Page 11 of Fire for Effect

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I didn’t always love being right. It was both a blessing and a curse. “Your Dad sucks, kid. Sorry for that.”

I squatted down in front of Lowell who was too busy gritting his teeth and bitching to really stop me from saying what I needed to say.

“Bruh,” I said, putting my hand down on his thigh, and squeezing the leg as it squirted out more blood from his jeans. “You suck.”

A few minutes later, ol’ boy Lowell was cuffed, his legs bound by zip ties. I had a tourniquet around his wounded leg to keep him from bleeding all over the bed of the truck. No way was I letting him in the cab. He smelled bad.

I was about to round the vehicle to get to the driver’s side when I heard the distant roar of engines. Several of them, at least 500 horsepower, if not more. A dozen bikes careened down the long, desolate country road, their black leather cuts a stark contrast to the bright green farmland around them. Silver and black bikes in a formation stopped at a distance. Every single one of them stared right at me.

Fuck.

I placed my hand at the small of my back, making eye contact with the guy front and center. He was an old dude, with a stubbled salt and pepper beard.

“Your buddies, huh?” I asked the trussed-up Lowell.

He laughed, despite the gag in his mouth.

I stood my ground, placing my hand on the small of my back where the pistol was.

I could take them.

No, I couldn’t.

Yes, I could!

Fuck it. We all had to die sometime.

I felt the pistol grip with my finger, ready to pull it up if they so much as revved their engines in my direction. If I took out one or two with some good shots, I could swerve them to take out the rest. If I could just get them down to a reasonable number, I could get them in a hand-to-hand brawl… or at the very least, I could fucking run.

The big boss glanced back at me, then nodded. He yelled something I couldn’t make out before he turned his bike around, and his friends followed suit, moving back the way they came.

I didn’t know what happened, but I didn't look a gift horse in the mouth. Horses bite.

“Well’p,” I said, as I climbed into the driver’s seat of the Denali. “That’s next year’s rent, Keanu.”

I patted the dash, as if his revving was a congratulations. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do when I had to give Keanu back to his real owner. I just hoped that Kai would be good to him.

Chapter 4

That was a Secret

Taz

Mourningkill, New York

Top was unblinking as he stared at me, watching my every move. He was looking for a twitch of a brow, a flare of a nostril, the slight hint of a smirk.

“Three eights.” I narrowed my eyes as I laid down my cards.

Mack McClanahan earned his nickname from our Special Forces days when he’d led our group as the Top Sergeant. The Operation Detachment group had been dubbed “Lucky 13”. Now out of the Army, Top and his wife, Charlotte, had retired to a life of repairing an ancient Victorian Farmhouse in the middle of a shit ton of land.

Mack wore flannels, had grown a beard, and was getting a bit soft around the middle. His arms still remained huge from the daily task of gathering firewood-something he’d do until winter when the wood would finally be used.

“Bullshit.” Top’s gruff voice carried over the table as he gave a knowing smirk.

I reached down to the three cards I had placed and flipped them over.

Three eights, just like I said.

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