Page 37 of Beast
“Assholes,” Slash said when we stepped from the shadows.
The three men looked surprised. The one closest to the door tried to go inside, but Big Kentucky caught him before he had a hand on the door. BK hit the man so hard four teeth pinged off the door. Slash hit the second man and sent him spiraling into a dumpster. I grabbed the third guy, a man I recognized and had gone to high school with. After high school, he chose the wrong team.
“Come on, Beast. You and I go way back.” He drew his gun, missing on the first shot. The others would be outside in seconds. “Sorry, Bart,” I said and hit him. He never got up. “Circle around and go through the front.”
We made it around the front and entered the bar. The bartender, a man of seventy, went for his rifle.
“Don’t do it, motherfucker.” Slash pointed his gun at the old man. “Ease your way back across the bar and have a seat. Say anything, and I spray your head against the glass.”
“I would leave if I were you folks,” I said to the non-bikers, and they did as told. “Get to the back entrance. Shoot any man holding a gun. I’ll make sure Rip is unarmed. Leave him for me. Cinder, make sure this old douchebag stays behind the bar with his hands away from the gun he’s hiding.
I went to the back with Slash, Big Kentucky, and Watcher.
“I don’t give a fuck what you have to do, find the assholes who did it,” Rip told a club officer. “When they’re dead, we’ll go after their old ladies. Wear that pussy out.” He shut his mouth when I put my gun to his temple.
“Keep walking,” I said. I didn’t worry about the others. I knew my Brothers had my back. Rip wasn’t as fortunate. “Pick a stool and sit your ass down.”
Eight Hell’s Messengers sat on the stools at the bar. They were the ugliest bunch of assholes I’d ever seen—no wonder they had to sex traffic. That was all about to come to an end.
I removed my kutte and laid it and my gun on a booth table at the far end of the bar. Things were about to get broken. “Leave it on or take it off,” I said to Rip, referring to his kutte. “I didn’t wanna get your blood on mine. You assholes, put your guns on the bar.” I turned to my guys. “Shoot anyone who acts stupid—a bullet in the head.”
One Messenger did act stupid, and Slash put a bullet right between his eyes. He hit the floor with a loud thud. They were down to seven men.
“Anybody else?” Slash asked. He wanted them all to move.
“Seven on four,” Rip said. “Sure you want those odds?” His eyes told me he knew the odds were against him.
“Get off the goddamn stool, Rip,” I said. He didn’t. I motioned at his club members. “Are you all pussies like your president?” I paced in front of the men like a drill sergeant waiting to rip new recruits.
The biggest of the bikers slid from his stool. Good for him and his stupidity. He had brass knuckles around his right hand. I loved it when opponents went old school. “I ain’t no pussy and don’t give a flying fuck what they call you.”
“Here’s your chance to prove that shit.” I moved my neck from side to side and steadied my feet. “Bring it, asshole.” I took a few steps to the left, standing close to one of the ceiling supports. The brass knuckles would hurt like a motherfucker. But if he hit something solid, they would break his fingers. “Come on, bitch. Your momma’s waiting for you.”
He charged forward and swung with his right hand, missing, though I felt the air around my head move. He hit the column square and cried out in pain. I glanced at his hand, and there was no fucking way the brass knuckles were coming off. He surprised me with his left hand, the punch glancing off my shoulder. I didn’t want to kill the man, so I hit him in the jaw instead of on the bridge of his nose. He dropped next to the dead guy, although he still breathed.
“Don’t get up.” I pointed at Rip. “I just want you, Rip. I’m not interested in dropping all your men.” I waved him forward, and Rip smiled when the sirens started in the distance. I had to admit he was a resourceful asshole.
“We need to go, Beast,” Big Kentucky said. “Come on. There’ll be another time.”
“See you soon, Marcus,” Rip said.
“Once a pussy, always a pussy, Rip.”
We walked out of the bar, not having completed our mission. I’d underestimated Rip’s propensity to stay alive, though I enjoyed seeing the fear in his eyes. We passed two police cars on the road as we rode away. Rip would have his dead members taken behind the bar, away from the police. He was a poor leader of men, much less an MC. It wasn’t my intent to eliminate Hell’s Messenger. Rip was another story.
Diesel and the Prospects were already back at the club when we arrived. He opened the van’s back doors and showed us the guns. They’d all been recovered. Diesel would no doubt be voted in.
“Bunch of pussies didn’t give us a fight,” Diesel said. “They even loaded the shit for us. Told us all about their lakehouse. Said they were running weed through one of their businesses at the lake. I told them we’d be in touch about that.”
“They gonna do it again?” Slash asked. “Once stupid, always stupid.”
“We have an understanding now.” Diesel closed the doors. “In fact, they owe us a favor. We’ll be helping with their weed business.”
“Rip dead?” TexMex asked. “Put that little bitch down?”
I shook my head. “Four of his men are. Locals showed up before I could put him down. He’s back on the street, though a few men down.”
“He’ll look for a way to strike back,” Cinder said. “I want Prospects around the property’s perimeter. I don’t think he will wait days to do it either.”
