Page 45 of Riding the Line (Steel Saints MC #1)

Maverick

I wasn’t used to having someone worth coming home to—it was a feeling a guy could get used to.

Dalton fiddled with one of the computers in the van, and I glanced between him and the woman we both loved as her figure got smaller out the window.

Feeling my eyes on him, he glanced up, and raised his eyebrows as if to ask a question.

I shook my head, and he gave me a knowing smirk.

“Thinking about her?”

Always , I wanted to say, but instead just nodded towards the computer he had been messing with. “Everything good?”

Unphased by my lack of response, he nodded and said, “If shit doesn’t go sideways, we should be home in time for dinner. Everybody good for one last run-through?” Diego turned the radio down, and Jackson spun around as I ran us through the plan.

“Alright, so the compound is roughly three hours out—deep in the woods, off a private road owned by one of the DiAngelo shell companies. Intel said it was a temporary holding site, a place to stash victims before transporting them out of the country. We know from past experience the place is gonna be set up with a defense perimeter better than the fucking White House. As per usual, Dalton is in charge of hacking into their security system. Then it’s get in, take down who we can, find Silas and his buddies, and get those kids out safe.

No one dies, no alarms, no screw-ups. Get the evidence, get the kids, get out.

Good?” I met the eyes of the three men I trusted most, as they each nodded their consent.

“Then let’s get this shit done and get home. ”

We hit just after three a.m.

I watched my brother’s back as, with the press of a few buttons, he disabled their entire system.

“Comms check, everybody copy? Cams on?” Once I had confirmation, I headed towards the front door.

There were no guards posted outside—they relied too heavily on technology that could be easily hacked.

Inside, it was dim, with only a few lowlights in the hallway.

Most of the lackeys were either asleep or half-alert—fucking perfect for us.

Room by room, we moved. Zip ties. Chloroform.

One by one, guards dropped. Those dumb enough to resist were handled easily enough.

Within fifteen minutes, the whole first level was secure, and not one of us had more than a busted lip or bruised cheek.

We hadn’t found any kids, just a fuck ton of drugs.

I led us to the basement door, and waited for Diego to pick the lock.

Glancing at my team, I knew I wasn’t the only one preparing for the nightmares we were sure to find below.

We had done this more times than I could count, but never with children.

The basement door swung open with a creak.

A small, flickering light over the stairs illuminated the space just enough to see the mold on the walls.

The air was humid and stale, and you could hear whimpers coming from below.

I heard Dalton mutter a few curses and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Diego cross himself.

We were fixing to walk into Hell. With Jackson being more experienced than I was, I moved aside to allow him to lead us down the rickety staircase.

His steps were silent, and he moved like a ghost. Making our way into the room below, we were met with the first set of cages.

Wide, fearful eyes peeked out from beneath unkempt hair, raggedy clothes hanging off thin frames.

Boys and girls, ranging from five to fifteen.

I genuinely felt sick. These kids… God only knew what they’d been through, or where they had come from.

The hell they’d seen. Rage, hot and bu rning, made its way through my chest. I was dimly aware of Diego and Dalton approaching the cells.

When the first chain fell off the door, several of the kids started crying and whimpering in utter terror.

My brother spoke soft, gentle words. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid. We’re going to get you out of here. You’re safe now.” Diego translated in Spanish, just to ensure the message got to as many of them as it could.

They made their way through the next five cells, each as full as the next.

Slowly, the kids began to move towards Jackson and me.

Jackson knelt, holding his hand out to a little boy who looked about eight or nine.

The kid eyed him, distrust and fear in his brown eyes, before hesitantly taking Jackson’s outstretched hand.

I looked around. There were easily thirty kids here—luckily we had arranged to have more vans waiting to take them back.

I nodded at Jackson. “You know what to do—get them out of here. Dalton and I will catch up.”

I watched as Jackson and Diego shepherded the children up the stairs towards freedom. It was time for my brother and me to go see about getting a dog put down.

The upper level of the house had three rooms, padded for sound suppression.

Two were bedrooms, and I didn’t even let myself think about that.

The third was an office with a thick steel door.

Were they even aware that their time was up?

Dalton bypassed the numerical code lock on the door with ease, and we drew the guns that had been kept holstered at our hips.

The office smelled like money and rot, like old wood and even older sins.

Silas stood next to Luca and Michael DiAngelo—they were arguing over something on a laptop. We had caught them completely off guard, three identical looks of shock on their face.

“Hands up—back away from the computer,” I said, pointing my gun dead center at Silas.

Michael, the only one armed out of the three of them, reached for his gun, but Dalton trained his Glock on him and said, “Please just give me a fucking reason.”

Luca sneered, “I didn’t realize the fucking Boy Scouts made house calls.”

I ignored him, never looking away from Silas, who was glaring at me with undisguised hate. “Y’all are through. This little operation you got going? Dragging the Saints through the mud? It’s fucking done.”

This time it was Michael who guffawed. “Silas was right. You’re a whole other level of delusional. What exactly are you going to do? Kill us?”

Dalton handed me his gun, and I trained both weapons on the group of scumbags in front of me as he moved closer. “Are you gonna be good and stay still, or are you going to make this fun for me?”

“Don’t shoot. It’s me, boss. Rodney met us halfway, I came back to help.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see Jackson making his way into the room, his gun drawn.

I nodded my thanks and returned my attention to where Dalton had grabbed some zip ties from his pocket.

Michael was first, and I could see in his eyes that he wanted to fight.

Jackson could see it too, and he moved in without me having to say a word.

A gun to his temple made the son of a bitch real compliant, and he swore vehemently when Dalton notched the ties so they cut off his circulation.

Luca was next and, quick as the snake he is, he jammed his elbow into Dalton’s face.

Dalton’s nose instantly broke, and my brother grabbed Luca by the back of his head, slamming the man’s face into the desk and knocking him flat.

Luca crumpled on the ground, while Dalton calmly secured him despite the blood flow.

Ignoring Michael’s threats and outrage, Dalton grinned at me as he approached Silas who, much to my surprise, had remained quiet this entire time.

His eyes were still trained on me. Something about the way he looked at me raised red flags, like the motherfucker still had cards to play.

Dalton pushed him to the ground, and still the fucker glared at me like he had the upper hand.

The three of us ransacked the room. Anything incriminating was placed in a neat pile on the desk, just to make it extra easy for the Feds that would be here in a few hours.

I took my body cam off its holster on my chest, and placed it on top of the files.

Jackson checked the ties on their arms and legs, kicked Silas in the ribs for good measure, and then moved to lead us outside. It was time to go home.

But a cold, low laugh stopped us. Silas must have finally lost what was left of his mind. I ignored him, but then he said, “You really think this is how it ends? You two back in charge of the Saints, some sort of happy little fairytale with that red-headed bitch?”

Our backs were to him, but Dalton and I looked at each other. That son of a bitch really didn’t know when to shut the fuck up.

“No, we’re not really the fairytale type. But the truth finally coming out? That feels damn good. The thought of what they’ll do to you in prison gives me fuzzy feelings.”

Dalton tossed the words over his shoulder, and I glanced behind me to see Silas’ neck turn red like it did when he was pissed.

“You want the truth, boy? I’ll tell you the fucking truth,” Silas said.

“Your whore of a mother was going to expose everything. I had plans, plans to bring the Saints out of the fucking gutter. I was going to make something of the club. I had it all worked out, then that bitch found out I was working with the DiAngelos. So, I handled it.” His voice was smug and cruel.

Jackson froze by the door, and I spun on my heel.

In a few quick steps, I marched over to Silas and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him up. Dalton was hot on my heels.

“What the fuck do you mean you handled it? You hired someone to kill my mother?” I nearly choked on the words.

Silas’ face was inches from mine, but he smirked. “No, you idiot. I pulled the trigger myself.”

I saw fucking red, and before I could even fully process what I was doing, I threw him against the wall. For a moment he lay there, but then he struggled into a sitting position and leered at us.