Page 94 of Kings Have No Mercy

But the feds cracking down on the motorcycle clubs, like what happened with the Road Reapers, scared Tom shitless. Our club’s been more or less clean ever since.

The Hellrazors have continued to take their chances.

We camp out on the side of the road, hidden by thick shrubbery and the night’s thicker shadows. We’re armed and ready to act the moment Olivares and his distributors pass through.

Strewn across the middle of the road is a set of spikes designed to fuck up their tires the moment they drive by.

Cash glances at the time, then over at me. I feel his gaze even in the dark. The tension between us from our earlier argument has gone nowhere, though we’re on the same page for this mission. “They’re late.”

“Give it some time,” I answer. I refer to Bush. “What’s the tracker show?”

“They’re less than five out. Should be soon.”

Ozzie lets out a snort of a laugh. “Man, the Hellrazors are gonna be scared shitless. They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

“It’s what they get for fucking with us.” I direct my attention to the road. Bush’s tracker was correct—as we lurk in the shadows, a light-duty truck appears far up ahead on the road.

Olivares and his team transporting the supply for the Hellrazors.

I recognize the truck as the same one from their campsite we recently spied on.

It bumbles down the road, curving along the bend, its headlights blinding. We edge forward, ready to strike.

The truck drives straight through our trap without realizing it. The sharp spikes slice into their rubber tires and brings them to a lurching halt only yards away.

We converge at once.

They don’t know what hit them as we appear on all sides. Ski masks covering our faces, we point guns in theirs and order them out of the truck.

Olivares sits in the front passenger seat. He sticks his shaky hands in the air and says, “Whoa… I want no trouble, brother. We’ve got no beef with each other. Whoever you are, we’re good. I’m just making a delivery.”

“Exactly,” I growl. I jam the tip of my AKM assault rifle into his neck. “Now get the fuck out the truck and lay face down on the ground.”

Olivares and the two men he has with him comply. They rush from the truck and then get down onto the asphalt.

I motion to Ozzie and Moses to check them for weapons.

“Nothing on them,” Moses says, standing up straight.

“I told you, we’re just making a delivery,” Olivares reiterates with a tremor in his voice.

“Shut up,” I snap. I step around to the back of the light-duty truck, where Cash and Bush have swung open the doors.

Inside is a whole shipment of cocaine and other drugs in pill form as well as a stockpile of weapons and ammo.

I turn back to Olivares. “This was for the Hellrazors, correct?”

“I don’t reveal my customers—ARGH!”

Ozzie’s whacked him over the head with the butt of his rifle. “Answer him.”

“Alright, alright,” the distributor grits out. “Yeah, it’s for them. I’m just the middleman. I want no trouble.”

“The problem with being the middleman is that you get yourself in the middle of shit. Are you gonna interfere with what we have planned, or are you gonna cooperate with us so we don’t have to fuck you all the way up?”

“But my shipment. It’s worth several hundred thou—ARGH!”

Ozzie’s jammed his rifle into him a second time.