Page 17
Azrael
The growl of our engines filled the air as Stripes, Samurai, and I rolled through the gates. Dust kicked up behind our wheels, settling on the leather of my cut as I eased my bike to a stop. The brothers gathered in a loose semicircle, their faces a mix of relief and wariness. I cut the engine and swung my leg over the seat, boots hitting the gravel with a crunch that seemed to underscore the weight of the moment.
Stripes pulled in beside me, his face showing the fatigue of our journey, and he’d paled from blood loss. Not that a bullet was going to keep him from getting home. Same for me. I’d been cut, shot, stabbed, and even burned more times than I could count. If it wasn’t fatal, I wasn’t slowing down. Samurai flanked my other side, his dark eyes scanning the compound with the alertness that never seemed to leave him.
“Home sweet fucking home,” Stripes said.
I nodded but kept my attention on the Prospect driving the club truck through the gates behind us. The kid looked nervous, probably wondering if he’d fucked up the simple job of transporting our precious cargo. The truck rolled to a stop, and I watched the passenger door, waiting.
When it swung open, Mazida stepped out, her movements careful and deliberate. She wore a deep blue hijab that framed her face, highlighting the exhaustion in her eyes. But she was alive. She was whole. That’s what mattered.
My gaze shifted to the clubhouse door where Zara stood frozen, her hands gripping the doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t seem to breathe. I’d seen that look before -- the fear that hope might be snatched away if you believed too quickly.
Then, like someone had cut invisible strings, she launched herself forward. Her dark hair streamed behind her as she ran, her voice breaking as she called out, “Mom! Mom!”
Mazida’s head snapped up, her tired eyes suddenly alive with recognition. She stepped forward, arms opening just as Zara crashed into her. The impact nearly knocked both women over, but they clung to each other, becoming a single, swaying unit of relief and disbelief.
“Zara,” Mazida whispered. “My Zara.”
I stood back, giving them space. This was their moment -- the payoff for the blood spilled and risks taken. Zara’s hands clutched at her mother’s back, her fingers digging into the fabric as if afraid Mazida might disappear if she loosened her grip. Tears streamed down her face, unchecked and unashamed.
“I thought --” Zara’s voice cracked. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Mazida pulled back just enough to cup her daughter’s face, thumbs wiping away tears. “Allah brought you to me. He sent his angel.” Her eyes flicked toward me, and I looked away, uncomfortable with the gratitude I saw there.
Around us, the brothers maintained a respectful distance. Havoc stood with his arms crossed, his face softened just enough to show he approved. Charming nodded once when I caught his eye -- the silent acknowledgment of a job completed. Gator leaned against a post, trying to look casual, but I caught the way he swallowed hard, his own eyes suspiciously bright as he watched the reunion.
These men had seen blood and death, had caused both when necessary. But they understood family. It was why we existed as a club -- to protect our own when the world wouldn’t.
Zara finally pulled back, though she kept one arm around her mother’s waist. “Are you hurt? Did they --”
“I am fine,” Mazida interrupted firmly. “Nothing that will not heal.” She squared her shoulders, and I saw where Zara got her strength. Despite everything Mazida had endured, her dignity intact. “You should not have come looking for me. It was dangerous.”
“I had to,” Zara said simply. Then she looked at me, her blue eyes still swimming with tears but filled with something else now -- something that made my chest tighten. “And I found help.”
All eyes turned to me. I didn’t want their gratitude or their awe. I’d done what needed doing, nothing more. But I stood a little straighter under their collective gazes, acknowledging without words that this was my work. The avenging angel they called me -- Azrael, the Angel of Death -- and I’d earned the name with blood and bone.
Stripes clapped me on the shoulder, his gnarled hand heavy with approval. “Our brother brings back the lost,” he said, his voice carrying across the compound. “As he has always done.”
Samurai nodded, the gesture slight but meaningful coming from a man of few words.
I shrugged off their praise, uncomfortable with it. “Get Mazida inside,” I directed one of the Prospects. “She needs food and rest.”
The kid jumped to attention, eager to be useful. “Yes, sir. This way, ma’am.”
Zara hesitated, looking between her mother and me. I nodded once, giving her permission. “Go. Be with your mother. We’ll talk later.”
Relief and gratitude washed over her face. She squeezed her mother’s hand and led her toward the clubhouse, following the Prospect. But not before she threw me a look over her shoulder that promised more than thanks. It was a look that said she remembered every touch, every whispered word between us before I’d left to find her mother. A look that said she was counting the minutes until we were alone.
I watched them go, aware of the gazes on me. The club had questions -- they always did after an operation like this. No. There had never been a job like this one. None that had taken me outside the country before. They wanted to know what we’d found, who we’d killed, what threats might follow us home. But those conversations could wait.
“Charming,” I said, turning to our President. “We need to talk. But first, I need a fucking shower and a drink.”
He nodded, understanding the priority. “Clubhouse in an hour. Bring Stripes and Samurai.”
With that settled, the brothers dispersed, some heading into the clubhouse while others moved toward the garage or their homes within the compound. The tension eased but didn’t disappear. They’d wait for answers, but they wouldn’t wait long.
Stripes lingered, lighting a cigarette with hands that betrayed a slight tremor. “The girl’s mother,” he said quietly. “She will need time. What they did to her --” He broke off, shaking his head.
“I know,” I replied, the memories of the facility where we’d found Mazida still fresh in my mind. The guards hadn’t expected us. They certainly hadn’t expected the level of violence we’d brought with us. “But she’s stronger than she looks.”
“Like daughter, like mother,” Samurai commented, his dark gaze following Zara and Mazida into the clubhouse. I figured he had that backward. Shouldn’t it be like mother, like daughter? But either worked in this instance.
When Zara had first shown up in town, searching for the man they called the Avenging Angel to help find her missing mother, I’d considered sending her away. But there had been something in her eyes -- a determination that matched my own -- that had made me listen. And then, against my better judgment, I’d let her in. Into my home. Into my bed. Into places I’d thought were long closed off.
“Get cleaned up and get some food,” I told my brothers. “It’s going to be a long night.”
They headed off toward their respective quarters, leaving me alone in the compound yard. I took a moment to breathe in the familiar smells of oil, leather, and dust. Home. As fucked up as it was, this place was home.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked it one last time. No new messages. No warnings from our contacts about movement from Tel Aviv. But that didn’t mean they weren’t coming. Men like the ones who’d taken Mazida didn’t just let their property walk away. They’d want blood for what we’d done -- and they’d have resources to track us.
We’d be ready when they came. We always were. But first, I needed that shower, that drink -- and maybe, if the timing worked out, a few minutes alone with Zara before the storm hit.
I rode toward my house at the edge of the compound, feeling the gazes of the brothers on watch tracking my movement. They’d doubled security since we’d left. Smart move. The Devil’s Boneyard had enemies before this operation. Now we had more.
As I reached my door, I glanced back in the direction of the clubhouse where Zara and her mother had disappeared. The reunion had gone as well as could be expected. The hard part was coming -- keeping them both alive when the blowback hit. But that was tomorrow’s problem. For now, we’d succeeded. Mazida was home. Zara was happy.
And for a man like me, that was as close to peace as I was likely to get.
* * *
The clubhouse quieted as I made my way to the back room with Charming. The celebration of Mazida’s return had given way to the sobering reality of what would follow. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the stubble of days without a razor, and took the seat at Charming’s right. Havoc followed us in, his face set in stone as he closed the door behind Stripes and Samurai. Five men who’d seen enough blood to fill a swimming pool, now gathered around a scarred wooden table to plan how to avoid spilling more -- or at least, how to make sure it wasn’t our blood that flowed.
Charming dropped into his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet behind him and set out five glasses.
“Before we start,” he said, pouring two fingers into each, “let’s acknowledge our brother who brought back what he went for.” He lifted his glass. “To Azrael.”
The others raised their glasses, but I shook my head. “Save it. We’ve got bigger problems than celebrating.”
Charming’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. He understood that my rejection wasn’t about disrespect -- it was about priorities. He set his glass down untouched.
“Tell me what we’re facing,” he said, all business now.
I leaned forward, placing my forearms on the table. “We have serious consequences from Tel Aviv on our doorstep. Assuming they figure out who hit those places,” I said, keeping my voice low despite the privacy of the room. Old habits. “The last facility we hit wasn’t just holding Mazida. I think it was a hub for their operations. And some of the stuff I saw had US stamped on it.”
Havoc cursed under his breath. At sixty-eight, our Sergeant-at-Arms still had the build of the Marine he’d once been, and the tactical mind that had kept us alive through more than one war.
“How big?” Charming asked.
“Big enough that they can’t ignore it,” I replied. “We took out fourteen of their men. They won’t care all this shit started with Eli’s fucking orders to take out three targets. In fact, he’s probably made sure none of this will trace back to him. But without Shade there, we have no way of knowing about hidden cameras or any other tech they may have had in place that could track us.”
Stripes took a long pull of his whiskey, his Russian accent thickening as he spoke. “Tel Aviv will send a cleanup crew. Professional. If they figure out who hit the place, they’ll come for us.”
“How soon?” Charming asked.
I shrugged. “Hard to say. We covered our tracks as best we could.”
Havoc set his glass down with a thud . “Surveillance points,” he said, switching immediately to operational mode. “We need eyes on every approach. Double the watch rotation, arm everyone.”
“Already done,” Charming said. “Since you three left, we’ve been on high alert. But we need more.” He looked at me. “What are we talking about here? Hit squad? Full assault?”
I considered what I knew about the organization we’d just pissed off. “They won’t come at us directly, not at first. They’ll probe, look for weaknesses. Then they’ll strike at whatever soft target they find.”
“Zara and her mother,” Samurai said quietly.
I nodded. “Among others. Anyone connected to the club is at risk. And, there’s a chance they’ll use the Devil’s Minions to reach us. Maybe even team up with them.”
Charming rubbed his jaw, thinking. “What if we moved our families elsewhere? Maybe reached out to other clubs?”
“Won’t work,” I countered. “If they’re onto us, then they’ll be watching for that move. Besides, Zara won’t leave now that she just got her mother back. Even if you said Mazida could go with her, I don’t think she’d budge.”
“You control your woman,” Stripes said, his tone matter-of-fact rather than judgmental.
I shot him a look that would have made a lesser man flinch. “She’s not property, despite what her cut says.”
Stripes held up his hands. “Make her understand the danger facing her.”
He had a point, though I didn’t like it. Zara had her own mind, her own will -- it was what had drawn me to her in the first place. But she also wasn’t stupid. She understood danger.
“We fortify here,” I said, bringing the conversation back to strategy. “Make the compound a fortress. Wouldn’t hurt to do that anyway.”
Havoc nodded slowly. “Could work.”
“Call in favors,” Charming said. “I’ll have Scratch reach out to the Dixie Reapers, see if they can spare a few bodies. Stripes, your connections with the Devil’s Fury might help.”
Stripes nodded. “ Da . I’ll call my granddaughter’s old man. They’ll send help.”
I watched the exchange with a measured gaze. The alliances between clubs were complicated, built on blood and loyalty rather than written agreements. We all helped one another when the need arose. But only if we had men to spare and weren’t dealing with our own issues.
“We need to have Shade watch the ports and air traffic coming in from other countries,” I said. “Our best defense is early warning.”
Samurai, who had been quiet for most of the conversation, finally spoke. “I have a contact in airport security at Memphis International. I doubt anyone would fly into Memphis if they’re coming here, but maybe he knows someone in Miami.”
Charming raised an eyebrow. “You never mentioned this contact before.”
Samurai’s expression remained neutral. “Never needed him before.”
That was Samurai -- always with cards held close to his chest.
“Good,” I said. “Get him watching arrivals. Any private jets, charter flights from Israel or connecting countries. We need names, descriptions. Then we can have Shade check into them, see if they’re connected to what happened over there.”
“Mazida and Zara need to be briefed. They need to understand what we’re up against. It’s possible they’ll be the first targets if things go sideways.”
“You handle that,” Charming said, the order clear in his tone. “For now, we defend and gather intelligence. When we have a good picture, then we decide whether we’re in the clear.”
The tension in Stripes’ shoulders eased slightly. “So we wait,” he said.
“We wait,” I confirmed.
Havoc pulled out a map of the compound and surrounding area, spreading it across the table. “Let’s talk specifics. I want surveillance cameras here, here, and here.” He pointed to the main road and two access points through the wooded area behind the compound. “Motion sensors throughout the perimeter. Armed patrols 24/7.”
I leaned in, focusing on the tactical discussion. This was familiar territory -- planning defenses, anticipating attacks. It was what had kept me alive in a world that wanted men like me dead.
For the next hour, we hammered out details. Who would take which watch shift. Where to position our best shooters. How to rotate the Prospects through security duties without leaving gaps. The conversation flowed with the efficiency of men who had done this before, who understood that thorough planning now might save lives later.
Throughout it all, I was aware of the occasional glances between Stripes and Samurai -- measuring glances that spoke of their concern. Not for the plan itself, but for me. They had seen what I’d done to the men guarding her. The level of violence had been necessary. They were watching for signs that I might be slipping, that my control might be fraying. They wouldn’t find it.
I gave them nothing to worry about. My voice remained steady, my decisions calculated. The rage that had driven me during the rescue was now tightly contained, channeled into protecting what was mine.
As we finalized the details, Charming looked around the table. “Any other concerns?” he asked, his gaze settling longest on me.
I shook my head. “The plan is solid.”
He nodded once. “Then we’re done here. Havoc, get the security upgrades started. Stripes, make those calls. Samurai, contact your airport man. Azrael…” He paused, his gaze hardening slightly. “Take care of your woman and her mother. Make sure Mazida understands the rules while she’s here.”
I stood, recognizing the dismissal for what it was. “She’ll understand. Zara will help her if necessary.”
As we filed out of the room, Stripes caught my arm. “This girl,” he said quietly, “she’s important to you, da ?”
I didn’t answer immediately. Zara had crashed into my life unexpectedly, had somehow slipped past defenses I’d maintained for decades. What we had wasn’t easy to define.
“She’s under my protection,” I finally said. “And she’s… mine.”
Stripes smiled slightly, the expression making the lines around his eyes deepen. “Not what I asked, but the answer is enough.” He patted my arm. “Be careful, brother. The heart can make the head stupid sometimes. Especially when you can’t admit your feelings even to yourself.”
With that bit of Russian wisdom, he moved off toward the main room of the clubhouse. Samurai lingered a moment longer, his dark eyes thoughtful.
“They will come for her first,” he said, his voice pitched for my ears only. “Not because she’s a woman, but because they’ll figure out she matters to you.”
I nodded once, acknowledging the truth in his words. “Then they’ll find out what happens to people who touch what’s mine. If Tel Aviv wasn’t enough of a lesson, I’ll show them my darkest side.”
Samurai’s expression didn’t change, but something like approval flickered in his eyes. He inclined his head slightly and walked away, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I took a moment to gather myself before heading back into the main room. The strategizing was done. Now came the harder part -- telling Zara the nightmare might not be over yet. That finding her mother hadn’t removed the threat but possibly increased the danger. And that keeping them safe might require measures she wouldn’t like.
But first, I needed to find her. In a compound preparing for war, I needed to steal a moment of peace with the woman who had, against all odds, become my reason for fighting.