Page 55 of Loco

Cole acknowledged the prospect as we walked to the door. “Hey, man.”

Chin lifts were exchanged.

“BF said to go on in.” The kid was around the age that I’d been when I’d prospected for the Desert Rebels.

He stood back while we plowed through the door and into the building. There was no one up front, but I could hear the distant drone of voices coming from the back.

“Maybe we can get the VWs to do the dirty work for us,” Snake said, bringing up the rear.

“The fuck we will,” I snapped, giving him a glare. “Russ is mine.” I was looking forward to ending his pitiful life.

Just before we entered the back room I heard BF’s familiar growl say, “You fucking assholes aren’t leaving here alive.”

BF was short for Bigfoot. The six-foot seven-inch man was fucking huge and scary and wore a size sixteen boot. Hence his nickname. Come to think of it, he also resembled a sasquatch. The man was a hairy motherfucker.

“Hope you’re just talking about Russ and his gang, Brother, ‘cause we have nothing against Vegas Watchdogs,” Cole joked, making his way over to the huge Enforcer of the other club.

“Hey, Brother.” Cole was a big man, but BF swallowed him up in a hearty man hug. “The little prick is popular these days.” He even had the deep, daunting voice of a giant.

“What’s your beef with him?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Was caught dealing bad drugs in our backyard.” Anyone with a brain in their head knew that the VWs didn’t deal in drugs and didn’t tolerate them in their territory. “Put two civilians in the hospital, one didn’t make it.”

I tightened my jaw and looked to where they had Russ gagged and hanging from the ceiling over a piece of plastic. His two usual sidekicks were trussed up like pigs and sitting on the floor against the wall. Russ knew what was coming, the fear unmistakable in his watery eyes. By the looks of him, the VWs had already beat the shit out of him.

“Where’s the rest of his crew?” Cole wanted to know, disgust turning his jaw hard.

Someone laughed. “The rest ran as soon as they saw us coming. Left their leader to fend for himself.”

“Why’d you want him?”

BF directed his question toward Cole, but I was the one who responded. “Owes the club money.” I decided to keep it simple. He didn’t need to know all of our business.

“So who gets the honors?”

Cole’s question caused my back teeth to clench. I wanted the kill shot, I deserved it, for Millie, but the VWs had just as much right to end Russ as we did. No one wanted the weasel and his gang walking the streets.

BF snorted. “Figured we could share. We’ve already beat the shit out of them.” A few of his brothers guffawed.

“We could cut him in half,” Happy suggested, gaining a muted groan from Russ. The reaction of some of the VWs suggested that they were on board with that idea, even though it was a stupid suggestion and had been said in jest.

I spoke up. “There’s a tattoo on his back that needs removing.”

Russ groaned again behind his gag. He knew what removing a tattoo would involve, and since there wasn’t a torch in sight there was only one other way to do it. Too bad LD wasn’t here--knives were his specialty.

“Have at it, Brother.” BF stepped aside and joined his men.

Cole looked at me. As Enforcer it was really his job to inflict pain and retribution on an enemy, but he knew that it was personal for me, that I wanted to deliver pain to the asshole who’d been harassing and had taken a shot at my woman. Without a word, Cole took out his knife and held it out in my direction. He knew that I didn’t carry a knife. I preferred a gun.

Grinning, I stepped forward and grabbed the knife, and then directed my gaze on Russ. His eyes were wild as he shook his head and moaned loudly. As if any of that would make a fucking difference.

I walked over to where he was hanging. “You’re a stupid fuck, you know that?” Tears ran down his thin face. “All you had to do was pay us back. We gave you time, but you chose to waste it by doing stupid shit, like messing with my woman, and now you’re going to fucking pay.” I snorted, recalling that day that I’d found him at the old lady’s place. “Hell, we might even be doing your grandma a favor.”

The noise that came out of him sounded like a wounded animal begging to be put out of its misery, or in Russ’s case, begging for clemency. But I had none, and the time had come for him to pay the piper. Demon may have been taking our club down the straight and narrow, but we still had to deal with shit according to its severity. Still had a reputation to keep up, and talk on the street held value. The Desert Rebels would never be known as a pussy club.

I went behind Russ and used the knife to cut the back of his shirt open. He began to squirm and moan wildly, anticipating the first cut. His two cohorts were also making noises of protest behind their gags. None of it mattered to me.

“Too bad you gotta ruin that pretty tattoo,” one of BF’s brothers who I didn’t recognize said jokingly.

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