Precious Jules: A Cowboy Gangster Novella

by CJ Bishop

  A sudden commotion broke out and seconds later, Diego was back with them.

  “Go,” Clint hissed low as he and Cory moved quickly down the corridor, followed by Cruz and his men. The main area of the warehouse echoed with shouts and coughing. Someone yelled above the din that the building was on fire as Cruz’s men outside lit up the front of the warehouse. Clint made his way to the opening into the large room. Smoke sifted back into the corridor and filled up the front portion of the structure. Bodies scampered haphazardly through the smoke, trying to find direction as they gagged on the rancid stench. Clint remained motionless as he peered through the haze and locked on the one man who was keeping it together and barking orders at the others, though few seemed to be hearing him.

  Tazz.

  A body nearly crashed into Clint as one of the men found the opening to the corridor and ran through, coughing hard. Cory grabbed him before the guy could register their presence and put him down, quick and efficiently.

  “I’ll get Tazz,” Clint told Cruz. “You and your boys take care of the others.”

  “This can’t be the entire gang.” Cory discarded the body and moved closer to Clint.

  Clint shook his head. “It isn’t. But I’m betting these are his main enforcers. Take these out, and the rest of the gang—wherever they’re holed up—will likely break apart. And if they’re foolish enough to come after us, we’ll bury them with the rest.”

  Diego snatched another smoke bomb from the metal box and grinned. “One more for good measure?”

  Clint nodded.

  “Bien entonces.” Diego laughed low, stepped forward, ignited the canister and tossed it out into the other room, heightening the chaos.

  Nodding at the other men, Clint motioned them forward. “Cory. Diego,” he said. “Come with me. As soon as we take Tazz, you two get him outside while we clean up the mess in here.”

  “We don’t get to help?” Diego looked disappointed.

  “Do what he says,” Cruz told the young man. “You shouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

  Neither should Cory. Clint should have sent him home with Colton. He hadn’t, but Clint did mean to get him out of harm’s way as soon as possible, regardless how skilled and efficient he was in these situations. The only reason Anthony allowed him to come along was because of Jules, but Jules was safe now and it was time for Cory to remove himself from the battle.

  CHAPTER 12

  Motherfucker!

  Tazz tugged the collar of his shirt up over his mouth and nose. His eyes burned and watered, distorting his vision as he turned in a circle, struggling to see through the smoke, detect the threats. Adrian—you fuck! How the hell did they find them? And where the fuck was Blade? He’d taken Jules to one of the back rooms…

  Fuck. Adrian’s men had to have come in through the back. Was Blade dead?

  Fire crackled the exterior of the warehouse, the flames licking up the high windows, the walls no doubt splashed with gasoline. The exit doors were cut off by the fire, forcing them to seek escape through the rear of the structure. Where they’re fucking waiting for us.

  The smoke blotted out a portion of the light coming through the windows, dimming the room even more. Figures moved through the smoky room—most of them Tazz’s own guys, growing frantic for a way out. But some…

  Tazz watched as a shadowed figure grabbed one his men from behind and slit his throat. Oh fuck. They were moving in silently, picking off his guys, hardly detectable amidst the cloak of the smoke and the men’s own panic. He withdrew his weapon and backed up, aiming the gun this way and that, trying to pinpoint a viable target without killing one of his own. But they were all just shifting figures in the smoke, impossible to distinguish one from another.

  Chaos erupted when the men realized they were being stalked by stealth hunters and picked off. Guns were drawn and shots fired haphazardly as their fear and panic escalated.

  “Shit!” Tazz hissed and ducked as a bullet zinged past his head. Dumbass motherfuckers! They were going to kill each other! “Cease fire!” Tazz shouted at the top of his lungs, but the men weren’t hearing him. He stayed low and moved, disoriented, through the smoke toward one of the walls. “You’re gonna kill each other, you stupid fucks! Stop shooting-” Tazz froze, his shouts silenced abruptly as three shapes materialized out of the smoke a couple yards away coming right toward him—fast. Fuck! He brought his weapon up in a flash, squeezing the trigger as he went. The gun flew out of his hand as it fired, clattering against the concrete floor somewhere out in the smoke-filled room. He heard one of the men shout but their words were muffled and distorted as his lungs suddenly emptied when a fist that felt like a battering ram nailed him in the gut, doubling him over. His legs weakened and he dropped, his knees cracking hard against the floor. A fist clutched his hair and ripped his head back and he stared up into the face of Jules’ cowboy.

  “You’re dead, motherfucker.” The deep, almost guttural southern drawl reverberated into Tazz’s bones and he knew it was true.

  ♦

  Cory was thrust back in time—back into the nightmare that took place in another warehouse—when blood splattered his face and throat seconds after the shot fired…and a body fell against him heavily.

  “Diego!” Cory cried and caught the young man before he fell to the floor. “Fuck! Diego!” Cory went down with him, laying Diego on the floor, searching frantically for a pulse. Oh Jesus—Jesus—no! God, no! Blood was everywhere, draining down the man’s face and neck, drenching his hair. “Fuck…no…” Cory choked, his mind exploding with horror images of Shay, the back of his head blown out, bleeding all over Cory. “No!”

  “What?” Clint yelled at him, fear straining his voice.

  “Fuck!” Cory screamed. “He shot Diego!”

  Clint pivoted back around, his fist still buried in Tazz’s hair, and bellowed in rage, his knee smashing into the man’s face. “Motherfucker!” Clint laid into him, kicking the fuck out of him until the man lay in convulsing, bloody heap on the floor. “God dammit!” Clint dropped down beside Cory and stared at Diego’s still form.

  “He shot him in the head,” Cory shuddered, his throat closing as tears ran down his face. “Fuck…fuuuck!”

  Clint was shaking as he stood up. “Get that fucker out to the car,” he said tightly. “I’ll get Diego.”

  The Egyptian appeared out of the smoke and assessed the situation in seconds.

  “Take the kid,” Clint told Cochise. “Get him outside. Secure that motherfucker and do not let Cory come back inside.”

  “Uncle Clint,” Cory started to protest but Clint shook his head, eyes hard.

  “Get out of here—now!”

  Cochise scooped up Diego as Cory grabbed Tazz and wrenched him to his feet without care. “Move, God dammit!” he yelled in his ear. The man stumbled and almost went down, but Cory jerked him upright again and shoved him forward, using him as a shield in the event that a stray bullet flew their way.

  You don’t get to go out so easily, motherfucker, Cory thought bitterly, rage infusing his blood, his heart coming apart inside him as he was hit with the full brunt of Shay’s death all over again.

  ♦

  Cochise laid the kid in the backseat of one of the cars as Cory shoved the other man into the trunk, punched him a few times then slammed the lid. Cochise stared at the young man’s body, his blood all over the Egyptian’s hands, soaking into his shirt. For a moment, he was staring down at the still body of Gianni Venetti…then Shay. He flinched when Cory touched his shoulder. He turned slowly from the open rear door of the car and looked at Cory. “He shouldn’t have been here.”

  A couple of Cruz’s men came around from the front of the warehouse, alarm masking their faces when they saw the blood all over Cochise and Cory. “What happened?”

  Cory stared at them, tears seeping down his face. “Diego…”

  “What?” The taller of the two men went rigid. “What about him? What? Is he okay?”

  “W
here is he?” the other man trembled. He was about Cory’s age.

  Cochise stepped back from the door and motioned inside the car.

  “What…” Both men hurried to the car.

  “No…” the shorter guy whispered, his jaw clenching as tears filled his eyes. “Fuck!” He shoved his hands through his hair and stepped back a few paces, his throat working. “No…he…he was going to be a father. This can’t… this can’t be happening…he can’t be…he fucking can’t!”

  Cory leaned against the trunk, chin trembling as tears streaked his face.

  “Who did this?” the other man whispered tightly. “Did you fucking kill him?”

  Blinking against his tears, Cory rapped his knuckles on the trunk. “He’s in here,” he said thickly. “I promise you, he will fucking suffer for everything he’s done.” He swallowed hard. “He will fucking beg for death.”

  Cochise moved away from the men and walked back toward the warehouse.

  “Cochise?”

  “Stay here,” Cochise pointed at Cory. “Do not set foot back inside.”

  The young man made no attempt to follow as he sank back against the trunk and nodded.

  Cochise drew his weapon as he stepped through the makeshift door and re-entered the warehouse. It was quieter inside, the chaos out front less hectic. He imagined Clint and the others had plowed through the other gang members rather quickly. He’d seen the look on Clint’s face…his reaction to Diego’s death. At that moment, he had ceased to be human and become what Cochise knew them to be; killers.

  ♦

  That could’ve been Cory. What would you have said to Anthony if you’d brought him home a dead son? Why the fuck did you let him come along?

  Clint was moving on autopilot, his brain set in destruction mode, barely registering the feel of his blade as it ripped away one life after another. Bodies fell at his feet and he stepped over them, unemotional, their blood wet on his hands as he grabbed his next victim, his blade plunging in without hesitation.

  Is it just an act? Who we are at home?

  Clint trembled and threw the body aside, fist clutching the bloodied knife.

  We pretend to be family men, but “this” is what we really are.

  The reality of the Egyptian’s words exploded through Clint. He tried to grab onto thoughts of Axel, their home, their future together as husbands—something of value and importance to keep him grounded, prevent his mind from slipping, careening backward into a damaging mindset that could destroy everything that mattered to him.

  The heat of a man’s throat warmed his palm as his hand tightened, squeezing his jugular, his bloody fingers slick against his skin. The knife touched the base of the man’s throat and pressed against the soft tissue—and was suddenly jerked away as a strong hand gripped his wrist.

  Clint stared over the man’s shoulder and into the face of the Egyptian, breath rushing through his nostrils. Cochise took the knife from his hand. “I got this.” He killed the man and dumped his body. “I’ll help Cruz and his guys pick off the rest.”

  The Egyptian was dismissing him. “I can handle it,” Clint said stiffly, his blood pumping forcefully through his veins.

  Something flickered through Cochise’s eyes. “You’ve done enough. Now, let me finish it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so—now get the fuck out of here!”

  Clint hesitated as he held Cochise’s stare; the Egyptian wasn’t going to back down. Clint blinked first and walked away.

  Outside, he found Cory sitting on the trunk of one of the cars, heels hooked in the rear bumper, head in his hands. The kid had just relived the nightmare of losing Shay, his healing wounds ripped open again. Clint walked over to him and Cory slowly raised his head, face wet with tears.

  “Does Cruz know?” he whispered.

  “No.”

  A couple of Cruz’s men lingered around the rear passenger door of the car, faces distraught as they spoke low to each other.

  “Are they all dead?” Cory asked with an edge to his voice.

  “Most of them,” Clint murmured and his tone sounded hollow to his own ears. “Cochise and the others will take care of the few who remain.”

  Cory stared at him, his eyes traveling down to Clint’s blood-stained hands then back up to his tense face. “Are you all right, Uncle Clint?”

  Was he? Clint nodded but wasn’t sure it was the truth.

  Stepping off the car, Cory touched his arm. “Come on.” He motioned Clint to follow him and led the way to a slightly rusted faucet that sprouted out of the wall of the warehouse. He cranked the handle with some effort and a gush of filthy water spewed out, then tapered off into a clear stream. Cory urged Clint to squat next to him and he drew Clint’s hands into the cold water, washing away the blood.

  Clint looked at the young man as Cory gently scrubbed his hands. “This is it for you,” he said low. Cory glanced at him inquiringly. Clint shook his head. “You’re not going on another job—ever again. I don’t care if your dad is kidnapped, you will leave this shit up to us. You’re done.” He swallowed thickly. “You go back to Colton and you figure out a legitimate profession for yourself. Get married. Build a family. And live a long life.”

  Nodding slowly, Cory murmured, “Is that an order, Uncle Clint?”

  His throat knotted tight, Clint confirmed, “You better fucking believe it.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Burn it all.” Cruz ordered as his men drenched the carnage in gasoline. He spotted Cochise and approached the Egyptian. “Where’s Clint? Is he outside with the others?”

  Cochise nodded.

  “Come on.” He lightly smacked Cochise’s arm. “Let’s get out of here. My boys will finish up with the purging.” Cruz frowned when Cochise didn’t move. “Something wrong?”

  A ball of tension pressurized Cochise’s chest; he didn’t want to leave it to Clint to tell the man. “Diego was shot.”

  Cruz went still, his breath quickening. “What?” Fear filled his eyes. “Is he…?”

  His face straining, Cochise nodded. “It was instant.”

  Tears formed as Cruz’s jaw clenched. He started to speak then looked away, his throat working as he shoved his hand through his hair. “Fuck…” his chin trembled and he pressed his lips tight, his face pinching. “Fuck!” Breath shuddered off his lips as the wall of tears held precariously. “Who shot him?”

  “Tazz,” Cochise told him. “The man we were after. Adrian’s brother.”

  Cruz trembled, fury burning through his wet eyes. “Where is he? Where the fuck is he?”

  “Crammed in a trunk out back.” Cruz spun around to head that way and Cochise grabbed him. “We’re taking him back alive. He has many sins to atone for.”

  “I won’t kill him,” Cruz whispered thickly, teeth clamped, pinching his words. “But you can’t expect me to just walk away.”

  Loosening his grip, Cochise nodded. “Do what you have to,” he said. “Just leave him alive.”

  ♦

  Clint moved quickly when Cruz came out of the warehouse, tears in his eyes and explosive rage masking his face. “Where is he? Where’s Diego? I want to see him.”

  “Here.” Clint directed him to the rear door of the car.

  Cruz halted a couple feet away, hesitated, then opened the door. He went deathly still as he stared at Diego’s body and tears swam in his eyes. His rage momentarily gave way to grief and sorrow. “He couldn’t wait to be a dad,” Cruz whispered with an empty tone. “It was all he talked about from the moment he found out Marissa was pregnant.” He swallowed hard and blinked a couple times then closed the door. “Where’s the fucker who did this?” Cruz walked to the back of the car and slammed his palm down on the trunk. “In here?”

  “Cruz…” Clint grasped his arm but the man jerked out of his grip and stabbed a finger in Clint’s face.

  “Get him out here—now.”

  The Egyptian had exited the warehouse right behind Cruz and he nodded at Clin
t. “Let him take his pound of flesh. We would.”

  Clint motioned for Cory to pop the trunk from inside the car. As soon as the lid disengaged, Cruz grabbed Tazz and ripped him out of the trunk, slamming down on the pavement. The man’s head cracked against the concrete, twisting his face in pain as a thick grunt exploded up his throat, muffled by the gag. Cruz dropped to his knees, straddling Tazz’s body, and turned his fists loose. “Motherfucker!”

  With each punch that landed, a burning tingle rippled through Clint’s hands, curling them into fists. The urge to join Cruz in the assault consumed him but he held his ground. Adrenaline pumped through him as blood shot from Tazz’s mouth, splattering the hard ground, his face a bloody mess of cuts and bruises as Cruz utilized every ounce of his strength to deliver the hits. Cruz choked on his rage and grief, tears running down his face, and pounded the fucker into the concrete…harder and harder…

  Cochise stepped forward and caught Cruz’s wrist, halting him as his arm cocked back for another explosive blow to the man’s face. “All right,” he spoke low—almost tender—and lifted Cruz to his feet. Cruz was shaking, bloody fists clenched. The quick brutal beating wasn’t sufficient to calm the rage or ease the pain, but he made no attempt to resume. He walked back over to the car and stared in at Diego. A blankness filled his eyes as fresh tears formed.

  “Brother,” Clint murmured and moved closer. He pulled the younger man into his arms and hugged him hard. “He will suffer. I promise you.”

  Cruz withdrew and wiped his face. Sanchez appeared at his side, an equally distraught look on his face as he surveyed Diego’s body. The rest of their men emerged from the warehouse as the interior went up in flames. Clearing his throat, Cruz mumbled, “Let’s go.”

  Would it be up to him to inform Diego’s wife that she’d lost her husband today? Clint already saw it in the man’s eyes—the burden of guilt settling down on his shoulders. Clint recognized it with ease; he still bore his own burdens.