He has time to clutch at it before he loses his life and his control of the bike, which bounces on the rutted surface of the road for a few yards, before veering sideways and falling across it, knocking down the three riders behind him.
The shower of bullets delivered by me and my brothers after that takes care of the rest. The screams and sounds of bikes revving are drowned out by that deadly storm.
When the dust clears all that’s left of the Riders are misshapen dark mounds on the ground and loud ringing in my ears.
But from the corner of my eye, I see a lone black rider bounding on the rough, rocky terrain littered with tough, stunted bushes that separate this area from the interstate.
“He’s getting away,” I shout and turn to run for my bike, but Ace grabs my arm.
“We’ll deal with him later,” he says. “More are coming now.”
He’s right, two more small groups are advancing on us from the flames that used to be their lair. A bullet flies by so close to my face I feel not only the wind of its passage, but also its deadly heat. They’ve seen what happened to the ones who came before and they’re coming outshooting to escape the same fate.
They don’t. Not after we shower them with bullets of our own.
Soon I hear nothing but the ringing in my ears again and see nothing but bright orange flame. The smell of blood and smoke is thick in the air.
Two more groups come, two more sets of cowardly men die.
And then it is done. Flames are eating up the last remains of the clubhouse and walls surrounding it, fire trucks and police cars and racing towards us on the interstate, the glowing of their lights not brighter than the flames.
Ace is yelling something I can’t hear, and signaling for us to retreat with his hand. The Devils have hand gestures for just about every message that might come up on a job, a whole sign language of sorts that I started learning when I was very young. Hunter and I can hold a whole conversation in it. Or we could when we were younger. I don’t know if we still can. We’ll have to try. If we get to.
I run to my bike and take off through the trees, my brothers at my back. Rendezvous is at Sanctuary. Our clubhouse in town stands empty tonight. There will be no real celebration until the job is done.
It is done.
A handful of them managed to escape, maybe, but on the whole, the Riders are down.
I grew up on stories of the Devils’ legendary exploits over the years. Tales of taking down the biggest and most ruthless organizations without breaking a sweat. I’m sure this job tonight will go down as one of our greatest victories.
Revenge is ours. And then some.