“It never gets easier,” Haze says. “Even Brew, when all that shit went down.”
“If we weren’t sendin’ a message then, we are now,” Hustler goes on. “If this is what has to happen to keep everyone safe, then so be it. We won't stop until we’ve eradicated these hideous people.”
I glance at him. “It’s a scary world for kids to grow up in.”
He swallows hard. “This is why I do this, because of my daughter. I don’t want her growin’ up in a world that is so unsafe. I want to remove these grubs from the earth because it’s one less asshole on the loose.”
That’s the sad part. We’d all die to protect the ones we love, but protecting them isn’t always possible. Things happen. People manipulate. They infiltrate. And it’s so easy to do that it makes my head spin. There are predators now targeting kids online games, luring them off the platform to meet and the rest, well, we can use our imaginations. It’s so fucking sick.
“Couldn’t agree more,” Haze says. “Makes me think twice about kids because of this reason. Are women and childreneversafe?”
None of us answer, because we know the truth. We can only do so much. Predators may think they’re winning the war, but we’re fighting back, and as long as I’m still breathing, I will be contributing to the cause. I’ve even started to develop an online system to trap predators who solicit kids online. The big companies aren’t gonna like it, but when I saw a documentary about predators chatting with kids on some high-profile online games, it made me fucking sick. There has to be something I can do, and this is what I know.
I want to expose them, bring them all down since they aren’t doing anything to protect kids or their parents. They spew lies about how safe their apps are yet a stranger can pose as a kid and directly message your child in a game with instant, private chats. What in the actual fuck? I shudder.
“All we can do is be here,” I say. “Fight the fight. Make sure that no matter what happens, we have our heads in the game. We fight for those that don’t have a voice, and it’s one of the reasons I love this club so much.”
I feel all eyes on me. “Ride or die,” Pipes says, our club motto.
“Ride or die,” we say in unison, and I feel it, with every beat of my heart.
CHAPTER
THIRTY
Sawyer
Chaos erupts when we storm the building. This isn’t a busy place at this time of year, but Ryder made sure the manager and the few patrons had a safe way out before gunfire erupted. Apparently they rented the conference room under the guise of a workshop and the manager was genuinely unaware. Lucky for him he’s not in on it. One less body for the bayou.
We also know we need Forest alive if we have any chance of getting to Regi, but with the scattered bullets and noise coming from the room, he could’ve already succumbed to a bullet.
I fucking hope not because I have all sorts planned for him back at the warehouse.
All exits are covered. Nobody is getting outta here alive, or in one piece. When the goons realize they’re surrounded, they try to barricade themselves inside. Unlucky for them we have all points of entry covered. Breaking one of the many windows is the easiest option, but when a spray of bullets follows, it’s clearly not the safest.
“Fuck,” Cash mutters. “Stay down!”
Many of the guys have plenty of experience shooting, and my brother runs the gun range so he’s got very good aim. Last thing anyone needs is any of us getting shot.
They also weren’t shy on guards—we counted fifteen, as well as the drivers who were accosted by Tag and Harlem before they could run.
It’s small numbers, so taking them down isn’t gonna be hard, but with them spraying bullets everywhere, we don’t want any casualties from the MC.
Pipes aims from his spot right in the side window and takes one of the crouched gunmen down.
“Nice,” I say. “You wanna watch my back?”
“Be glad to, just don’t get fuckin’ shot because it’ll be me explainin’ to Mom and Chris.”
I smirk. “Don’t wanna inconvenience you.” I draw my gun and hop through the window.
Landing on my feet I move toward the back of the room where the girls are huddled. Hustler and Stell are trying to calm them down, telling them to sit tight and they’re being rescued, but I can understand it’s pretty fucking crazy no matter where you look.
I dodge behind a stack of chairs as a bullet whizzes by me, I return gunfire, hitting the dude in the chest as he falls down. It’s then I smell it: fire. Someone has lit the fucking building on fire.
“Shit,” I mutter.
Moving around the room with low visibility isn’t great, but most of the cowards seem to be either dead already, or huddled behind a podium. They’re reloading.