Raw: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Minutemen MC) Page 20

  “What now?” she asked after a few minutes.

  Dirk jerked lightly. He had been falling back asleep. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, what’s the plan? What are you going to do about the Tar Mongols?”

  “I told you, we’re going to take them down. But I’m thinking, in order to do that, we might have to resort to extreme measures.”

  Camilla frowned. She didn’t like the sound of that. She turned her head towards him. “Such as…?”

  “They’re larger in numbers,” Dirk said after a moment. “I hate to admit it, but they’ve been getting the upper hand on us for a while now. They’ll probably try to take all of our resources before they go in for the kill.”

  “You mean your warehouses and such?”

  “Yeah. They’re scattered all over the desert. It’s unreasonable to think we can protect them all for much longer.”

  Camilla stared at him. She could practically hear the wheels in his brain turning. “Then what are you going to do?”

  “I think in order to win this war, we must make some sacrifices. They can’t take anything from us if we don’t have anything to take.”

  “Meaning…?”

  “I think we should abandon the warehouses. Get the weapons and the ammunition and everything out of there, transfer them all to one place. It’ll be easier to guard. Some of it will have to be left behind, of course, there’s no way we can make everything fit.”

  Camilla took in his words. His “plan”—if one could even call it that—sounded like reason and madness all at the same time.

  “Will Stephan think it’s a good idea?”

  Dirk snorted out a laugh. “Fuck, no,” he said. “He’ll hate it. But he’ll come to see that it is the best course of action.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to convince him?”

  “He’s not stupid,” Dirk said. “He’ll come around. It’s not Stephan I’m worried about.”

  “The others?” Camilla guessed.

  Dirk nodded. “It’ll be a lot harder to convince them. They might think I’ve gone insane.”

  “Will that jeopardize your authority?”

  “Maybe,” Dirk conceded after a moment’s reflection. “But it’s a risk I have to take.”

  “Sounds like a mighty big risk,” Camilla mused. “I’m not sure I like it.”

  Dirk smiled. “Darlin’, I’m not sure it’s up to you.” He didn’t say it unkindly, but there was a hard light in his eyes that let Camilla know in no uncertain terms that club business was most definitely not her business.

  She heaved a sigh, and not for the first time over the past few, crazy weeks, she wondered how on Earth she had gotten here.

  They didn’t say anything else after that, both of them knowing there wasn’t anything else to say. Camilla listen to Dirk’s breathing even out, but as for her, she couldn’t get any more sleep. She kept thinking of everything that had happened, replaying all the events in her mind. More importantly, she kept thinking of everything that might still happen. She was smack in the middle of a conflict that didn’t belong to her, with pretty much no chance of getting out until it was over. She didn’t think she would want to get out at this point, not until she knew Dirk and his club were safe—and once again, she didn’t stop to wonder why that was.

  She hoped the Minutemen would win this war, for all of their sakes; she knew that if they didn’t, chances were she would never make it back to New York.

  Chapter 29

  The sun was setting on the horizon, a hot, fiery ball that was an omen for the fire that was to come. Dirk could almost smell it in the air—war. After three tours in Afghanistan, he had developed a knack for it. He could feel it coming from miles away, days and weeks and sometimes even months ahead. He had known for a while now that this seemingly never-ending conflict with the Tar Mongols was headed for its bloody epilogue. He just didn’t expect for it to escalate this fast and this violently. He supposed Herman Ruiz was just as anxious as they were to get this over with, and that Camilla Hernandez made for one hell of a pretext. Dirk knew he would fight a thousand armies for her.

  He almost swerved off the road when the thought entered his mind. Whoa. Where had that come from? He decided he was better off not thinking about it too much. Instead, he thought about what he had said to Camilla the previous day, about pulling their cargoes out of the warehouses. The more he thought about it, the more he knew it was the smartest thing to do. He just didn’t know how to bring it up to Stephan yet; the man sure as hell wouldn’t be pleased. He would need some convincing, and Dirk was getting tired of all the talking. His hands itched for action.

  Not for the first time, he pictured himself putting a bullet through Herman Ruiz’s brain. It was a sweet fantasy, one that he was hoping he would get to satisfy sometime really soon. He thought of Eleanor, and his heart constricted as it always did. For the first time, however, he didn’t feel that pang of guilt that he had been feeling ever since his strange affair with Camilla had begun. Somewhere along the line, he had come to the conclusion that if he had to strike up something with anyone, it might as well be with Camilla; Eleanor would approve of her.

  He shook his head almost as soon as those thoughts entered his mind. He wasn’t “striking up” anything with Camilla. It was just sex and some recently developed emotional connection, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let it get past that. He simply couldn’t afford to let that happen. Besides, they came from two entirely different worlds.

  Dirk was about to head back towards the house when he spotted it. There was a fiery orange glow to the west, and it had little to do with the setting sun. He stepped on the gas and felt his trusted Harley respond immediately, accelerating down the desert road. It wasn’t long before he had covered enough distance to also spot the column of smoke. Dirk cursed loudly and rode harder and faster towards the location.

  He was cursing everything. He was cursing the awful predicament. He was cursing Herman Ruiz and his Tar Mongols. He was cursing himself, for not having brought up his plan to Stephan yet. Perhaps, if he had, this could have been avoided.

  It took him ten minutes to reach the storage place, and it felt like ten weeks. He knew it would have been guarded; they had set up shifts to keep a sharp eye on all storage places and warehouses the Minutemen had scattered across the Mojave Desert. He also knew the guards would be dead.

  The sight that presented itself to him—when he finally reached the place—confirmed his worst fears. The place was going up in flames, and a body lay bloodied and lifeless a few feet away from the main entrance. Dirk left his bike and took his gun, even though he knew the ones responsible for this were long gone. He hurried over to the fallen man and crouched down to feel his pulse, even though he knew he wouldn’t find any.

  Dirk swore again. They didn’t need to lose any more men. They had seen enough deaths already over the past few weeks. He reached out and closed Abraham’s wide, dead eyes. And that was when it finally hit him—there was only one body here. Where was Kyle?

  Dirk stood and quickly ran around the perimeter of the warehouse. Thankfully, it wasn’t a very large one, and it took him only a minute or so to perform a thorough exploration. There was no trace of Kyle. There were, however, two more dead bodies, and it filled him with satisfaction to discover that they were Tar Mongols. Apparently, Kyle and Abraham had held their own before they were beaten.

  Dirk cast a thorough look around, and he spotted his two men’s bikes—not far from the burning building. Kyle had not gone anywhere. The realization slammed into him with the force of a sucker punch. There was nothing to indicate that Kyle might have gotten away on foot.

  “Shit!”

  Dirk re-holstered his gun, and he ran for the flames.

  ***

  The smoke was thick and the heat was unbearable. Dirk wore his bandana firmly over his mouth, but even that didn’t seem to be helping. The smoke seeped through the cloth and entered his lungs, and he was already coughing. He s
quinted and blinked furiously, eyes burning. Dirk had been a soldier, a warrior. He had seen war and more atrocities than he could count, but he had rarely been this afraid. There was something unstoppable about fire, about the ancestral terror that it brought with it.

  Dirk looked around, his vision blurry and pretty much useless. How long had the warehouse been burning? The flames had devoured almost everything already. He’d had to kick in the door, discovering to his horror that it had been locked from outside—Kyle must have still been alive when the Tar Mongols were done with their handiwork, and they must have trapped him inside to die. Rage burned within Dirk’s veins almost as hot as the fire.

  He wanted to call out, but the first attempt had stopped within his throat and sent him into a seemingly endless fit of coughing, his lungs on fire. He had learned his lesson. He looked around frantically, but the thick smoke made it impossible to see anything but shapes and shadows. He had to find Kyle. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing another man. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone else dying because of him. If only he had brought up his plan to Stephan…

  He shook his head firmly, pushing all thoughts away, doing his best to empty his mind. Now was not the time for reflection and self-pity. He had to remain focused—or as focused as anyone could remain, given the circumstances. Dirk had seen fires before, back in Afghanistan, but for all the horrific experiences that war had “gifted” him with, finding himself smack in the middle of raging flames wasn’t one of them.

  He was just about to give up, his heart breaking for this triple defeat at the hands of the Tar Mongols—the warehouse, Abraham, Kyle—when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He dashed towards the spot, and there amongst fallen crates and useless weapons lay Kyle. He was writhing weakly, trying to get himself free of a heavy box of Kalashnikovs trapping his left leg.

  Dirk bent down and heaved it off of him with an effort that he wouldn’t have thought possible under ordinary circumstances—but then again, there was nothing ordinary about this. He reached for Kyle’s flailing hand and draped his arm over his shoulders, hoisting the man up. Kyle leaned heavily against him, and Dirk knew he had to get him out of there now, before he suffocated.

  The wall of smoke was thick and impenetrable before them, but somehow the dying light of the sunset still shone outside. Dirk guided them both towards the far-away shape of the fiery globe on the horizon. It was like a bad movie, and like in any bad movie, the hero somehow made it out alive.

  Dirk stumbled into the open air, and he dragged Kyle to a safe enough distance before he allowed them both to collapse upon the sand. They coughed and gasped and sputtered, their lungs starved for oxygen.

  Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Dirk regained enough energy to drag himself next to his fallen comrade and examine his condition. He couldn’t tell how bad Kyle was hurt. The man was a mess of skin blackened by soot, sweat, and dirt.

  “Are you okay?” he managed to ask between coughs.

  Kyle nodded, still gasping for breath. It was quite a while before he, too, could find his voice again.

  “Are you hurt?” Dirk asked, pulling the man up to a sitting position.

  Kyle swayed precariously for a few moments, but he managed to remain upright. “My leg,” he muttered, pointing to the limb that had been crushed by the heavy box of weapons.

  Dirk looked down. It was bloodied and bent at an odd angle. He cringed. “I think it’s broken.”

  Kyle nodded. He turned his head and spat in the desert dirt. “Sons of bitches jumped us,” he croaked. “Killed Abraham on the spot, nicked me in the shoulder.” He pointed to a bleeding hole in his right shoulder. “Dragged me in there and left me to roast.”

  Dirk grimaced. “Did they say anything?” he asked.

  “They said this is only the beginning.” Kyle gestured dishearteningly to the burning warehouse. “They said they’re going to starve us out.”

  Dirk scowled, jaw clenching in anger. He knew what that meant. It meant that the Tar Mongols intended to wipe out all of their stored goods before they finished them. Just like he had predicted.

  “Well, we won’t let them,” he said resolutely. “Come on. We’ve got to get back to the headquarters and warn Stephan.”

  Kyle cringed visibly. “He won’t be pleased.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “I mean with me,” Kyle clarified.

  Dirk suppressed a grin at the fear in Kyle’s eyes. Stephan Walker could sure be a terrifying bastard, but sometimes Dirk felt like not even his men knew how smart their president really was.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he said in reassurance. “Stephan will understand there was nothing you could’ve done.”

  Kyle nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced.

  Dirk helped him out and ignored the man’s pained cry. “We’d better get you to a hospital first.”

  Kyle grimaced in pain and self-pity. “Stephan won’t like that, either.”

  Dirk rolled his eyes. “You let me deal with Stephan, all right? Just take it easy now.”

  After a couple of failed attempts, he was able to get Kyle onto his bike and mount up in front of him. He pulled out into the desert, leaving the burning building behind. His blood was boiling.

  “We gotta send someone,” Kyle said, shouting to be heard over the roaring of the Harley. “For Abraham’s body.”

  Dirk nodded curtly. “We will.”

  Nothing else was said on their way back into town. Nothing else needed to be said. Dirk felt the all-too familiar anger stirring and writhing within his chest and stomach like a caged beast. The Tar Mongols had no idea what they had started. Dirk Coleman had had enough, and not even Herman Ruiz could be a match for a furious Dirk. He had tried his best over the past few years not to tap into that anger again, the darkness that had kept him alive in Afghanistan. But enough was enough. It was time to bring the darkness back.

  Chapter 30

  To say that Stephan was seething would be the understatement of the century. Dirk remembered only one time when he had seen his president so furious, and it wasn’t a time he liked to think about—it was the time when Herman Ruiz had almost broken him. The only reason why Stephan had not gone berserk three years ago was that Dirk was falling apart, and he needed the others to keep their cool and keep him together.

  This time, however, Dirk was whole again—more or less, as whole as he would ever be, given the fact that he would never be whole again—and Stephan had the luxury to go on a rampage. Except that he didn’t, not really. No matter how badly they wanted to, they couldn’t go riding off into the night killing Tar Mongols left and right. They needed a plan, and it just so happened that Dirk had one. He just wasn’t sure anyone else would be on board with it.

  He waited for the right time—or as right a time as it could be, considering the circumstances. He waited until the doctors had patched Kyle up and told them he was going to be okay, but they were keeping him for forty-eight hours for observation. He waited until the men he had sent to retrieve Abraham’s body had come back, and he waited for the funeral arrangements to be made. He waited until the men he had sent to get Camilla out of his house had brought her—safe and sound—to the MC’s headquarters.

  And then he called for a meeting. By then, it was the dead of the night, and the men’s spirits were bleak.

  “This is more than enough,” Stephan hissed once everyone had assembled. His jaw was clenched so tight that it was a wonder they couldn’t actually hear the grinding of his teeth. “This ends now. We must act.”

  A choir of approval rose from the gathered men—all except Dirk, who remained quiet. His silence didn’t go unnoticed. Stephan looked over at him, a curious expression on his face.

  “What?” he all but barked. “What are you thinking about?”

  Dirk cringed inwardly. Stephan knew something was up and already didn’t like it. As for Dirk, he didn’t like how close to boiling Stephan seemed to be. Fury tended to cause their
president to make harsh, irresponsible decisions, and Dirk wasn’t sure he could get him to see reason if he were to truly fly off the handle.

  “We must act,” he agreed easily. “We’ve got to attack them before they attack us again.” There were more sounds of approval, but Dirk knew they would be short-lived. “But before we deliver our final blow, we’ve got to make sure they have nothing to attack anymore. We’ve got to make sure we’ve got nothing to lose.”

  Predictably, all murmurs of agreement died down. It was clear that the men knew he was getting somewhere, and that they were suspicious.

  “What are you saying exactly, Dirk?” Stephan said, ever cutting to the chase whenever fury was brimming under his surface.

  Dirk paused for a moment. He wracked his brain, trying to find the right words. And then he realized that there were no right words. “I think we should pull back from the desert. Temporarily,” he added quickly, before they could all explode in his face. “We pull the guns and ammunition and store it all in one place, here in the headquarters.”