Calm & Storm (The Night Horde SoCal Book 6) Page 17

  After a moment, Douglas nodded, then leaned down and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you, Red.”

  ~oOo~

  Ronin called that evening, and Lorraine’s heart took on the youthful rhythm of new lover’s excitement. She hoped he was calling to tell her he was on his way.

  “Hi. How are you?”

  “Things aren’t good. I’ll be out of touch for a while. Not sure how long.” He sounded exhausted. And…sad. Oh, God.

  “What? Why?” He’d only told her he was really with her a couple of days ago, and already he was pulling away. She’d been standing near an armchair in her office loft; now she sagged into it and put her head in her hand. That excited heartbeat had changed to the disjointed throb of anxiety.

  “There’s trouble. I can’t risk anybody knowing you’re connected to me.”

  What did he do with that club? Who would care that she was ‘connected’ to him? “Roe…I don’t understand.”

  “Rainy, trust me.” An even deeper weariness had coarsened his voice. “You and Cameron won’t be safe around me right now. I’m out of town for a while. I’ll be in touch when I can.”

  “You’re not safe, then. What’s going on?”

  “I’ll be in touch when I can. I love you, Rainy.”

  “I l—” She stopped; he’d already ended the call.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Twenty-two people. Eight women, ten children—four of them in diapers, three less than a year old—and four men. In two identical manufactured, four-bedroom homes, connected by a breezeway, on the edge of an Indian reservation. The past week was fraying even Ronin’s nerves, and not because of the constant high alert.

  The Brazen Bulls’ ‘safe house’ was this reservation property, owned by the family of Lonnie Little, the Laughlin Bulls SAA and a member of the Mojave tribe. The Bulls’ mother charter in Tulsa had cultivated a strong symbiotic relationship with a local tribe, and the Laughlin Bulls had done the same here.

  This reservation was different from others Ronin had visited—certainly different from Pine Ridge in South Dakota. A lot of non-tribal members seemed to live on and farm this land. The tribe ran a casino with a resort and a golf course. The reservation was a great deal more prosperous than Lakota’s home.

  As a safe house, this little compound was in a great location—desert in every direction, the horizon at a distance. No one could come on them unawares, as long as their lookouts were sharp. They’d been running two-man, four-hour watches around the clock, with some fill-in from Faith and Pilar, the two best shots among the women, and occasionally from a couple of Bulls. The men off watch had been training the other women with small arms. Even young Lexi and Ian Elstad, only ten and eight, had taken their turns with a .22 pistol. Riley had barely blinked before she’d agreed to her children’s request to learn to shoot.

  Their ride from home to Laughlin, four Horde surrounding a gunmetal grey bus that looked like it was built to carry prisoners, had been uneventful. The scene at Bart and Riley’s house, preparing to depart, had not been nearly so calm. Connor and his old lady had had a screaming fight standing in the middle of the living room, in full view of the entire Horde family, kids and all, and Ronin had been prepared for it to get violent.

  Pilar hadn’t wanted to go to Nevada. She had work, she said; she was needed, she couldn’t just disappear. Bibi had actually stepped between them, facing her son, calming him down—and not a moment too soon, in Ronin’s estimation.

  Eventually, through Hoosier and Bibi’s intervention, Pilar had been persuaded to take leave from her job and join them here in Laughlin. Connor had been far too angry and emotional to have convinced her himself. Ronin made a point not to analyze other people’s personal relationships, but it was hard to miss that those two were all storm, all the time. Now more than ever, as far as he knew.

  Even now that the secrets had been laid open, Connor was still hanging by a fraying thread. In fact, he was struggling even more, and Ronin thought he knew why: Trick wasn’t speaking to him. Trick had stormed from the Keep and the clubhouse the second Hoosier had closed their emergency meeting. He’d ridden without backup to Bart and Riley’s, and he’d kept his distance from any of the officers until they’d gotten on the road.

  When Connor had tried to speak to him, Trick had walked away.

  It had been the right call to put Trick on protection. He’d been quiet here in Nevada, but not unduly so, and he needed some distance from the club. Trick didn’t seem convinced that La Zorra hadn’t been involved in his arrest as well as his release. He’d been through a lot, and to find out that the club leadership had kept such a secret for almost a year—that was knowledge that could shake a man’s faith, even if it were true that the officers hadn’t known before Trick had been taken.

  That there was even a doubt whether they had known earlier was enough to shake a loyal man.

  It was shaking Ronin. He’d volunteered to take protection detail not merely because they needed stronger protection than Hoosier had first assigned—which was true—but because protection was clean work. There was clarity in protecting the women and children, no matter what. He couldn’t say the same about what was going on back home. He didn’t have the faith in his leaders that he’d had before.

  So it was good for him, too, to get some distance from the club.

  Being with the women and children reminded him—and, he’d wager, Trick—what being Horde should be, what it was when it was good. Family. In the week they’d been here, the women had turned this cramped little compound into a home, with a tight schedule and acceptable sleeping arrangements, big family meals, chores for everyone, play time for kids and adults alike.

  Even for Ronin, who spent so much of his life alone or on the edges, family was important. It was crucial, in fact. He watched these remarkable women adapting to such extreme circumstances and going about making something good for their children, keeping them comfortable and content even while they were under siege and all wedged into quarters much too small for their number, and he knew that the Horde was a real family, even while its supports bowed and quaked.

  But he didn’t know if it was his family anymore.

  “Company,” Big Nate said and stood tall, breaking his Mossberg and checking the load before locking it again.

  Ronin saw the vehicle coming down the road. He reached back and wrapped his hand around the hilt of his katana, but he didn’t unsheathe it. He wasn’t particularly worried. The vehicle, now close enough to show itself to be a pickup, was traveling down the road in broad daylight. He made himself ready for trouble, prepared himself to whistle out a warning to the houses behind him, but he didn’t expect trouble.

  And it wasn’t. He soon recognized the green pickup and relaxed. Big Nate did, too. Victorine Little, Lonnie Little’s mother, pulled into the yard between the houses, stopping about six feet from Ronin and Big Nate. Ronin went and opened her door for her.

  “Hello, boys,” she said as she worked her large body from the driver’s seat. “I brought supplies.” Indeed she had; the truck bed was full of boxes and paper sacks.

  Big Nate turned and whistled, two short bursts of sound, and a few seconds later, Trick, Lucie, and Tucker came through the door of the easternmost house, which they were calling East. Shortly thereafter, all the older kids and most of the women were out, too, everyone helping unload the truck. Ronin and Big Nate continued standing watch.

  Bibi went to Victorine and gave her a hug. “Thanks, darlin’, for all this. Don’t know what we’d do without your hospitality.”

  “You’re more’n welcome. That’s just food for the next week, and some toys and games for the kids. The Goodwill had a bunch of brand-new jigsaws. Thought the older kids might like them. And there’s a big box of new air mattresses. That should help some with the sleeping arrangements.” She turned and looked at Ronin. “Lonnie said he’d come by home tonight, so I expect he’ll drop by over here, too.”

  Ronin nodded. “We’ll look out for
him.” He caught Trick’s eye and made sure he’d heard the same. Trick nodded; he had.

  “You want to come in, visit a while?” Bibi asked Victorine as Trick picked up the last box from the truck.

  Victorine laughed. “Thank you, but I think you’ve got enough bodies to contend with. I’ll check in in a couple of days. Holler if you need anything at all.”

  “You’re a dear, lady.” Bibi hugged her again, and with a wave to the men, Victorine climbed back into her truck and pulled onto the road.

  ~oOo~

  A few nights later, sleeping fully dressed on an airbed in a corner of the living room in West, Ronin was awakened by the sound of a whistle—a long, continuous shriek.

  That was their alarm. He rolled off the mattress and leapt to his feet, grabbing his daishō and crossing the blades over his back. He’d slept with his tantōs strapped to his thighs, as he had done every night they’d been in Nevada.

  Before he could get to the door, the first shots rang out in the night—three, in quick succession, then silence. He flattened himself against the wall and prepared to check the front window before he charged into the dark.

  Riley flew down the hallway. “Oh God! Roe!”

  “You know what to do,” he growled. “Do it.”

  She nodded and turned back down the hall. The women in each house were supposed to collect all the children and bring them into the middle of their house, as far away from windows and exterior doors as they could get. All the women were armed; Faith and Riley, and Pilar and Bibi, had point in each house for second-line defense.

  Eighteen women and children.

  A glance through the window showed Trick and Stuff in defensive postures in front of each house, but nothing else. Ronin pulled open the door and went through.

  “Sit rep,” he called as he trotted onto the lawn, pulling his katana and wakizashi from their scabbards on his back.

  Stuff looked scared, his eyes wide and his finger already on the trigger.

  Trick came over. “The shots were Stuff, getting twitchy. But we got three large vehicles coming slowly down the road, killed their lights about a click back.”

  They had a long view down the road. Standing with the house floods at his back, out of their halo of light, Ronin squinted out into the gloom—yeah, there they were, rolling dark and quiet. Fuck. He looked out over the rocky desert terrain behind them. No access for miles that way, unless they took something off-road. But even then, they’d hear them coming.

  “What’s your read?”

  “They look like SUVs. So at least a dozen men, coming straight in at us. I put in a 911 to Lonnie for backup, but they’re ten away, minimum. If we can hold the line that long, we’ll be okay. If not…” Trick took a shaky breath. “Jesus, Roe. My kids are here.”

  Ronin turned and stared hard at Trick. “You can do what needs doing?” Trick was a sharpshooter, but he’d pulled out of outlaw work because he no longer had the heart or stomach to kill.

  They were facing a kill-or-be-killed situation. Worse than that, it was kill or let their women and children be killed.

  Trick’s expression became a snarl. “I just told you my kids are here. My wife. You think I can’t kill a piece of shit who’d try to hurt them?”

  Ronin nodded. “Okay. Positions.”

  They’d used the days they’d been sequestered to reinforce the compound and plot out the best defensive positions. The rear doors and windows of both houses were braced and boarded. The women had had shooting practice. The men had arranged cover positions and stashed ammunition.

  Ronin sheathed his swords and picked up an assault rifle, checking the mag as he settled behind cover. He needed range first. Best case, the men coming wouldn’t get a chance to get close enough to die by his blade.

  ~oOo~

  When the trucks got within fifty yards or so, their drivers turned on their high beams and floored it; the Horde were blinded and lost to the sound as the engines howled and the tires shrieked on the pavement and then roared into the gravel. They’d lost the chance to fire before the trucks arrived.

  Gunfire filled the night before Ronin had his eyes back—first one deep, thunderous shot, then another, and then the loud, metallic tap of automatic fire.

  He thought the first two might have been Trick, who’d taken up a position on the low roof of East with a 30.06. He hoped so, because Trick wouldn’t have pulled the trigger unless he’d had a shot.

  “They’re wearing armor! Go for top and bottom!” Trick shouted, closer—he must have jumped down from his position. He would only have done so if that position hadn’t been advantageous any longer.

  After that, Ronin’s eyes having adapted better to the light, his focus became pinpoint sharp. He raised his M16, a weapon he knew well and hated using, and aimed at a man who was running toward him, firing without aiming. Ronin dropped him with a shot to his groin. When he was down, Ronin ended him with a headshot. He killed another the same way.

  Trick’s estimate of a dozen men had been too low; men had been packed tightly into those SUVs. But they were only four men, covering two buildings. The Bulls needed to get here much sooner than ten minutes. The gunfire resounding in the night air told Ronin that they were putting up a good fight, keeping them away from the houses. He’d killed three. If Trick had gotten a least one from the roof, then they might be down to ten or twelve. Maybe fewer—he could only keep track of his own kills. But they needed backup, and they needed it now.

  Ronin left cover and went hunting, running toward the three trucks. He wanted to get behind the scene and come in from the back. There was a man lingering near the back of the nearest truck; he fired, and Ronin felt the shot burn his cheek as it whizzed by. Then he fired, more accurately than his foe, and took the man in the face.

  At that moment, in the space of a sudden break in the noise, he heard muffled shots and high-pitched screams—of women and children.

  Trick shouted, “WEST IS BREACHED!”

  “HOLD EAST!” Ronin shouted. This was a melee fight now. He dropped the M16 and ran toward West, unsheathing his swords.

  The attackers were using laser sights, so Ronin watched the red beams, ducking and spinning, as he took out two more men, leapt over Stuff’s disabled or dead body, and dived into West, rolling up into a crouch as bullets flew over his head.

  He spent a fraction of a second to take stock of the situation.

  The room already smelled of blood and fire, and the screams and wails of their Horde innocents seemed to shake the room, louder than the report of any gun.

  The women and children were gathered in the hallway. It was a good defensive position, a pinch point, with Riley and Faith on the ends, armed and ready. That was the plan. A good plan.

  But Riley was down, her heaving chest and blonde hair soaked in blood. And there was another body on top of hers—a small body.

  There were two men in the living room with him, now facing him and ignoring the women and children.

  Ronin released his mind, raised his swords, and let his body do what it needed to do.

  As he leapt forward, he heard the storming roar of motorcycles approaching. The Bulls had arrived.

  But the Horde hadn’t held the line.

  The men were no match for Ronin’s blades; they’d trusted too much in the machine in their hands. With an audience of traumatized innocents, Ronin beheaded one man and gutted the other, slicing him deep, coming in below the edge of his Kevlar vest. Then, the house now quiet but for sobbing and moaning, he wiped his blades on his jeans, spun, and returned to the door, checking the situation outside.

  It was over. Lonnie Little was running toward him, slinging his weapon around to his back.

  “We’re clear. Trick said you were breached here.”

  Ronin nodded and turned back into the house. Sheathing his blades, he went toward the hallway.

  This, right here, was why Ronin couldn’t bring Rainy or Cameron into this side of his life. If he couldn’t live two lives, li
ke she’d said, then he’d have to choose.

  Faith was on her knees, in only her bra. It looked like she’d taken her top off and wadded it up, using it as a compress, holding it to Riley’s chest. Riley was conscious, but her color was bad, and her breath sounds were harsh and wet.

  Little Lexi, only ten, lay at her mother’s side, still holding a small pistol. Her brother Ian had her head in his lap. Veda knelt near Lexi’s feet, holding a throw pillow to her leg like a compress.

  Sadie had Jude and Noah in her arms, both tiny babies screaming. The other kids were clustered all around her, clinging desperately to each other. Sadie’s eyes were enormous, and from where he stood, Ronin could see her body shaking. When she met his eyes, he knew she was close to breaking. But she swallowed and stood firm.