Rescued MC (The Nighthawks MC Book 13) Read online

  They did, slipping through the kitchen, up the staff elevators, and through a wide double door down a carpeted hallway. There were two bedrooms with wide beds, a stunning view, a curved couch, with flat-screen TVs everywhere.

  “What the fuck was that?” asked Tristan.

  “An assault on our principals,” said Tori. “The ones in public. The ones not in public are fine.”

  “So, not us specifically,” said Quella. “Why?”

  “My guess is someone doesn’t want us doing our jobs,” said Tori, as Joru completed the check.

  “Clear,” she said.

  “Clear,” said Tori, her principals behind her, the door double-locked, hotel security right outside.

  “Why?” asked Quella again.

  “They’re willing to put people in their graves to get what they want,” said Joru. “That’s what we know. We haven’t lost an operative.”

  “You were amazing,” Tori said to Tristan. “Good move.”

  “What? Faking getting sick?” asked Quella. “Scared me half to death.”

  “Gave us an excuse to get you out,” said Tori. “Smart.”

  “What about our stuff?” asked Quella.

  “We’re alive,” said Tristan. “Now, I suggest we eat, regroup. We have recording in the morning, ‘Blue Tomorrows’ and ‘Brighter Days.’”

  Quella nodded. “We do.” She took a deep breath. “Grilled chicken Caesar salads, lime water, sleep.”

  Tristan snorted. “Wish I had vegemite, but I’ll settle for a chicken sandwich. Barbecue. Rosemary potatoes. Heavy stuff, force me to dump the adrenaline and sleep.” He paced. “Give me your guitar.”

  Quella handed it over. “You be careful with Mirabelle.”

  “Will,” said Tristan. “Let’s write a song while we wait on the food.” They sat, strumming, while Joru called down for the food, including food for them.

  “No one’s dead,” said Joru, as she checked the door, put the windows on blackout. “None of ours.”

  “Not yet,” said Tori.

  Cougar had the till at Bar Two counted and in the safe, the bar back, bartender, and cocktail servers getting their sidework done. A few tourists and some riders were at the back door, waiting on their Ubers. Ace finished counting his till, and cleaned up, a rare stay-late he did two or three times a month. The band had skedaddled. The cooks were scrubbing things down in the back.

  Cougar looked down at her phone at the same time Ace pulled out the shotgun from under his bar and threw it to her. She caught it one-handed. She glanced at the text, then slid the phone in her pocket and cocked the gun.

  “Get the tourists gone,” she said to the two Gearheads by the back door.

  One withdrew a gun, the other a hefty wrench, and the squawking tourists were out the door and down the street before the cooks could slip out the back. Cougar yelled at the servers, bartender, and bar back to drop the sidework, and Ace screamed for the dancers, changing in the back. Cougar covered them as they got out. Ace had two guns, a Sig Sauer in one hand and an H&K, both .45s. When Cougar got back in, she pulled her vest over her breasts that were nearly falling out of her pink leopard print top, and Ace strapped on his, putting one gun down at a time.

  The men with guns shattered the front windows with handgun fire. A siren went off. Ace hit the emergency button, the lights went down, and Cougar and Ace returned fire, both on one knee as the shots flew overhead.

  There were two loud booms from outside, and Pocero shouted, “You okay?”

  “Fine, Lieutenant,” said Ace. They sat behind the main bar. “Money all locked up?” asked Ace.

  “All except for yours,” said Cougar.

  “Locked it up in the drawer,” said Ace. He stood, and went over to let Pocero in.

  “Glad you’re good,” said Pocero.

  “Replacing a window, a door, and some molding isn’t bad,” said Cougar. She stepped forward to check the damage.

  A gunshot went off, hitting Pocero in the upper part of his vest. The cops outside returned fire. Cougar and Ace went down to one knee again, Cougar backed up quickly to behind the leading edge of the main bar. Despite being a larger woman, she moved as if she were in a dojo.

  There was a lot of radio squabble, and a young woman stuck her head in. “The Lieutenant is going to the hospital,” she said. “You good?”

  “Yes,” said Ace. “Any other cops shot?”

  “Not yet,” said the woman. She took her head back out.

  Ace took out his cell and sent a coded text. “Be prepared for Ivy to…”

  Ivy banged in the back door. “Well, fuck a duck,” she said. She walked straight through, stepped over the glass, walked out, and knelt to see Pocero, grimacing as he was tied to a backboard, face-first. His face bled from scratches. “You dead?” asked Ivy.

  “Possible spine damage,” said the EMT, officiously.

  “The backboard was my first clue,” said Ivy, acerbically.

  “Shot in the upper back into my… vest.” Pocero said the words through clenched teeth.

  “Fuck,” said Ivy. “Go get checked out. I’m thinking bruised bone. Get well fast.”

  “Your people all alive?” asked Pocero.

  “For now,” said Ivy.

  Jerry made it up the long drive to the Rock Farm. At the border, a woman dressed from head to toe in black was on the fence with a rifle. The other fence had another woman with an entire motorcycle getup and a revving bike. She flashed her fingers.

  Jerry rode up parallel. “This is CrystalLyne,” he said. “Fourteen years old.”

  The faceplate went on. “Hop on,” said Fyrst. “We protect women.”

  Jerry helped her down onto shaking legs. The young woman nodded, hopped on. “My mom’s at the Venetian,” she said. “Went to bed early.”

  Fyrst got the girl on the bike, handed her a smaller-sized helmet. “Later,” she said. “First, safety.” The girl strapped on the helmet, put her hands around Fyrst’s waist, and Fyrst went out the back, not back onto the road.

  “Can’t stand letting go of my principal,” said Jerry, to Wraith, the voice in her ear.

  “Normally, not a good idea, but that woman can do things with a bike that brings a Harley to its full joyous capability.” Wraith clicked off, then back on. “Stay and help,” she said.

  Jerry got off the bike, accepted another rifle, and slid around the side of the house. He saw a flash back toward the front, whirled around, and lowered his rifle when a tiny figure in brown braids, the rest of her curly hair tied back, climbed up the man and stuck a knife in his neck. He dropped. Rayne grinned.

  Jerry nodded, and kept circling the Rock House the other way. A second man crept around the side. Jerry knew the kickback would be fierce, so he held the rifle slightly away from his shoulder. He shot, and the man fell. He sped forward, removed the man’s gun, and patted him down. The guy had a wide knife, and two more guns, one in a boot. He pocketed them all, and slipped farther forward.

  A gun barked behind the Soldier Rock House. Two shots, fast, a .45. He ran forward, and Queenie nodded at him. He nodded back, and slipped back into the shadows. He figured there would be someone to his far left on the way in, and turned that way. The man did himself the favor of running low, but he silhouetted himself against a mesquite tree. Jerry lined up the rifle, breathed out, squeezed the trigger, working to avoid the tree. Shooting a good tree would be bad. The man jerked, went down.

  He kept to his sliver of where he was supposed to be. “Friendly” fire wasn’t really friendly. He heard a scream, high and tight.

  Queenie started up to him. He waved her back, scanned deep into the night. A motor started up. He put the rifle down, and ran toward it. The guy on the Kawasaki looked like a barrel hanging over it. Jerry kept running, and then shot twice. The gun barked in his hand. The barrel rolled end over the bike, and the bike kept going, rolling over the man’s outstretched leg. The man howled. The bike fell over, and kept spinning its wheels until it suddenly stopped.<
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  Queenie was like a cheetah running past Jerry. Jerry kept the gun trained on the man as Queenie rolled him over. “Wraith, ambulance, far left of the property,” said Jerry.

  “Already called the police, EMTs… kind of everyone.”

  Jerry knelt. “Tell us who sent you,” he said.

  “Soldnereinheit,” said the man in guttural German.

  “Mercenary unit,” translated Wraith into Jerry’s ear.

  “Gesundheit,” said Queenie. “And, I’m not stupid. This is a Hessian.”

  “Hessian Front,” said Wraith. “Lovely.” Jerry heard typing. “And expensive. Someone hates one or all of us.”

  “Where are the girls, and why the hell are the dogs quiet?”

  “Gone,” said Queenie. “Freya took them.”

  “Good,” said Jerry. “I’m stupid, didn’t see the van.”

  “Fastest puppy roundup ever,” said Queenie. She looked down at the mercenary at her feet. “Who the fuck attacks women, children, and puppies?”

  “Someone fucking stupid,” said Wraith, in Jerry’s head.

  Bao had the gun. Nico had the rifle. Nico slid out onto the roof, and Bao had the girls and dogs in the crawlspace under the house, through to the safe room. Callie’s gun barked as a man slid up to the back door and put something against it. It barked again when some asshole stepped out of the woods. Nico was looking the other way, and the rifle boomed once, twice. Someone cried out.

  There were more booms, from across the way. There was an Apache cry that broke the night. Nantan, figured Nico. Nico circled the roof, and caught a guy with very white hands trying to slip in the back door. He felt the rifle against his shoulder, squeezed the trigger, let it bark. He reloaded.

  Nantan watched Chayton go down. Chayton wore a vest, and there was no bloom of blood, but he was enraged. His warrior’s heart beat. He thought of his ancestors, moving silently through grasslands, up hills, over stones. He slid to the side, and threw. His knife caught the shooter in the neck. He gave a warrior’s cry. A hand reached out, dragged Chayton off the patio into the house. Josh, thought Nantan. He felt fierce pride in his son.

  A Wyandot named Ry on the roof shot across the back. Something fell. Nantan grinned. The young man kept himself low, and crept around to the right. Nantan circled to the left, seeking the men willing to kill children. He heard Chayton cursing in Apache, and saw a gun out a window. He dropped, and a shadow in the distance fell.

  “Good shot,” said Nantan, in Apache. He heard Chayton’s wheezy chuckle.

  Nantan crept forward, then whirled. He held out his arm and pulled the trigger. The man sneaking up behind David’s prone position fell. His bloody spray sprinkled David’s boots. David stood, and made a rude gesture at Nantan. Nantan made one back, and both men grinned. They circled back to the barn. They heard a loud plop, and something fell. They swept around, and a man that had been trying to enter the barn on the far left had been smashed to the ground by a bag of horse feed. Henry ran up and used the leather ties from his hair to tie up the groaning man. He looked up, but Damia was gone from the window.

  A shot rang out from behind the main house. There was a scream, and Nantan and David ran like the wind.

  “When attacked, fight back. Otherwise, the attackers don’t learn a damn thing.”

  About the Author

  Bella Knight writes what she loves--romance, Bad Boy Bikers to Hot Rockstars to sexy Sports Romances love. She feels the love from her Las Vegas home from her rescue animals and her various love interests. She is constantly reading and writing, and she also leaves the animals with friends from time to time and hops on planes. She enjoys life to the fullest.

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  Afterword

  A huge "Hi" to all my fantastic readers! Thank you so much for reading my latest title. I hope you loved it so very much!

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  Also, if you have any wonderful or genius ideas, or some brutal but honest feedback on how i can improve just drop me a line via email [email protected] I'd love to hear your thoughts! all your feedback helps me write better for my lovely readers :)

  Oh, if you haven't received my free giveaway book, you can get it here http://bella-knight.com/ Sending all my love and gratitude. Always yours, Bella Knight!!

  P.S. Thank you ever so much, I'm sending all my love and best wishes, always.