and showing little emotion. It takes a lot to rile up the asshole, unless it’s Lennon doing the riling. Me? Once I get there, there’s no going back, and I get there easily. My emotions take over, and I lose my goddamn mind. I was there five minutes ago. Probably why I’m not Sargent at Arms. I’ve got the muscle, but I’ve got zero fucking control.
“Yo! Rock. Need ya in here,” Buck hollers. That’s another difference between Buck and me; I finish the job.
Pushing off of the concrete steps, I get up and walk off towards the old shed. Time to clean up another mess.
***
“My ass hurts.”
Leaning up against my bike, I swivel to look at the fuckin’ idiot. The shit this motherfucker says never ceases to irritate me. Poncho’s still straddling his bike, looking at me like I can give him a hand with his problem.
“Thanks for sharin’, man.” Not that I give a flying fuck about his ass. “But I don’t give a shit.”
“Been sittin’ for fuckin’ hours.”
We beat some information out of the Raiders hang around. We strung him up and hurt him real bad. It took some time, but we finally broke his ass, and he started spilling his guts like a goddamn piñata. The information we got from him has brought us here.
Standing outside in the snow, on the side of an old dirt road, I stare through the trees at an old barn. I’m standing under a few big Cedar trees, rubbing the hell out of my hands. Frostbite’s kicking in. The sun is starting to fall, making the shaded areas even colder. The 300 Win Mag at my back is bulky and awkward, and doesn’t allow me a jacket, which fucking sucks, but needing the heavy artillery, I have no choice but to deal.
“Nothin’,” Tyler says, walking back through the small clearing towards me. Shaking his head, he looks how I feel, so goddamn frustrated. I’m so tired of this shit. A little over a year ago, our brother Lou was brought down in cold blood. We laid low, following orders from Dan, even after they shot up the motel. The Raiders went quiet after that, laying low, causing us to work harder to find their fucking asses.
When I found Mike’s shit at Ellison’s apartment, we started watching her place, but she didn’t know that shit. I played it off, trying to find out anything I could about him without tipping her off, and I thought I was doing a good job of it. Maybe she told him I was asking, or caught on as to why, and gave him a heads-up to stay away. I don’t know and I didn’t ask, but I swear that fucker knew something, seeing’s to how we never found him coming or going from her place.
The two guys we shot on the roof a few weeks ago were a little help…well, one was. Buck’s man died before we got him back to the club. The Ryder I shot in the leg could only tell us that the Ryders and Raiders were joining forces to build themselves in numbers, and using their recent hiatus to stockpile their firepower to use against us.
“I don’t get this shit. That motherfucker said they’d be here,” Tyler growls, kicking at a rock before settling against his bike.
“Fuuuuuck.”
“You okay there, man?” Tyler chuckles.
“I’m good. Just plottin’,” I breathe.
“Good. Stay angry, motherfucker.” Always. Complacency will get ya killed.
Two hours later, the rumble of engines slice through the silence. Tyler turns and gives me the look.
“How many you think?” he asks.
“Two, maybe three.” Not that it really makes a difference. We’ve got Ben and Dan down on the other side, waiting.
“Get the bikes behind the tree,” I inform Poncho, pointing over the thick clump of trees twenty feet off the road. Poncho nods and runs his bike over. I’m right behind him.
“Get scarce, assholes,” I yell out to the others while running up the side of the hill.
Getting behind a dirt mound, I squat and pull the Win over my shoulder. For the second time in a few short weeks, I find myself picking these dumb fucks off like
“Yo! Rock. Need ya in here,” Buck hollers. That’s another difference between Buck and me; I finish the job.
Pushing off of the concrete steps, I get up and walk off towards the old shed. Time to clean up another mess.
***
“My ass hurts.”
Leaning up against my bike, I swivel to look at the fuckin’ idiot. The shit this motherfucker says never ceases to irritate me. Poncho’s still straddling his bike, looking at me like I can give him a hand with his problem.
“Thanks for sharin’, man.” Not that I give a flying fuck about his ass. “But I don’t give a shit.”
“Been sittin’ for fuckin’ hours.”
We beat some information out of the Raiders hang around. We strung him up and hurt him real bad. It took some time, but we finally broke his ass, and he started spilling his guts like a goddamn piñata. The information we got from him has brought us here.
Standing outside in the snow, on the side of an old dirt road, I stare through the trees at an old barn. I’m standing under a few big Cedar trees, rubbing the hell out of my hands. Frostbite’s kicking in. The sun is starting to fall, making the shaded areas even colder. The 300 Win Mag at my back is bulky and awkward, and doesn’t allow me a jacket, which fucking sucks, but needing the heavy artillery, I have no choice but to deal.
“Nothin’,” Tyler says, walking back through the small clearing towards me. Shaking his head, he looks how I feel, so goddamn frustrated. I’m so tired of this shit. A little over a year ago, our brother Lou was brought down in cold blood. We laid low, following orders from Dan, even after they shot up the motel. The Raiders went quiet after that, laying low, causing us to work harder to find their fucking asses.
When I found Mike’s shit at Ellison’s apartment, we started watching her place, but she didn’t know that shit. I played it off, trying to find out anything I could about him without tipping her off, and I thought I was doing a good job of it. Maybe she told him I was asking, or caught on as to why, and gave him a heads-up to stay away. I don’t know and I didn’t ask, but I swear that fucker knew something, seeing’s to how we never found him coming or going from her place.
The two guys we shot on the roof a few weeks ago were a little help…well, one was. Buck’s man died before we got him back to the club. The Ryder I shot in the leg could only tell us that the Ryders and Raiders were joining forces to build themselves in numbers, and using their recent hiatus to stockpile their firepower to use against us.
“I don’t get this shit. That motherfucker said they’d be here,” Tyler growls, kicking at a rock before settling against his bike.
“Fuuuuuck.”
“You okay there, man?” Tyler chuckles.
“I’m good. Just plottin’,” I breathe.
“Good. Stay angry, motherfucker.” Always. Complacency will get ya killed.
Two hours later, the rumble of engines slice through the silence. Tyler turns and gives me the look.
“How many you think?” he asks.
“Two, maybe three.” Not that it really makes a difference. We’ve got Ben and Dan down on the other side, waiting.
“Get the bikes behind the tree,” I inform Poncho, pointing over the thick clump of trees twenty feet off the road. Poncho nods and runs his bike over. I’m right behind him.
“Get scarce, assholes,” I yell out to the others while running up the side of the hill.
Getting behind a dirt mound, I squat and pull the Win over my shoulder. For the second time in a few short weeks, I find myself picking these dumb fucks off like
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