Page 83 of True Bastard
Indigo chuckled. “You’re still pissed, I see.”
“Bastard can kiss my ass,” Ravage grunted as another rider rode up and parked his bike. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Ravage grinned, shaking the hand of Eros. “Finally. The brothers of FIRE together at last.”
Eros grunted but welcomed the brotherly hug from Ravage. “Look, we need to make this fast. King and Zeus are chomping at the bit. They want Banshee back alive.”
“That’s who’s in there?” Indigo asked, looking at the Tumbleweed.
“Yeah, and considering who Banshee is, they aren’t fucking around. Zeus and King are ready to burn this place to the ground to get him back. Nav said we have ten minutes.”
“I just need five,” I said, reaching for my gun.
Ravage stretched his head from left to right and he rolled his shoulders, as his hand gripped his machete. Indigo flicked his cigarette and blew out the smoke as Eros stormed toward the entrance.
The moment we kicked the door open, the small crowd inside fell silent. All eyes turned to us, a mixture of fear and curiosity playing on their faces. A Death Dog sat nervously at the bar as he scanned the crowd, only to stiffen, his eyes widening in disbelief when he saw us. The fucker bolted through the crowd, no doubt to warn his brothers.
Eros walked over to the bartender, slapped a wad on the bar, and snarled, “Clear the place. Now.”
The man grabbed the cash and shouted, “Bar’s closed! Everyone out!”
Standing our ground, patrons rushed from the building, not needing to be told twice.
As the Tumbleweed cleared, I saw her. Tied to a chair in the corner, her eyes, those turquoise pools that held both fire and fear, were locked on mine. She looked more terrified than I had ever seen her, but there was also a spark, a flicker of defiance that refused to be extinguished.
“Who the fuck is in charge?” Eros shouted, his voice booming loudly.
“I am.” A tall, slim, soon-to-be-dead fuck smiled, pointing a gun at my woman’s head. “Where’s the cunt?”
“She isn’t coming,” Eros snarled.
The Death Dog’s smile was a grotesque rictus, his gun pressing harder against Kyllian’s temple. At her side, Banshee sat, beaten near to death, holding his side.
Ravage, his machete glinting in the dim light, moved with a predatory grace, flanking a few of the Death Dogs. Indigo, ever the silent observer, had his own piece drawn, a dark, silent promise aimed at one particular Death Dog’s head. Eros, ever the hothead, was already moving, a blur of motion towards the other Death Dogs milling around watching the show. This wasn’t just about freeing Kyllian and Banshee anymore. It was about sending a message. A brutal, bloody message.
“How ya doing, baby?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft as I never took my eyes off the fucker with the gun.
“I’m pissed,” she snarled, her defiance and anger radiating off her in waves. “What the fuck do you think?”
“Yeah, I see that.” I smirked.
The Death Dog’s smug confidence wavered, his grip on Kyllian tightening as his eyes darted toward his brothers. He knew he was outmatched. They may have had the numbers, buthe knew he had underestimated the Brotherhood of Bastards, and more importantly, he had underestimated FIRE. And for that, he would pay.
“You’re mine, Pleb,” Indigo snarled as he smiled at KROD, whose eyes widened in fear. “Did you think we didn’t know? That I didn’t know?”
He was caught, a rat in a cage, with no chance of escape, as Indigo moved closer to him. Indigo’s words hung in the air, a death knell for KROD’s arrogance. The prospect’s face, already pale, drained of what little color it held. He’d been so confident, so sure of his position, and now, the rug had been pulled out from under him. Indigo’s smirk widened, a chilling sight that promised retribution. He advanced slowly, his gun still trained on the dead fucker, but his eyes, usually so guarded, held a flicker of something almost gleeful. He knew he had him. He knew KROD was trapped, his earlier bravado dissolving into pure, unadulterated terror.
The prospect swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tried to regain some semblance of composure. “I... I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his voice cracking. But the fear in his eyes betrayed him. He knew Indigo knew. He knew his little game was up.
As Indigo closed the distance, the glint of his gun seemed to amplify in the dim light, a cold, hard promise of pain. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Indigo’s voice was a low growl, barely a whisper, yet it cut through the tension like a knife. “Think you could hide among us? Think you could play us for fools?”
The prospect swallowed again, his gaze darting wildly, searching for an escape that wasn’t there. He was caught, a rat in a trap, and the Brotherhood of Bastards were the hungry felines closing in. And as Indigo finally brought his gun barrel to KROD’s temple, the finality of the moment settled like a suffocating blanket.
There would be no escape, no mercy. Just the cold, hard reckoning that awaited anyone who dared to betray the Brotherhood. The roar of the other Death Dogs, enraged and desperate, echoed in the background, but in that moment, their cries were lost to the silent, deadly dance between Indigo and his captive as Indigo pulled the fucking trigger.
I was a blur. My hand was already on the Death Dog’s gun hand, knocking it away as Indigo’s shot rang out, a deafening roar that shattered the tense silence. The back of the Death Dog’s head exploded, and he crumpled to the floor, a lifeless husk. Eros had already dealt with his prey, leaving them sprawled on the ground, groaning in pain. My eyes found Kyllian’s, and though terror still flickered there, it was now laced with a fierce, unyielding defiance. She had always been a fighter, and now, seeing that fire reignited, I knew I had made the right choice.
“You,” I growled, my voice low and dangerous, turning my attention to the remaining Death Dog, his smug confidence replaced by a dawning, sickening realization. “You thought you could touch what’s mine? You thought you could threaten my woman and walk away?” My fist connected with his jaw, a brutal, bone-jarring impact that sent him reeling. He stumbled backward, his eyes wide with a dawning horror as he clutched his jaw, a crimson bloom spreading across his face. He had underestimated the Brotherhood, and he had definitely underestimated me.
And for that, he would pay.
