Sin & Suffer (Pure Corruption MC #2)(104)

Hefting the weight of my gun, I glared at my Pure brothers. “We all know the plan. Kill every motherf*cker but leave the women and children alone. Anyone comes across Rubix or Asus, you leave those bastards to me.”

Men smiled, pressing their fingertips to their lips in an age-old oath.

My word was their law.

Mo flanked me. “Perimeter check complete. No sign of life. Either they’re all f*cking high or complete *s to not fortify.”

“You take the left; I’ll take the right. Kill can go in through the front door.” Grasshopper slapped my leather cut. “After all, it’s about the fashionable entrance.”

Mo chuckled quietly. “You good with that, Kill?”

“Yep. You take a third, Hopper takes a third, and I’ll meet you in the middle with the rest.”

Mo didn’t hesitate.

Slipping back into shadows, he darted down the lineup of bikers. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a third to go with him. His army disappeared around the side of the building in the first flank.

With a salute, Grasshopper summoned his third and moved in the opposite direction. We’d already discussed how we would attack: all at once from all f*cking angles.

It would ensure swift victory. We would win.

I waited until Grasshopper disappeared with his group, before glancing at the remaining men. There were ten, eleven including me.

Each man bristled with armament, their eyes cold and focused.

They waited wordlessly, ready to begin. Looking at Matchstick then Beetle, I slinked forward.

I stayed hunched and low, fondling my semiautomatic. The safety was off. Tempers high. Adrenaline flowing.

Men deserved to die. My father deserved to die.

Boggy mud squelched around our boots as we inched around the building.

Beetle reached the front entrance first. He inspected the metal-reinforced door, seeking weaknesses.

I climbed the stoop. “Can you do it?”

Along with Beetle’s past of shoplifting and anarchy as a kid, he was also a magician with locks.

Beetle squatted, eyeing up the mechanism. “It’s an upgraded tumbler system. It’ll take a minute, but I should be able to crack it.”

Matchsticks hemmed us in. “Do it quick, else our edge will be gone.”

The other men stood patiently, watching corners, weapons drawn.

Beetle unrolled his lock-picking arsenal and set to work. Matchsticks tapped his foot. My palms grew damp.

A minute screeched past, slicing my veins with impatience.

Beetle cursed, making a f*cking racket with whatever tool he used.

“Enough,” I hissed. I couldn’t wait any longer. “What’s the holdup?”

Beetle frowned. “Dunno. Something’s jammed from the inside.”

“I say we saw the f*cking hinges or just blow it.” Matchsticks pulled a grenade from his overstocked belt.

Christ.

I pinched the bridge of my nose. So much for a stealth entry. Grasshopper and Mo would’ve made their way around the building. They’d seek other ways inside. But a bomb would give Dagger Rose and Crusaders time to mobilize. We’d planned on being quiet and dispatching as many people as possible before being noticed.

That idea was out the damn window.

“Any other way?”

Matchsticks shook his head. “The windows are barred. The only way in from this direction is through this door.”

Shit.

Grabbing Beetle by the shoulder, I tugged him away. Matchsticks grinned, knowing what that meant.

“Blow it,” I growled.

We had to get this done fast, otherwise our odds of a clean victory diminished.

Beetle didn’t argue. We all moved back as Matchsticks unpinned his bomb and placed it at the foot of the door. Swinging his rucksack over his shoulder, he grabbed a few sticks of plastic explosive for extra insurance. Slapping TNT to the door handle and central hinge, he stuck a countdown device with a connecting wire between the two.

Once both were armed, he pressed a button and two red digits appeared.

20

19

18

Shit.

We stumbled for cover. Damn *. I thought he’d just use the one grenade, not an entire truckload.

17

16

15

“Move back.” I herded Beetle and the men farther away. I wasn’t afraid of gunfire the moment the bomb went off—but I was afraid of ricocheting shrapnel. The pressure of anticipation fogged around us. Men breathed hard, waiting to attack.

4

3

2

I tensed for deafening war.

Then, it happened.

The explosion tore through my eardrums. My eyes watered at the crescendo. The colossally loud noise cracked through the early morning sky, ripping at the once peaceful silence.

“Now!” I yelled, springing up and charging. “Go. Go. Go!”

We shot forward.

Smoking rubble and dust formed a barricade. Vision was shit as we bowled through the demolished door. There was no more door—only a cloudy pile of metal and smashed bricks.

Our boots clattered as we scrambled from night into reeking corridors. Marijuana, rubbish, and cigarettes punched us in the face as we streamed into the Clubhouse like an infectious disease, fanning out, clearing room after room.

Gunshots rang out, shouts, curses, screams.

It happened at mach speed.