Page 40 of Kings Have No Mercy
A nasty smirk starts up on Dirty’s lips and reveals yellow, unbrushed teeth. “Yeah, we know. How do you like being acting prez, son?”
“Cut the shit. This ain’t no friendly meeting, and we ain’t no friends. You keep your ass off our territory and stay the fuck away from our people and there won’t be any problems,” I say. I gesture to the guys behind me, armed and ready. “If you don’t, we’ll be making you. It’s really that simple.”
Dirty folds his flabby arms over his chest. “You think we’re the ones who started this?”
“You shot up Bush’s trailer. You threaten our residents. Beat the prospects and regulars at our club. Then you burn down the crops at the Brinkley Farm.”
“We ain’t shoot up nobody’s trailer that didn’t deserve it!” he snarls. “You take out one of ours, we start fucking with you.”
“So we killed your guy Curly. You shot up the trailer unprovoked.”
“You killed one of ours before Curly! That’s why we shot up Bush’s trailer.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind.”
“Bullshit!” One of the guys standing behind Dirty rushes forward with chubby, reddened cheeks. “You asshats started this shit. You killed Pop!”
“I don’t know who the fuck that is, but it wasn’t us.”
“We heard about the bandana you left behind, jackass! Now that we’re giving y’all a taste of your own medicine you wanna host meetings and be civilized?! The time for that is over!”
Dirty shushes him. “Bones, step back. This ain’t how I told you to—BONES!”
The crazy fuck takes things to the next level. As Dirty tries to tell him to get back in line, he’s had enough talking. He pulls out a SIG-Sauer pistol and opens fire. It’s an impulsive and fast move, so fucking out of the blue none of us see it coming.
I’m closest. I grapple for my Glock as the rest of the guys do the same.
The bullet might as well be invisible the way it grazes past me. I’m knocked back half a step even as I grab my piece. It’s nicked me in the arm, a hot slice that breaks skin and makes me grunt. I don’t let it keep me from retaliation.
My arm’s on fire but so is my piece—I shoot at the crazy fuck and nail him in the thigh, near his groin. The rest of the Hellrazors have pulled out their weapons. They’re just as prepared as we are to massacre each other in this shootout.
“LAY ’EM DOWN!” Dirty bellows. “LAY ’EM DOWN!”
We cease fire, though our guns remain trained on each one of them. The crazy fuck’s dropped to the dusty ground in a fit of groans and tears. Turns out, a bullet to the thigh doesn’t feel so great.
“We didn’t come here for no shootout!” Dirty yells, spit flying. “That was all Bones.”
“I don’t give a fuck. This shit ends today. Whatever the fuck you’re doing. Stay off our territory. Stay away from our people. You try this shit again, and we end you,” I growl, striding toward him. I get up close, inches away from his ugly face, and I peer into his eyes to make sure he gets it—he knows I’m fucking serious. Pointing at the sobbing blob on the floor, I say, “Handle him. Next time I see him, he’s dead on sight for what he just pulled.”
Dirty glares back at me but says nothing. None of them do.
They don’t say or do shit as we mount our bikes, rev our engines, and ride off.
But one thing’s clear. This feud between our club and theirs isn’t over.
* * *
I’m nursing a bad headache and bandage from the bullet that grazed my arm as I sit at the bar counter. It’s a fucking Wednesday, yet the club’s in full swing. Guys drinking their asses off and club girls flashing their tits. Ozzie gets up on a table and starts popping and locking like a dumbass.
I shake my head and take another sip from my whiskey.
I’m in no mood. Since I took on acting prez, it’s become my normal. Carefree nights fucking around are nothing but a memory.
The barmaids appear in my line of sight as they trade shifts. The one getting off—her name’s Melody—briefs Sydney about what’s up.
Sydney.
I make a scowl to nobody but myself.