Page 36 of Ripper's Redemption

We stand here and bullshit for a while, enjoying some time away from the clubhouse when Stiletto clears her throat.

“Hey, check that out,” Stiletto says, nodding toward the corner of the road.

There’s a kid, maybe eighteen or nineteen, looking sketchy as hell.

He’s got a duffel bag, and he’s handing off something to a scrawny guy in a hoodie.

“He’s not one of ours,” I say, eyes narrowing. “Bama, you recognize him?”

“Never seen him before,” Bama replies, his voice low and cautious.

“Great,” I mutter, already moving toward the kid.

“Oi!” I call out, loud enough to get his attention but not so loud it draws unnecessary eyes.

The kid’s head snaps over in my direction, eyes wide with fear.

He bolts, legs pumping like a jackrabbit on adrenaline.

“Motherfucker,” I hiss, breaking into a sprint.

My boots pound against the pavement, the rhythm syncing with my heartbeat.

The world narrows down to just me and the kid.

I can hear Stiletto and Bama behind me, but this chase is mine.

I close the distance quickly—he’s fast, but I’m damn sure he’s not as fast as I am.

I reach out, fingers grazing the fabric of his jacket, and then I lunge.

We go down hard, rolling on the rough asphalt.

He throws a wild punch, catching me on the jaw.

Pain flares, but it’s familiar, almost comforting. If I wasn’t such a rebellious kid growing up I might be not appreciate the physical violence as much.

“Who the hell are you?” I growl, pinning him down.

He thrashes, trying to break free, but I’ve got him.

Years of fighting and surviving, have taught me how to keep a tight hold on someone who doesn’t want to be held.

“Get the fuck off me!” he yells, panic turning his voice shrill.

“Not gonna happen,” I say, driving my fist into his side.

He gasps, the wind knocked out of him.

I keep going, punching, hitting, fucking elbowing. This dude was making a deal in our territory and the club will get answers.

“Stop! Please!” he begs, desperation clear in his voice.

There’s something in his eyes—fear, yes, but also something else.

“Who are you working for?” I demand, shaking him slightly.

His eyes dart around, looking for an escape, but there isn’t one. He can sure as hell try, but he won’t succeed.

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