Page 118 of Queen of Anarchy (Dirty Broken Savages 2)

That’s good for our purposes. Everything is empty and quiet except for trees and leaves on the ground, and the sound of a few birds in the trees. Aside from a few of our neighbors who might have seen us running down the street near our house, there won’t be any witnesses.

My gun is still in my hand, and I narrow my eyes, dragging in a deep breath before I aim and fire. The bullet tags the guy in the side, and he stumbles, tripping over a tree root and going down hard in the dirt. Knox and I both put on an extra burst of speed, pressing our advantage and catching up to him while he’s down.

His chest is heaving as he gasps for breath—from the running, maybe, but also because he’s bleeding out in the dirt and leaves, staining them red.

Knox skids to a halt in front of him, and then kicks him right in the side where I shot him, hard enough that his whole body jolts with it.

The man screams out in pain, trying to roll over to protect that side, but Knox kicks him again, forcing him onto his back.

“Oh, you don’t like being in pain, huh?” he sneers, and there’s something savage and dark in his face as he drops down to his knees beside the guy. “You probably should have thought about that before you fucked with us.”

He draws a knife from his pocket and flips it open, holding it up so the man can see it.

The guy is already pale and sweating, but he goes white as a sheet when he sees that knife. It’s impossible to tell if he knows who Knox is, knows his reputation as the Butcher of Seven Mile, or if he’s just showing his true colors as a coward now that he’s been caught.

Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s done something unforgivable, and this is Knox’s element. The dirty work that has to be done when people don’t know better than to stay the fuck out of our business and away from our people.

Knox shoves the knife into the gunshot wound, and the man howls, blood bubbling out of his mouth to run down his chin.

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap, letting my rage take over.

We need to find out who the fuck this guy is and where he came from and why he’s after River, but a part of me wants him dead more than I want the information. Just for thinking he could try to hurt her.

“Who are you?” I demand.

He tries to roll over again, batting at Knox weakly with one hand. Like that would ever be enough to get him to stop.

I move in to help, kicking the man’s other side and then stepping on his wrist hard to keep the hand down. Something gives under my foot, and I press down harder, making sure he feels the pain of his broken bone.

It’s what he fucking deserves.

Knox twists the knife in his side, and the shooter arches up as much as he can, writhing from the agony.

My chest heaves as I stare down at him, all the red from the blood spilling out of his body blurring with my vision. I can barely think past the anger in me, but I know we need to find out who sent him and whether he was deliberately trying to kill River or if he was after one of us.

“Who the fuck sent you?” Knox demands, finally letting up with the knife.

The man doesn’t answer. He bites his lip, taking little shuddering breaths through his nose.

“I asked you a question, asshole,” Knox growls, digging the knife in deeper. “Who were you after? Were you trying to fuck with the Kings? Or River?”

The guy just shakes his head, not saying a fucking word.

I stomp down harder on his arm, and this time, his pained cry is much weaker.

Shit. We’re losing him.

Knox grabs the front of his shirt and hauls him up, but he goes limp in that hold almost immediately. His head flops to one side, and his eyes go blank and sightless.

He’s dead.

“Fuck!” I explode, the sound echoing around us. “Goddammit.”

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