Page 56 of Hounds Ascend
“Somehow, I don’t believe that,” Scott mutters, clearly unamused.
Keith looks between us then stares me in my eyes. “Thatlittlehouse you just bought is cute. That’s chump change.”
My blood boils as soon as the words are out of his mouth. There’s no way in fucking hell he should know about that. Only a select few of the Hounds knew about it and a few of the Sinners and Saints, but they couldn’t pick any of the Moccasins out of a lineup if they weren’t wearing their cut.
“Guess that all depends on what kind of lifestyle you want,” I counter, reigning in the anger that is so close to breaking through the surface. I refuse to let this motherfucker get the best of me. I have alotof information to drag out of him and he wouldn’t be any good for that if he were missing his teeth and bleeding all over the damn place.
Like the lion tamer in a circus, I beckon my inner beast into its cage, swallowing back the rage that burns my throat like awhiskey shot. I want nothing more than to turn Keith’s face into puree, but I won’t. Not right now.
“Get a prospect here with a cage. We’re taking him to the clubhouse. He’s gonna have a one on one with Snapper and his…” I tap my fingers against one another, “tactics.”
Scott puts his phone to his ear at my command. He makes demands while I make sure Keith’s hands are secured and then unarm him. He was carrying a piece in the back of his jeans and two knives, one on the side of each boot. He’s quiet while I tie his hands with rope I’d found in a drawer behind the bar.
“They’ll be here in ten..” Scott is out the door, leaving us alone in the bar.
“Whatever you’re going to do to me, it won’t work. You know that just as well as I do.”
“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Chapter Twelve
Cass
The sound of motorcycles approaching puts me on edge because Scott hung up his phone less than thirty seconds ago. “Get ready,Hounds,” Keith sneers.
Just the sound of his voice makes me want to snap his fucking neck.
“Shut the fuck up,” I grit, punching him right across his cheek. He groans from the impact and slumps over onto the floor.
I pop my head out the door and see the headlights. The gunshots begin before the motorcycles are even stopped. Fuck. I don’t have eyes on anyone. I duck back inside, drawing my pistol. I trace over the entrances and what my best option is. Keith’s loud ass mouth isn’t going to allow me to get away with being hidden. I’m surprised he isn’t yelling yet. Fucking pussy.
I shove one of the dirty bar rags in his mouth against his will but it keeps him quiet.
I didn’t get a count on how many more of these motherfuckers just showed up but there were at least a few rows deep of motorcycles rolling in. The sound of engines being turned off and taunting beginning fuels my rage. I’m already fuckingpissed.
“Cass! You in there, little buddy?” a voice calls from outside and laughter echoes from the rest of the group. I don’t recognize the voice, but somehow, he’s calling me by name.
I need to keep my wits about me, but whoever the fuck that is, is getting his teeth knocked down his throat. I chance peeking my head through the bars on one of the windows. It’s hard to see through the mildew on the glass, but I think there are six of them. I have no idea where the rest of my guys are, or Ghost. I’ve got to be smart about this.
I drop my clip and replace it one from the small of my back, tucked safely into my belt. I feel a smidge better now that I’ve reloaded. Based on my calculations, I’ve got about another seven minutes until I’ve got backup, and a lot can happen in seven minutes.
The sound of their footsteps is drawing closer and closer and I’m running out of options. I duck off behind the bar, trying to locate any avenue I could take for a better vantage point. I stay hidden as best I can when I hear the sound of their voices inside of the building.
They’re searching for me, but they’re going to locate Keith sooner than later. I peek around the corner and watch as three Moccasins walk around the bar. I draw my pistol and fire a round, landing it directly between one of their eyes. He falls limp as the other two scramble to hide, unaware of where the shot came from.
“You motherfucker!” the taunting one yells from across thebar somewhere. I smirk at his outburst thatI’mthe motherfucker when they’re the ones who started this entire fucking mess to begin with.
I hear a shot ring out and I duck behind the wall, thinking I’ve been spotted. But Scott’s gruff voice makes me relax instantly.
“I heard you think my brother’s a motherfucker. Well, what the hell are you then?” he grits, one arm wrapped around the taunting man’s neck.
He growls in frustration, but doesn’t say a word.
He’s wearing round, circle glasses and is covered in tattoos on every inch of visible skin. Color of greens and blues and blacks distort his features but there’s no denying the far-away look in his eyes. I walk around the bar and approach Scott and the tattooed Moccasin.
“Looking for me?” I inquire, stopping a few feet from them.
“Sounded like it to me,” Scott muses.
