close for comfort.
During our dicey retreat, Coletrane took a bullet to his shoulder, barely slowing his footfalls as we escaped that motherfucking hellhole.
We’d made it through the building to the fenced-in enclosure when Walker swung back, his grin gleaming so evilly you could see it in the swallowing darkness.
Never mind we were still being pursued, he looked downright gleeful.
Hunter glared at him. “What now?”
“Brought my party trick.”
“Not sure we want that many civilian casualties. I’m a friggin’ police detective, remember?” Hunter growled.
Oh yeah. Walker and his best buddies: C and 4. He had to be packing the explosives.
“Who said anything about casualties?” He pulled a remote from his pocket and jabbed the button before anyone could stop him.
Off to our right, a squat building went up like dry tinder. The big bang rocketed through the night and the blaze hit the skyline like sheets of white and red and orange lightning sent in reverse.
“BOOM. You’re welcome. That was their gun-stores. And you know how I like my diversions.”
“Yeah. The last one was my Tahoe,” Hunter grumbled some more, but he couldn’t stop shaking his head as if to say this fucking guy.
We hurried to the opening in the fence as the MC members who’d been hot after us stopped to stare at the blazing bonfire of their ballistics hoard.
At the fence line, Bo halted his steps. “I’m not done here yet.”
“How much more done do you need to be?” Cole asked, blood from the bullet wound in his shoulder dripping down his shirt, but he didn’t complain about the pain.
Bo handed Ronnie over to Slade, hushing, “I’ll be right back, babe. Gonna make sure you’re safe once and for all.”
He ordered Boomer and Cole to head off with Slade, and his face collapsed for a second as soon as Ronnie couldn’t see him.
Putting his flinty mask back in place, he turned toward the losers who looked a little pissed right the fuck off we’d torched their illegal arms.
Too bad they still had their handguns on them.
Walker, Hunter, Brodie, Tucker, Tail and I joined ranks behind Bo, and no one questioned his decision. Not when it came to his woman.
His face deadly, his Beretta raised, he said, “Your Prez is dead. Your club is killed. You really wanna be next?”
When the goons lowered their weapons, one by one, so did Bo. “Good choice.” He sneered. “I should fucking rip your throats out, but lucky for you I don’t get high off death anymore.”
He continued to lay down the law in a steely, brooks-no-shit tone, telling the dickholes to stay away from Ronnie, out of South Carolina, and off his radar, or he’d end all their lives singlehandedly.
I believed him.
They did, too.
Even Walker looked impressed.
When we regrouped at the fence, Tucker whistled for the man-eating dogs. “Baby! Queenie! Lady! Cleopatra!”
Jesus Christ. Talk about a dog and pony show.
“You already named them?” I asked as the four formerly foaming-at-the-mouth canines answered his call like he kept Beggin’ Strips hidden in his pockets.
“You’re taking them with?” Hunter skinned back his hair in his hands, watching with a frown.
“Yeah. They’re cute. Bringing them home to Chucktown.” The barrel-bellied man leaned over to rub their collective muzzles.
Starting up the hillside, Hunter mentioned, “You know what’s not cute? I think you almost singed my pubes with that explosion back there, Tonto.”
“Look at it this way. You won’t have to manscape that shit again.” Brodie sniggered.
“Dude. I’m a man. I don’t fucking manscape.” Hunter looked insulted.
“What if JB asked you too?” Boomer cut in.
Brodie was all over that, grinning like a jackass-in-a-box. “Why? Did Rayce ask you?”
“Hell no. I’m a man, and she likes it. Just making conversation.”
“About my pubes?” Hunter squinted at big man Boomer.
“You fucking started it.”
The stupid jokes alleviated the tension of the past twenty-four hours, but by the time we reached the bikes and Bo’s Hummer, the mood went seriously south.
No one could smile, considering what Ronnie had gone through. We didn’t know if she’d been hit, abused, or . . . worse, raped.
We circled around, our backs turned, while Bo helped her dress in clean clothes he’d brought for her. And we all pretended we couldn’t hear Bo’s quiet gentle words as he stroked her bright red hair, trying to make sure shock didn’t set in.
I had nothing but respect for the man. Nothing but total admiration for Doc Ronnie. And my emotions were anything but amused when he lifted her into the SUV with all of us watching, silent and somber.
I wanted to get back home to Shy immediately as my heart climbed up into my throat.
Chapter Twenty
Bad Juju