Read Online Bones: Broken Bones MC by Leah Wilde - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leah Wilde
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thought about wading through this shitty, dangerous neighborhood to arrest him were convinced to turn a blind eye. But he’d pissed off the wrong guy, and word passed through the criminal grapevine that a contract was out on his head. Ever the opportunist, Gordo had volunteered the Bones to take the job. So here we were, playing judge, jury, and God, all at the same time. Funny how the ones at trial were always guilty.
I breathed deeply. My hands were resting lightly on the top of the wheel. The cooling engine made audible clicks and groans as it settled down. I checked my watch. Two minutes had passed. No sound or motion from inside.
Then I saw the thump of something large and heavy hitting the other side of the curtains over the front window. It disappeared just as quickly. I started the car up again and rolled down the windows.
Over the soft purr of the motor, I heard glass shattering from within. Two quick flashes that could only be gunfire. A brief lull in the action, then the front door burst open and Gordo came waddling out, tucking his gun angrily into the back of his sweatpants and pressing a palm to a cut on his forehead. He grimaced as he pulled it away. Blood shone on his hand under the dim streetlight.
He yanked open the side door and threw himself in, slamming it shut behind him with a thunk. The moment his weight was in the car, I pulled out. My eyes flitted back and forth from the road in front of me to both rearview mirrors, checking for anyone following us.
“Goddamn bastard,” Gordo cursed as he wadded up the bottom edge of his shirt and held it against the slice on his temple. “Threw a fucking lamp at me, can you believe that?”
“You didn’t have to wake him up,” I said.
“Where’s the fun in that? I want ’em to know why they’re gettin’ what they’re gettin’. No sport in killing a motherfucker when he’s balls deep in La La Land, counting sheep or whatever.”
“It isn’t supposed to be fun. You should—”
Blue lights behind us. Shit.
“I should what?”
“You should buckle up.”
I depressed the clutch and cranked us up a few gears. The car shot down the dark road. In my mirror, I watched as the cops picked up speed to chase after us. Someone must have reported the gunfire.
A dead end approached up ahead. I swerved left and applied more pressure to the gas pedal. We nosed forward faster. I glanced back. Two cop cars slid around the corner, tires screeching.
Clutch down, another gear higher, and the motor in our car started really getting after it. I could feel the thrum of metal on all sides. My eyes narrowed in intense concentration. My hands gripped tighter on the wheel.
Speed. Give it to me.
The next few minutes were a blur of hairpin turns, screeching tires, and Gordo, wide-eyed, clutching desperately at the armrests like he thought he was about to get ejected from the vehicle at any moment.
The cops were good drivers, but I was better. I whipped a wicked fast U-turn to give ourselves some breathing room, then scorched down a long residential street towards an alley at the far end. It was just big enough to allow the sporty sedan I was driving to pass through.
Emerging onto the other side, the dawn breaking through the clouds greeted us. The police were long gone.
“Jesus Christ, man,” Gordo said, chuckling to himself. “You drove like a bat outta hell.”
“Just doing my job,” I replied coldly.
“That’s one fucking hell of a job.”
We scooted to a junkyard a few more blocks away. I pulled behind a teetering mountain of garbage and scrapped electronics, then killed the engine. I sat quietly for a moment as the car settled into place. Gordo breathed heavily next to me.
“Here,” he said after a moment, tossing something heavy onto my lap. I looked down. It was a bejeweled wallet, expensive calfskin leather decked out in gold filigree spelling out
I breathed deeply. My hands were resting lightly on the top of the wheel. The cooling engine made audible clicks and groans as it settled down. I checked my watch. Two minutes had passed. No sound or motion from inside.
Then I saw the thump of something large and heavy hitting the other side of the curtains over the front window. It disappeared just as quickly. I started the car up again and rolled down the windows.
Over the soft purr of the motor, I heard glass shattering from within. Two quick flashes that could only be gunfire. A brief lull in the action, then the front door burst open and Gordo came waddling out, tucking his gun angrily into the back of his sweatpants and pressing a palm to a cut on his forehead. He grimaced as he pulled it away. Blood shone on his hand under the dim streetlight.
He yanked open the side door and threw himself in, slamming it shut behind him with a thunk. The moment his weight was in the car, I pulled out. My eyes flitted back and forth from the road in front of me to both rearview mirrors, checking for anyone following us.
“Goddamn bastard,” Gordo cursed as he wadded up the bottom edge of his shirt and held it against the slice on his temple. “Threw a fucking lamp at me, can you believe that?”
“You didn’t have to wake him up,” I said.
“Where’s the fun in that? I want ’em to know why they’re gettin’ what they’re gettin’. No sport in killing a motherfucker when he’s balls deep in La La Land, counting sheep or whatever.”
“It isn’t supposed to be fun. You should—”
Blue lights behind us. Shit.
“I should what?”
“You should buckle up.”
I depressed the clutch and cranked us up a few gears. The car shot down the dark road. In my mirror, I watched as the cops picked up speed to chase after us. Someone must have reported the gunfire.
A dead end approached up ahead. I swerved left and applied more pressure to the gas pedal. We nosed forward faster. I glanced back. Two cop cars slid around the corner, tires screeching.
Clutch down, another gear higher, and the motor in our car started really getting after it. I could feel the thrum of metal on all sides. My eyes narrowed in intense concentration. My hands gripped tighter on the wheel.
Speed. Give it to me.
The next few minutes were a blur of hairpin turns, screeching tires, and Gordo, wide-eyed, clutching desperately at the armrests like he thought he was about to get ejected from the vehicle at any moment.
The cops were good drivers, but I was better. I whipped a wicked fast U-turn to give ourselves some breathing room, then scorched down a long residential street towards an alley at the far end. It was just big enough to allow the sporty sedan I was driving to pass through.
Emerging onto the other side, the dawn breaking through the clouds greeted us. The police were long gone.
“Jesus Christ, man,” Gordo said, chuckling to himself. “You drove like a bat outta hell.”
“Just doing my job,” I replied coldly.
“That’s one fucking hell of a job.”
We scooted to a junkyard a few more blocks away. I pulled behind a teetering mountain of garbage and scrapped electronics, then killed the engine. I sat quietly for a moment as the car settled into place. Gordo breathed heavily next to me.
“Here,” he said after a moment, tossing something heavy onto my lap. I looked down. It was a bejeweled wallet, expensive calfskin leather decked out in gold filigree spelling out
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