Page 41 of Savage Devotion
Holding my gun beside his ear I fire one off into the beams above.
After he stops screaming and rolling in pain, I haul the fucker to his feet and pin him to the wall of his clubhouse. Blood spills from his ear and my inner demons grin.
“I want you to use your good ear and listen closely.”
Grudge nods his head. He’s shorter than me by about six inches and comes in at about my weight. He has ten years on me and the man still looks meaner than a snake-bitten bear on crack. But the rage running in my veins will only leave him pulverized on the ground if he wants to take this old school.
The Vultures keep their clubhouse as trashy as the men who make up the gang. Neon signs throw the motley crew to my sides into multi-colored figures. A man comes up on my right. Ipoint and pull. The thunk of dead weight reverberates across the planks of wood under my feet.
Someone else feels brave enough to go up against me. I aim and dance my finger over the trigger. “I said, tell them to back the fuck off, Grayson. Or I can clear out your club the easy way. Your choice.”
“You heard him, ya fuckers. You all wanna die? Huh?”
“Good man.” I press the muzzle of my other gun to his temple, my second weapon trained on the group of jackals looking for me to drop my guard. I am not stupid enough to believe they won’t try to rush me again.
“There are two ways we can end tonight. Your blood on my boots or you putting up the man who dared cross into my territory. You have ten seconds.”
“He’s a nobody, just someone visiting is all,” he squeals.
“Eight.”
“Fuck you, man. You’re in Vulture territory now. What’s to say I don’t put a bullet in you and bury your body in the backyard.”
“Because you’re not a complete dumb shit.” I press the barrel into his temple. “And you would have already taken me out if you had the balls to get it done. Five seconds.”
“Okay, man. Shit.”
He signals for one of his men. A second later the front door swings open and the man I threw out of Arabelle’s front window is shoved out wearing bandages on his arms.
I crook a finger his way. “You and I need to talk.”
He backpedals but the man at his back throws the one I am after right back out.
“The fuck, I am. Hell no, Prez. C’mon, man. You can’t let him kill me. I was just gettin’ even with the bitch. I’m not talkin’ to him.”
I don’t feel the burn of his scruff on the back of my hand as I make him eat my knuckles. Wide eyes and shaking hands are not enough to get me to back down. I grab him by the back of his cut and throw him down the front of the stairs.
“Yes. The. Fuck. You. Are.” I enunciate for the dumb shit.
“You ain’t part of my crew. Nomads don’t have patch protection. Now get the fuck out,” Grayson yells out as I push the asshole who dared cross into Harlon and who dared try to hurt my woman.
I push him to his knees. “Hands on the ground.”
In my world, a crime against a brother is punishable and the wounds are to be made where the scars are visible to everyone. It sends a message that no one can trust the bastard. He’s not part of my crew but the same principles apply. Anywhere this fucker rides, he’ll be shunned.
And the man at my feet understands what is about to happen.
“Hands on the ground,” I repeat.
“Nah, man. You can’t make me.” He makes the mistake of raising his hands like I’m some fucking cop.
Two bullets. Two wounds.
“You’re lucky it’s not your life I’m taking.”
He falls forward clutching at his hands. I inhale and revel in the smell of his blood in the air.
“Keep out of Harlon. The next bullet will be between your eyes, motherfucker.”
