"I need to get to the clubhouse, fast. Myself and one other. And I need you not to know where we went. You're going to catch flack for this, Brian."
"Not from anyone important," Brian told him. "I'll make some calls, get riders to meet us on the way. I would advise moving now and not taking anything with you except what you need for survival. We'll buy everything else. Get on your bike and ride. I'll follow in the limo."
"Got it," Cole agreed, very relieved.
He didn't know Brian by name, but he recognized him now. He was one of the new guys, just came in to patch-holder status less than three months ago. That Brian was on the security teams list already strongly suggested he had hardcore experience and top of the line training. Cole was happy not to have gone up against a man with credentials obviously much better than his own, especially in a fair fight.
Antonio collapsed.
Cole looked down at him and saw no life in the enforcer's eyes. "Fucking tough son-of-a-bitch," Cole hissed and put Davis' .45 under his belt in the front of his pants, then retrieved his own weapon and reloaded.
Nicole was watching with wide eyes as Cole went through the house, pulling out three more guns from various hiding places and eight more clips. He tossed Nicole's jacket to her, "Still have your stash here?"
She nodded, but didn't speak.
"Get it, now. Move!"
His voice drove her out of the couch and sent her flying down the hall. She came back with a black backpack, shrugging it on over her leather jacket. "I don't know… I don't know what to do," she gasped.
"I do," he told her. "Do what I say. Don't hesitate."
She nodded.
"They don't want you dead. They want you back. So we are fairly safe right now. They still don't know about me and that gives me two edges."
Nicole blinked, "What was the first edge?"
"I want them dead."
"Oh, okay," she muttered with a nod of her head, her eyes still showing how much shock she was in. There was no time for comforting, though. Other men could be showing up or waiting in ambush and cops were on the way.
"We're leaving. Cops will be on the way. Anything you need? Anything you can't live without?"
"Laptop," she sputtered.
"Grab it and put it in the saddlebags. Move!" he ordered.
Nicole ran for his office, returning with a laptop bag while stuffing in power cords. "I'm ready."
"Head for the back door. Don't stop or slow down. Go straight into the garage and get your laptop into the saddlebags. Let's move."
She didn't run this time, but she moved fast and sure. Cole felt a sweet pride in his girl right now. She wasn't bundled up into a ball of hysteria on the couch and she wasn't freaking out on him, or asking a lot of questions that start with why and are meaningless most of the time.
Cole played back what he heard and what he did, searching for anything that seemed out of place. He recalled Nicole saying that she had called Gabriel. Well, that was how they found her. Simple thing -- caller ID. Obviously Nicole needed some education. Serious education on basic survival skills and it wouldn’t hurt to show her how to fire a weapon.
Cole nodded to this deficiency and mentally noted the tasks as urgent. Following close behind her, ready to knock her to the ground at the first whisper of trouble, they left the back door and moved fast into the garage.
As soon as she had her laptop in his bag, Cole fired up the Lowrider and clicked the garage door opener. Then he went into a crouch, taking Nicole's hand and pulled her to the side of the garage while he drew one of his pistols.
Nicole squatted down low behind him. They searched the street together. Seeing nothing and trusting that Brian was on the ball out there, he pulled Nicole back to the bike and they got on while pulling on helmets. Cole clicked the garage door as he cleared the threshold and revved his engine to warn Brian they were coming out. Then he released the clutch and thundered out of the garage.
Brian was in the road and held up his hand. Cole pulled over to him. He was probably thirty with deep red hair and looked about as Irish as anyone could. "You're fairly safe,” Brian told Cole. “We were the only crew sent after your girl here with orders that she was not to be harmed in any way that would show a bruise or keep her from working tonight. They really thought this was going to be a simple snatch and grab. They even had me waiting in the car like an asshole while they were gunned down."
"Better them…" Cole muttered.
"Agreed. Nice work, by the way. I have their wallets and phones, and two guns off the corpses. Davis was carrying an ankle. Now, head straight for the boulevard. Take it to the club. Riders are on their way to follow you in, but there's honestly no one coming."
"Thanks. I owe you," Cole told him.
"No, I owe you for shouting out, rather than just cutting me down," Brian laughed. "Ride safe. I'm behind you."
Cole nodded and then eased the Lowrider down his street, heading straight for the boulevard as instructed. Riders were on their way. The Horsemen looked after their own.
Unfortunately, Nicole wasn't one of their own and the Horsemen had a good, profitable alliance with Gabriel's stable. That connection was through Antonio, who Cole just gunned down as fast and hard as he could, along with Davis -- and who knew what connections Davis had or who was going to be pissed off about his death come morning.
"Not good," he muttered and put his hand down on Nicole's thigh. "But worth it."
CHAPTER TWO
When Nicole Bower saw the first pack of five Chrome Horsemen pass by them on the boulevard, speeding in the other direction, it sent a thrill through her. She looked over her shoulder and saw them making an illegal U-turn, then roaring even faster to catch up to her and Cole. It was like real Wild West stuff with the Calvary and everything.
She didn’t even know these men, but that didn’t seem to matter to them. They were here to back-up Cole, simply because he said he was in trouble and they came hunting for that trouble with guns and grim faces.
After three more blocks, however, she said to herself, "This is getting ridiculous," because there were over forty riders around them now, all armed, and none of them joking. Riders shot their bikes forward, up the side of the pack, to come to rest in the middle of intersections, to block traffic for the rest of the pack.
When she looked down crossing roads, she often saw three of four bikers running down the side streets while keeping up with them. These men were called "outriders." Cole had explained them to her during pillow talk the day she officially moved in with him and asked him about is work with the club.
"Outriders," Cole had told her, "and that was my first real job with the club’s security service, follow or pace the main pack or convoy."
They were kept back for two reasons. The first was to give an attacker a false idea of how many men are guarding the convoy. The second was that in case of an attack, they would be the ones who are going to engage the attackers and hunt them down.