Part 21 (1/2)

She came, her body tightening to rigidity, squeezing him to the point of pain. While she was still in the throes, he sat up and rolled them over. Taking charge, he adjusted their bodies so he could bend down and take a breast in his mouth as he drove into her, bringing her again to release. This time, she dragged her nails across his back.

Only then did he let himself complete, and the o.r.g.a.s.m was more intense than he'd ever felt before. It sapped him of everything, and when it was finally over, he collapsed bonelessly at Faith's side.

”Holy s.h.i.+t, Michael,” she panted. ”That was...”

His face was buried in the pillow, and he didn't have the energy to move. But he spoke anyway. ”Good?”

”Amazing.” She patted his leg, which was still lying over her. ”I love you.”

He felt pleased and content. ”Love you, too.”

They never joined the party. They found the energy for two more goes, though Faith didn't attempt to give him head again, and he didn't bring it up. Inside her was the place he really wanted to be, his arms around her, her body around him. When they could simply go no more, they curled up together in the damp sheets and slept.

It was still dark when they were awakened by the sharp, explosive sounds that Demon knew instantly as automatic gunfire. He leapt out of bed, yanked on his jeans, and shoved his feet into his boots, not bothering to tie them. From a drawer in the small bureau, he grabbed his spare Sig and checked the magazine.

”Michael!” Faith was still in bed, her eyes wide. They'd fallen asleep without even turning out the light.

”Stay here. Don't leave this room until a patch comes for you!” Without waiting for her agreement, he grabbed his kutte off the door and left the room, turning the lock as he closed the door.

He ran out to the Hall, shrugging his kutte on over his bare chest. It was late-he had no sense of the exact time-and most of the partygoers had left or gone back to the dorm. Only the people who had pa.s.sed out were still there-and the men, dressed much like Demon, who had come running at the sound of gunfire.

The gunmen were gone. They'd come in, shot up the Hall and then run. Broken gla.s.s was everywhere. Men were moaning; women were crying. Demon focused and tried to make sense. Blood. Gla.s.s. The reek of booze.

Peaches was draped face-first over the bar, dripping blood onto a barstool. One of the girls-Ember, it was Ember, f.u.c.k, she'd been around forever-was sprawled on her back near the door, one leg bent oddly behind her.

P.B. on a leather chair, his head back. What was left of his head.

A girl with her head in his lap, bleeding into a pool on the front of his jeans.

Double A, one of the Missouri patches here on loan, was struggling to his feet, his leg bleeding. He'd already been shot in that leg once before, last fall. He was helping Coco up. His jeans were open and his d.i.c.k out.

Connor, Hoosier, Sherlock, Lakota, and Trick were all on their feet and armed, in various stages of undress. Lakota was bleeding heavily from a wound in his bicep. Fargo and Keanu were on their feet, too, seemingly unharmed, standing together near the kitchen, looking stunned.

Hoosier came forward from the front door, his jeans open, his bare chest covered in iron grey hair. He was dangling a large, black rubber rat from his fingers by its tail. The Dirty Rats' calling card.

”Prez?” Demon wasn't sure exactly what to ask.

”I need a head count, right the f.u.c.k now.”

Demon scanned the carnage, trying to get a bead on anyone he loved unaccounted for. J.R., Diaz, and Muse all had old ladies. They'd probably gone home. Ronin never stayed late. Bart had stayed home all night with his family. Jesse...where was Jesse? And the other Missouri patch-Nolan. He was just a kid. Where was he?

As if in answer to the question Demon had only thought, Nolan came up from the dorm, barefoot and s.h.i.+rtless, but armed. ”What the f.u.c.k?”

And then, in the far corner of the room, Sid, Muse's old lady, struggled to her feet. Her clothes were soaked with blood.

”Sid!” Demon leapt forward over the broken gla.s.s and senseless bodies until he could grab her. She only stared at him, her eyes blank.

”Are you hurt?” he asked, shaking her as lightly as his beast would allow.

She shook her head and looked down, her face s.h.i.+fting into a look like confused despair.

Muse was on the floor at their feet.

”f.u.c.k! MUSE!” Demon nearly threw Sid to the side, but he kept enough grip on himself to hand her off to Connor, who'd come up behind them. Then Demon dropped to his knees.

Muse had been shot in the gut; his s.h.i.+rt was nothing but a pool of red. ”Oh, f.u.c.k, Muse! f.u.c.k, no!” When Demon pulled him over, he groaned, his eyes fluttering.

”Sid,” he rasped. ”Where's...”

That shook Sid from her fugue, and she fell to her knees at Demon's side. ”I'm here. I'm okay. Oh, G.o.d. Muse, please be okay.”

His face was white and s.h.i.+ny, making the dark of his beard stand out in relief. His lips were a terrible shade of grey. But he smiled. ”I'm okay, hon. I'm okay.” He groaned again. ”f.u.c.king hurts, though.”

The sound of sirens filled the room, and Demon looked back at his President.

He waved that f.u.c.king rubber toy in the air. ”Connor, Sherlock, Trick. Take this piece of s.h.i.+t thing and pay our respects to the Rats. Get out now before our company gets here.”

Demon stood. ”I go, Prez. I go, too.”

Hoosier shook his head. ”Deme, no. This'll be dirty.”

He knew. G.o.d, he knew. But his best friend was lying at his feet, maybe dying. P.B. was dead. Peaches. They'd come in and shot up their home. His only home. He would be careful and try to stay out of law's reach, but he couldn't stay clean, not for this.

”I go.”

Hoosier stared at him while the sirens got louder. Then he nodded and threw the rubber rat at him. ”Get rid of this thing on your way. I want no link between them and us.”

”I hear. Faith is back in my room. I told her to stay until a patch got her.”

Hoosier nodded. ”I got her. You guys get lost. Out the back. Grab what you need on the way, but move it right now. And call Ronin in with you. He was out of here early. I'll track down everybody else. Nolan-you and the Prospects, help our wounded.”

On their way out the back, they grabbed t-s.h.i.+rts and weapons, enough to get them clear of the clubhouse. They rolled out low and dark and followed Connor to their locker at a twenty-four-hour storage place just outside of town. Ronin caught up with them there.

They moved carpets and boxes until they got to their stash of weapons and explosives, purchased a few months ago, when they made the call to return to the outlaw life.

Sherlock squatted next to a couple of lockers filled with components for explosives. ”I've got s.h.i.+t pre-rigged and waiting to be armed. We can blow the f.u.c.kers out of the galaxy.”

”No,” Connor said. ”Can't look like retaliation. That's a straight line back to the clubhouse.”

”Unless it looks like the same hit.”

Connor turned to Trick. ”Go on.”