His eyes were wide with pain and shock. " Stay down," Clayton growled. "[ __ ] you." The man reached for a backup piece. Clayton caught his wrist, twisted, felt something snap.
The screaming got louder. Then Eleanor's voice cut through it all. " Clayton, basement, now." He looked up at her. She was standing one hand braced against the porch rail, breathing hard but steady. "
What's in the basement, Ellie?" " The rest of them." " How many?" " I don't know, but I heard vehicles arrive an hour ago. They parked on the north access road.
At least two trucks, maybe more men."" " Jesus Christ," Hammer's voice on the radio. " North side secure. Two down, not dead, but they're not getting up anytime soon." Ghost next. "
South side clear. Both targets neutralized." " East side secure," Lucky called. " Three bad guys looking very sorry for their life choices." That was seven, but if Eleanor was right about more men in the basement, Clayton dragged the young man to his feet.
Blood was running down his leg, but he'd live. " How many more?" Clayton demanded. "[ __ ] you." " Wrong answer."
Clayton pushed him toward the porch rail. " I'm 69 years old and I'm tired. I don't have patience for games. How many men are in that basement?" The young man spat blood. ""
Enough to kill all of you."" Eleanor stepped forward, put her hand on Clayton's arm. " Let me," she said quietly. She turned toward the young man, her blind eyes seemed to look right through him. " You're not Viper's son," she said. "
You're his nephew. I can hear it in your voice. The slight accent. You grew up in Mexico, didn't you? Came north to avenge an uncle you barely knew."
The young man said nothing. " You're scared," Eleanor continued, "because this didn't go the way it was supposed to. You thought you'd ambush some old bikers, easy targets. But now you're bleeding on my porch and your friends are unconscious or running and you're realizing you're in over your head." " Shut up." "
How many men are in my basement?" Silence. Eleanor's voice went colder. " I'm a 74-year-old blind woman and I just put a knife in your leg. Do you really want to find out what else I'm capable of?"
The young man's resistance crumbled. " Four. There are four more in the basement. They were supposed to be backup if the ambush failed." " Armed?" "
Yes." " With what? " Rifles, pistols, body armor?"" Clayton looked at Hammer, who'd appeared on the porch with Preacher and Wrench. All three were breathing hard but uninjured. "
Four men, full tactical gear, fortified position in the basement." Clayton shook his head. " That's a nightmare scenario." " Not necessarily," Eleanor said. Everyone looked at her. "
I told you, I prepared." " What did you prepare, Ellie?" She smiled. It was not a comforting expression. " Sterling kept some things in that basement that weren't strictly legal, things from his army days, things he said were for emergencies." "
What kind of things?" " The kind that make a lot of noise and smoke." Understanding dawned on Clayton's face. " Flashbangs." " Among other items."
Wrench laughed, a deep rumbling sound. " I like this woman." " So do I," Preacher agreed. " Here's the problem," Ghost said, joining them on the porch. " Even with flashbangs, we've got to get them out of a fortified position.
And we're not soldiers anymore. We're old men with bad knees." " Speak for yourself," Lucky called from the yard. " My knees are fine." " You're 60." "
Exactly. Spring chicken." Despite everything, Clayton felt himself smile. This was brotherhood. This was what he'd been missing for 15 years.
The gallows humor, the trust, the willingness to walk into hell and joke about it on the way. " Ellie," he said, "how do we get to the basement without walking into a firing line?" " There are two entrances," she replied. " The interior stairs from the kitchen and an exterior bulkhead door on the east side of the house. Sterling used it to bring in equipment." "
They'll have both covered." " Probably." " But" Eleanor turned her blind eyes toward him, "but they don't know I can flood the basement. Everyone stopped. " Come again," Hammer said.
This house is on a natural spring. Sterling used it for irrigation, but he also ran pipes into the basement to supply water for his workshop. There's a main valve in the crawl space under the porch. If I open it all the way, the basement fills with about eight inches of water in under 2 minutes. That won't stop them, Ghost pointed out.
No, but it will make them very uncomfortable. And when people are uncomfortable, they make mistakes. Clayton thought about it. Four men in a basement, tactical gear and rifles, expecting an assault from above, not expecting to be flooded out. We'd need a distraction, he said slowly, something to draw their attention while someone opens that valve.
I'll do it, Eleanor said immediately. " Absolutely not." " It's my crawl space." I know every inch of it. You'd be fumbling in the dark. "
Ellie—" "Clayton." Her voice was firm, final. Sterling spent 40 years teaching me how to survive, how to fight, how to think tactically. I'm not a helpless old woman. I'm a warrior's widow, and this is my home.
I'll be damned if I let these men take it from me. Silence on the porch, then Hammer spoke. With all due respect, ma'am, you're a badass. Eleanor smiled. Thank you.
Now, here's what we're going to do. 10 minutes later, everyone was in position. Lucky and Wrench were at the exterior bulkhead door ready to breach when the signal came. Hammer and Preacher were at the top of the interior stairs, flashbangs in hand, courtesy of Sterling's illegal but extremely useful stash. Ghost was with Eleanor in the crawl space under the porch providing backup while she found the valve, and Clayton was in the kitchen right above the basement with a tire iron and a prayer.
The young man who'd held Eleanor hostage was zip-tied to the porch rail, leg bandaged. He wasn't going anywhere. Clayton keyed his radio. " Everyone ready?" A series of clicks. "
Ellie?" " Found the valve." It's stiff, but I can turn it. Ghost, you see anything we missed? Negative, clear for now, but we need to move.
Someone's going to notice eight men missing and start asking questions. He was right. They had a window, small and closing. " On my mark," Clayton said. " Three, two, one, mark."
Ghost helped Eleanor turn the valve. Water began pouring into the basement. The effect was immediate. Shouting from below, confusion. " What the hell?
Where's that water coming from?" " Check the pipes." " Forget the pipes, someone's on the stairs." That was Hammer and Preacher making noise, drawing attention. Clayton heard footsteps below, splashing, men moving toward the interior stairs, which meant they'd turned their backs on the exterior door. "
Go," Clayton called into the radio. The bulkhead door exploded inward. Wrench and Lucky charged in whooping like madmen. Hammer dropped the first flashbang down the stairs. The world turned white and loud.
Clayton moved. He was down the stairs before his conscious mind caught up, tire iron swinging. The basement was chaos, white light still blooming, water ankle-deep and rising. Four men in tactical gear trying to figure out which direction the threat was coming from. Clayton hit the first one low, sweeping his legs.
The man went down hard into the water. Wrench tackled another using his considerable mass to advantage. Lucky was dancing around a third man, dodging wild punches, laughing the whole time. The fourth man was reaching for his rifle. Preacher got there first.
68 years old and still faster than men half his age when it mattered. The rifle went flying, and then it was over. Four men face down in the water, zip-tied and disarmed. Eight hostiles total, all neutralized. No one dead.
No one seriously injured except for the young man with the knife wound in his leg. Clayton stood in the ankle-deep water of Eleanor Thorngate's basement, breathing hard, and started to laugh. It was the laughter of a man who just survived something he shouldn't have. The laughter of a man who'd forgotten what it felt like to trust his brothers and have them come through. The laughter of a man who just discovered that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as broken as he thought.
The others joined in. Seven old men standing in a flooded basement laughing like lunatics. Above them, Eleanor Thorngate smiled in the darkness of her crawl space. Sterling would have been proud. Sheriff Langford arrived 90 minutes later with two deputies and a very confused expression.
He was a compact man in his late 50s, former Marine, with the kind of calm competence that came from seeing the worst of humanity and somehow maintaining faith in the best. He walked into Eleanor Thorngate's house, saw eight men zip-tied on the lawn, seven Hells Angels drinking coffee on the porch, and an old blind woman sitting in her rocking chair like nothing unusual had happened. " Someone want to explain this?" he asked. Eleanor spoke first.
These men broke into my home with intent to murder seven motorcyclists who were passing through on a memorial ride. I was to be used as bait. I managed to warn the intended victims. They came anyway at great personal risk and successfully defended my property without killing anyone. Langford looked at Clayton. "
That about sum it up?" " Pretty much." Anyone injured? One of them has a knife wound in the leg. We gave him first aid.