Read Online Bones: Broken Bones MC by Leah Wilde - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Leah Wilde
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gently beneath my gloved fingertips.
Gordo lowered the window and pointed the weapon at himself in the rearview mirror. He squinted one eye as he looked down the sights. “Bang,” he said softly, pretending to pull the trigger. He let the gun recoil slightly from the fake shot.
We cruised to a stop at a red light. I looked at him. “Shut the window,” I said.
“Damn,” Gordo whistled, “you really are a cold bastard, aren’t you, Dom? Don’t you think a fucker like this deserves to get put down?”
The truth was, I did think that. I hated the scum who mucked around this city. Leeches and small-time predators lingered everywhere I looked, finding the nearest warm, innocent body and sucking it dry. There were as many gangs and renegade clubs as there were city blocks. We couldn’t stamp them out quick enough. Every time we took down one upstart crew of filth, two more sprung up in their place. It was a fool’s errand to keep trying. So I’d learned long ago to let the small time players eke out a living wherever they managed to find a foothold.
My sights were on the bigger target. I wanted to take down the biggest leech of them all—the Capparellis.
They had been terrorizing their swath of the city for decades. Damn near every business owner in their territory paid a fortune just to keep the Capparelli enforcers from coming through and smashing their shops to pieces. In return, what did the Capparellis provide? Nothing. The fees were called “protection money,” but the only thing the Capparellis protected from was themselves.
The only thing stopping the Capparellis from expanding their vampire operation to encompass the rest of the city was us. The Broken Bones. That wasn’t to say we were the good guys. We weren’t, far from it. There were enough vices and scoundrels littered throughout our crew to make the local jailhouse look like a church choir. But in contrast to the Capparellis, we might as well have been fucking angels.
Gordo was the type who would have been at home on either side of the war. He loved violence, no matter who he was inflicting it on or for. It was just a quirk of his birth that he’d been born on the Bones side of the tracks.
Here he was, on his way to take a man’s life—a man who deserved it, to be sure, but still, a human being—and he looked like a kid at the candy shop, too overwhelmed with excitement to know where to begin. He squeezed the handle of the gun with glee. His fingers tapped on the thigh of his greasy, stained sweats. A softly hummed song came from his pursed lips.
We were different creatures, he and I. He loved blood for its own sake. It didn’t make a difference to him who it belonged to, why it had been spilled, what kinds of horrible things he left in his wake. All that mattered was the power he held when he stood over another man, or a woman, or even a child, with a weapon in his hand. It was a drug for him. I couldn’t understand that.
The light changed green. I stared at Gordo for a moment longer. “Just shut the window,” I repeated.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
A few turns later, we pulled up outside a decrepit, two-story apartment building. No lights came from inside. I parked alongside the curb and looked at Gordo. He ogled back, his froggy eyes bulging with eagerness, unshaven jowls quivering along with them. “Be back in a jiff, amigo,” he said mockingly. Then he scrambled out of the car and walked around to the rear of the building.
Silence settled in once he had gone. I let loose the breath I’d been holding. I couldn’t deny that Gordo was right. This man deserved to die. He was a notorious pimp with a predatory streak, well known for beating his hookers to the point that the ER closest to his turf had a special code they used whenever one of his girls came limping in, bloody and battered. He paid off law enforcement handsomely, so that the ones who might have
Gordo lowered the window and pointed the weapon at himself in the rearview mirror. He squinted one eye as he looked down the sights. “Bang,” he said softly, pretending to pull the trigger. He let the gun recoil slightly from the fake shot.
We cruised to a stop at a red light. I looked at him. “Shut the window,” I said.
“Damn,” Gordo whistled, “you really are a cold bastard, aren’t you, Dom? Don’t you think a fucker like this deserves to get put down?”
The truth was, I did think that. I hated the scum who mucked around this city. Leeches and small-time predators lingered everywhere I looked, finding the nearest warm, innocent body and sucking it dry. There were as many gangs and renegade clubs as there were city blocks. We couldn’t stamp them out quick enough. Every time we took down one upstart crew of filth, two more sprung up in their place. It was a fool’s errand to keep trying. So I’d learned long ago to let the small time players eke out a living wherever they managed to find a foothold.
My sights were on the bigger target. I wanted to take down the biggest leech of them all—the Capparellis.
They had been terrorizing their swath of the city for decades. Damn near every business owner in their territory paid a fortune just to keep the Capparelli enforcers from coming through and smashing their shops to pieces. In return, what did the Capparellis provide? Nothing. The fees were called “protection money,” but the only thing the Capparellis protected from was themselves.
The only thing stopping the Capparellis from expanding their vampire operation to encompass the rest of the city was us. The Broken Bones. That wasn’t to say we were the good guys. We weren’t, far from it. There were enough vices and scoundrels littered throughout our crew to make the local jailhouse look like a church choir. But in contrast to the Capparellis, we might as well have been fucking angels.
Gordo was the type who would have been at home on either side of the war. He loved violence, no matter who he was inflicting it on or for. It was just a quirk of his birth that he’d been born on the Bones side of the tracks.
Here he was, on his way to take a man’s life—a man who deserved it, to be sure, but still, a human being—and he looked like a kid at the candy shop, too overwhelmed with excitement to know where to begin. He squeezed the handle of the gun with glee. His fingers tapped on the thigh of his greasy, stained sweats. A softly hummed song came from his pursed lips.
We were different creatures, he and I. He loved blood for its own sake. It didn’t make a difference to him who it belonged to, why it had been spilled, what kinds of horrible things he left in his wake. All that mattered was the power he held when he stood over another man, or a woman, or even a child, with a weapon in his hand. It was a drug for him. I couldn’t understand that.
The light changed green. I stared at Gordo for a moment longer. “Just shut the window,” I repeated.
We drove the rest of the way in silence.
A few turns later, we pulled up outside a decrepit, two-story apartment building. No lights came from inside. I parked alongside the curb and looked at Gordo. He ogled back, his froggy eyes bulging with eagerness, unshaven jowls quivering along with them. “Be back in a jiff, amigo,” he said mockingly. Then he scrambled out of the car and walked around to the rear of the building.
Silence settled in once he had gone. I let loose the breath I’d been holding. I couldn’t deny that Gordo was right. This man deserved to die. He was a notorious pimp with a predatory streak, well known for beating his hookers to the point that the ER closest to his turf had a special code they used whenever one of his girls came limping in, bloody and battered. He paid off law enforcement handsomely, so that the ones who might have
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