When they came around the front, they saw the other guard holding a large pizza box as he walked toward the front door.
“Paul!” Army called out.
He stopped and looked at them. “The strippers ordered pizza.” He laughed.
“What the fuck?” Crow said.
Army shone his flashlight on the security guard who looked like he was going to open the box. “Don’t move! Don’t open the—”
A loud explosion, shattering glass, a streak of fire reaching up into the blackness, and the fearful screams coming from Paul as he propelled backward and landed on the ground filled the night. Army, Eagle, and Crow dashed over to the fallen man and quickly dragged him away from the burning cardboard box on the tarmac. Dennis came running over at the same time Diablo, Brutus, and Chains burst through the club’s front door.
“What the fuck happened?” Diablo cried as he ran over.
Dennis—wide-eyed and pasty—knelt by his co-worker.
“A fuckin’ bomb in the pizza box. Paul opened it,” Eagle said before he and Crow ran out to the street.
“Can you hear me, dude?” Army said to Paul.
“Yeah. What the fuck happened?”
“The goddamn box was booby-trapped.” Army looked behind him at Chains. “Call Medico.”
“We need to call the police and an ambulance,” Dennis said.
“We’ll take care of it. Go back to your post. Chains will go with you.”
Dennis reluctantly stood up. “Do you want me to call someone for you?” he asked Paul.
Shaking his head, Paul took the damp cloth Brutus gave him. “No. I feel like I’m on fire.”
“The dumbasses who made the pipe bomb fucked up, otherwise we’d be picking up parts of you all over the damn lot,” Diablo said.
Army took out the phone and called Goldie. “We got a bomb blast over here. Paul got hurt, but Medico’s on his way. It was a pizza box.”
“I have the fucker who delivered one here. He was trying to tell me that one of the employees ordered it. I knew it was bullshit,” Goldie said.
“What’d you do with it?”
“It’s far enough away, so it won’t do much damage if it goes off.”
“The bomb here was defective. Burned Paul pretty good, blew out some car windows, and some of the debris dented a few BMWs. I don’t know if Medico can help out. We may have to call Wexler on this.” Not wanting to deal with law enforcement, the Night Rebels handled things on their own as did all outlaw MCs, but sometimes they needed the assistance of Sheriff Wexler. They had a tacit agreement with Wexler—they’d keep hard drugs and gangs out of Alina, and he’d look the other way on some of their not-so-legal dealings. For the most part, it worked well.
“I’ll take the little shit to the clubhouse. Jigger will stay here and deal with the badges. They gotta disarm the bomb. Is everything okay at Skid Marks, Get Inked, and Balls and Holes? Seems like they’re targeting our businesses.”
“Diablo’s taking care of it. Here comes Steel and Paco. I’ll see who they want to go to the clubhouse to help you interrogate the fucker.”
“I’m going now. Wexler’s gonna have his hands full,” Goldie said.
“How the fuck did this happen? Where the hell were you?” Paco asked, a scowl embedded on his face.
“I was on the other side checking on Dennis and making sure no one was lurking in the shadows. I can’t believe Paul thought the strippers would order a fuckin’ pizza in the middle of a party,” Army replied.
“He knew to call one of us.” Paco looked at Steel. “I was against bringing in citizens to help out. What a fuckin’ mess.” He bent down and put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “How’re you doing, man? We got help coming.”
“My face feels like’s it’s on fire,” he whimpered.
Paco nodded then stood up. “He’s burned pretty bad,” he said in a low voice.