Page 39 of Kings Have No Mercy

“Whatever the fuck you’ve got going on with Sydney. It’s got to stop. You’re slugging Flanagan over her. You two go off alone and it sounds like World War III happening. The club’s talking. Some guys are wondering if you’ve got what it takes.”

My humor vanishes for a cold sneer. “Who said that? ’Cuz I punched pussy-ass Johnny in the face? You fucking with me, Velm?!”

“Pussy-ass Johnny’s got his pussy-ass, old-school father, Johnny Senior, taking up for him. He called up Tom and told him what happened. A prez flipping his shit over nothing like that—an acting one—it ain’t a good look,” she explains. “Everybody was already having doubts ’cuz of your age. You don’t got the seniority.”

“If I didn’t step up, who would’ve? Silver’s MIA. If it wasn’t for me, we’d be winding up like the Road Reapers when they lost their club prez. Their club’s basically been DOA the second Rollins was locked up. Nobody stepped up like I’m stepping up. I’m saving this club.”

A brief scowl passes over Velma’s face before she motions with her hands for me to settle down. “Will you stop ranting and let me finish? I smoothed things over for you, Mace. Don’t go blacking out. I sweet-talked Tom. But he wants you to call him. He wants to talk more about this war with the Hellrazors.”

I roll my eyes and swear under my breath. Tom hasn’t liked that tensions have only risen since he’s been gone—the beef we have has gotten worse with our rivals making assassination attempts, burning down Brinkley’s crops, and intimidating our town residents and prospects.

I’ll have to squash it once and for all… and soon.

As Velma gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder and then walks off to yell at more mechanics, I realize she’s right.

I’ve been getting caught up in the trouble I see with Sydney when I should really be focused on the trouble already at my door.

If we’re going to deal a real blow to the Hellrazors, then we’ve got to damage them in a way that’ll hurt them beyond repair, like sabotaging their drug and weapon supply.

But before we return to that more underhanded strategy, it’s time for a more heads-on approach. One last direct warning.

“Fuck,” I swear. “Hey, Cash! Put down that wrench. We’ve got to settle the score.”

* * *

We make no secret of where we’re headed and what we’re doing. Harry “Dirty” Lautner agreed to meet up with us at a neutral location—on the shoulder of the country road that connects Pulsboro and Wheaton.

We roll out, ten deep. Me at the front as road captain and acting prez, and Cash rounding us off in the back.

Wherever we go, we’re heard. The thunder from our engines drowns out all other sounds as we ride through. We’ve got our hardware on us, prepared to take this afternoon wherever it needs to go. If Dirty wants to escalate things, we can do that.

I’ve allowed the Hellrazors to get away with too much. If Tom wants me to handle it, I’ll show him by proving myself.

Mom would cry if she learned what our relationship has become after her death. But it wasn’t me who changed. She’d have to take that up with Tom…

We get there before the Hellrazors do.

“You think they’re fucking with us?” Big Eddie asks. He’s rarely with us for missions like these, but he volunteered after he found out his nephew, Moses, was coming too.

Cash peers off into the distance as cars and bikes alike zip by. “Who knows?”

“If we’re walking into a trap, then I want no part of it,” Johnny says.

“Dig your fucking panties out the crack of your ass, Flanny.” Ozzie’s irritated face is rare but almost funny—if anybody can ruin a jokester like Ozzie’s mood, it’s Johnny fucking Flanagan and his whining.

Ozzie steps up to me from my left side. “We could go to them. Ride up to their club. Surprise, bitches!”

I’d laugh if I didn’t hear the distant rumble coming our way. I stare off at the road which stretches so far, it snakes out of view, and I listen for more of the sound. The vibration under our feet.

“Be ready. We’ll do what we’ve got to do.”

The Hellrazors ride up as a pack of crusty, middle-aged dudes past their prime, the sun reflecting in their shades and their mouths tight. I don’t underestimate them, though… they’ve been around the block and then some.

Dirty Harry walks ahead of the others. I do the same, stepping forward.

He holds out his arms at his sides. “Well? You make us come all the way out here to bumfuck wherever like we ain’t got shit else to do. Speak your peace, Cutty.”

“Mace,” I correct. “Cutty’s Tom, and you know he’s not here.”

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