Devil's Heart, page 17
part #1 of Executioners MC Series
“Yeah.” I grind my teeth. “But running… fuckin’ running.”
“I know. We’ll find them.”
We pull up near my bike. Mac lowers the window and looks at it, letting out a whistle through his teeth as he surveys the damage. “Fuckin’ assholes.”
“Is the club on this shit?” I ask. “I ain’t leaving her here.”
“Yeah, we’re on it.”
“Good. Let’s head down the street then.” I hate leaving my ride behind, especially given the state she’s in. But duty calls.
Angels’ Lot isn’t a big town, but it’s not a small one either. It’s not big enough for a man to hide, not unless he rides out into the desert and digs himself a hole. Or goes north to LA or over to Vegas or Texas. But these Bloody Savages have been getting confident lately. They think this town is theirs just because they’ve won a few fights here and there.
“I figure we should check our businesses. That’s where I was when they jumped me. Let’s head down to Mikey’s bar.”
“Yeah.”
Mac drives us down to the bar. Sure enough, there they are, five Bloody Savages pushing Mikey between them like a bunch of bullies in the schoolyard. Mikey’s a lanky old man with a bald head and a gray beard that’s so thin in the setting sunlight, it almost disappears. The Savages look up when they hear the bikes behind us come to a stop. I step from the car, cracking my neck from side to side and grinning right at them.
Mac and I stand in front of the hood of his car. We don’t have our guns out since Mikey’s place is right in the middle of town. The customers leaving glance at us like we’re made of nuclear waste and they’re desperate to clear the radius. I don’t blame them. It’s about to get ugly. Cars go around when they see we’re blocking the road, though nobody honks their horn. Probably because they know who we are. The other fellas walk over and join us, making it six of us versus five of them.
I turn to Wexler. He’s newly patched. It’s good to give the new guys stuff to do. It makes them hard. Or it gets them killed. That’s what the club needs: men who can do hard things. He’s a kid with a ginger goatee and a face that’s always sunburned.
Time to find out what he’s made of.
“Go and tell them we want a fair fight. No guns. Let’s sort this like men. One of ours will stand down to make it five on five.”
He swallows, but he heads over there without any complaints. Good.
“Reckon they’ll go for it?” Mac asks.
“If they say no, they’re fucking cowards. Besides, they’re dead if they start shooting. They might have some good shots, but as good as you and me? Not a chance” I spit on the ground. “But I don’t give a damn either way. However they want it, I’m getting my revenge on these sucker-punching motherfuckers.”
“They sucker punched you?” Cole asks. He’s almost as big as me but covered in more scars. Neck, chin, almost one whole side of his face. He tells people it was from a fishing accident; the bastard is too modest. In truth, he got them all from a fight a few years back, defending the club. He’s as good as they come.
“When I was having a nice talk with the prick trying to garrote me, yeah.”
He laughs, shaking his head at the same time. “Goddamn, it’s like they want to die.”
“Ain’t that the truth?”
Eventually, Wexler comes walking back over to us. “They’ll fight five on five,” he says. “But they’ve got a condition. You can’t fight, Dax.”
I snort out a laugh. Mac does the same.
“Then no deal,” I say. “Tell them two of ours will stand out if it makes them feel any better. But I’m swinging. That’s for damn sure.”
Wexler nods and walks back over to them. They seem to be arguing, but I can’t make out the words. Just a whole lot of hand waving and talking. After a minute or two, Wexler returns to us.
“Our four against their five.”
“Cowards,” Cole says. “What sort of man would take a deal like that?”
“You just said it. Cowards.” Mac rolls his head and his shoulders to loosen his arms up.
“Yeah, but still.”
“Here’s what we’re doing: me, Mac, Cole, and Wexler.” I take off my jacket, fold it up, and carry it around to the passenger side of the car. I don’t take my holster off, though. I’m not about to leave my piece behind when these bastards aren’t.
Wexler swallows, but he doesn’t complain. He knows that this is part of becoming a brother, a rite of passage we all went through in one way or another. Everyone gets their hands dirty. The other two brothers walk over to the car, using it as a barricade. They’ll be ready to start shooting if it comes to that. I hope it doesn’t. I want to spill Savage blood with my own two hands.
I walk over to the Bloody Savages. Their president is a mysterious bastard named Virgil Romero, but from the looks of it, he’s not here. The ringleader of this little band is a forty-something with bloodshot eyes and a cocaine addict look about him. Though he looks strong, too. He’s jabbing and hooking at the air the way men do before fights.
He grins at me. I can’t tell if he’s pretending or if he really thinks they’ve got this in the bag. The other four grin along with him. “So you had to go runnin’ for your babysitters, eh?”
“We can make this me and you if you want.” I return his grin. “How’s that sound? Show your men what you’re made of. Me against you, no problem.”
His grin falters as mine gets wider.
“No?” I go on. “You sure, tough guy?”
“Are we doing this or not?” he snaps.
Cole, Mac, and Wexler walk over and stand with me, shoulder to shoulder. I feel a sense of calm confidence settle deep in my gut. Standing with my brothers always makes me happy.
“I’m ready,” Mac says. “But are you sure you don’t wanna take my friend up on his offer? You look like a wannabe tough guy to me. Why not prove me wrong, eh?”
“You’re just scared,” he says.
We all laugh loudly. “Is that right?” Cole shakes his head as though confused. “I wish somebody’d told me.”
“Enough fucking around!” the Savage roars. “Let’s do this!”
It doesn’t take much more and that to get us all going. I charge right at the cocaine prick. He ducks back, taking a boxer’s stance. I grin madly at him.
There’s nothing like fighting to remind a man he’s alive.
I kick him in the side of the knee so hard it makes a cracking sound. I can tell he’s never been kicked like that by the way he leaps back. It’s like he accidentally touched a hot stove. I kick him again, even harder. Two of his buddies leap on me. Cole takes one by the throat and drags him away. I dodge a punch from the other one, duck under a hook, and then lift him off his feet and throw him to the ground. I work him over viciously; elbows, punches, over and over. He covers up, dodges side to side, but I can feel his soft flesh giving way under my fists.
Somebody grabs me from behind. I toss him over my shoulder and knee him right in the gut. Wexler’s fighting a hard battle with one of the assholes, but Cole and Mac have pretty much taken care of theirs. They’ve got three of them pinned to the ground between them, knees in their backs. The Savages’ faces are as bloody as their name. I pin my man to the ground and we all watch Wexler and his opponent squaring off. Cole and Mac look at each other, and then at me. It’s a question: do we help or not? The answer is, we help if he’s going to get hurt. Otherwise, he has to fight this alone. It’s just the way things are.
“Let me up!” the man underneath me roars.
I jab him in the face, shutting him up.
Wexler finally gets the upper hand by sweeping the man’s legs. They fall into a bloody mess, with Wexler coming out with a nasty cut under his eye. But alive. And the winner. Those are the most important things.
I stand up and brush the dirt off my shirt. The man underneath me groans in pain. I flip him over with the toe of my boot.
“It seems to me you fellas made a mistake comin’ all the way down here.” I wipe blood from my hand on my shirt. “A real big fuckin’ mistake—”
The bullet shatters the glass of Mac’s car. All of us scramble to our feet, ducking behind cover. I take my piece from my holster, but Mac clamps his hand down on mine, stopping me from shooting.
I turn to bark at him, furious. But then I see why. The Savages have parked their bikes right in the middle of the road where a few onlookers are gathered. If we shoot at them, we could easily hit the civilians.
It doesn’t matter anymore as the cowardly fucks roar away on their bikes. The one who fired the shot emerges from an alleyway like a rat from a hole.
“Fucking bastards!” I roar, shoving my gun back into the holster. The sounds of the Savage engines fades into the distance. I pace up and down, fists clenched, blood rushing like crazy. All I can think about for ten full minutes is killing them. Somebody, anybody. “We’re never making a deal with these bastards again,” I snarl. “Fuckin’ animal fucks! What sort of man fires a shot when—”
“Cowards,” Mac says.
“Cowards,” Cole agrees.
“Fuck!” I snap. I end up kicking the shit out of a trash can. I finally get control of myself when I realize that even Wexler is looking at me like I’ve gone mad.
“I’ll report to the boss,” Mac says when the two of us are in his car. “Take some time. Cool off. Get a drink; get a woman. But I don’t reckon you ought to be going anywhere on your own—”
“Do I look like I need a fucking pacifier?” I ask him, shrugging on my jacket. “I can handle myself.” But internally, I know he’s right. I’m running hot as hell right now. I need to step away and chill out before I let my anger get the best of me.
“I’m going for a walk,” I mutter.
“A walk?” Mac laughs. “A walk where?”
“Somewhere I don’t have to think about the fucking Bloody Savages.”
***
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Books by Naomi West
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No one lays a hand on civilian women and lives to tell about it.
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Rule number one: Don’t screw the client.
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It helps that Geneva is a stone-cold stunner.
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That means nothing’s off limits.
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My life was perfect. And then Maddox came to ruin it.
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He says he’s just doing his job.
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Either way, it’s going to be VERY HARD TIME.
All because I saw something I was never meant to see:
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I have to do exactly what he tells me, or I’ll end up dead in a back alley, too.
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Strip me bare and swallow me whole.
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