by Rie Warren
Because I’d fucking die without her.
“Money’s still sitting in the bank. I just need to get it out.”
“Nah.” Boomer swaggered forward. “We don’t bargain for our woman. We make the assholes pay.”
“Promise me.” I lifted my eyes to his, and met equal grim determination. “I need her home. I need her safe. She can’t get hurt.”
****
Night had fallen, hot and muggy, and I was still feverish with black fucking fury.
On the hunt for Diablo and the Satan’s League crew.
I had a piece of advice for the shit heel—before I cut his throat from one side to the other—bribery worked better when you gave a handoff time and a location.
As it was, we’d ridden from one end of the tri-counties to the other, searching every bar, every back alley, every loser locale I could remember—each place more desperate than the last.
And me?
Even more desperate as threats, fists, and the possibility of jail time turned up nada.
My rank past coming back to bite me in the ass.
Rage didn’t even begin to cover what I felt by the time we stopped our bikes outside the last doss house on my list.
I kicked in the door.
Tail drew his gun.
The rest stayed outside.
We’d agreed only Tail and I’d do the illegal shit. Mostly.
Everyone else had something to stay shiny side up for.
We stepped over broken glass, broken bottles, used syringes.
Nice.
And then there were the passed-out bodies, crumpled like marionettes with their strings cut.
“Who are you looking for?” Tail tailed me.
“A bald, bulldog-looking dude.”
“That one there?” He pointed to Lurcher who lumbered to his feet from the middle of a naked pigpile as soon as he saw me.
“Yeah. Him.”
Lurcher didn’t get more than six feet away before I tackled him out through an open door into a yard filled with the filth of decades of party-hard nights.
The fuck used to be an enforcer for Satan’s League. Now he was so far out of his league I muscled him against a burned-out barrel.
I gripped his jowls between my hard fingers. “Where’s D tonight?”
“D?” Piggy-eyed fuck played stupid like it was catching.
“Diablo.” I snarled into his face.
“I don’ do business with him anymore.”
“Then why’d you run the second you saw me?” I bent over him, my teeth clanking together. “Did D warn you I’d be coming?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Rush.”
“Stop dicking me around!”
And he might’ve actually talked immediately, but I went all enforcer on him. With my fists. I didn’t give Lurcher time to speak let alone duck, hammering my fist into his fat midsection.
Tail watched from the sidelines, unconcerned.
Bashing Lurcher halfway across the littered yard, I unleashed the merest nth of my fury. A punch to the face. A kick to his kidneys. A wicked crack of my skull against his.
“Where. Is. Diablo?” With my hand tightened around his throat, I gritted the words out.
“The races. Tonight.” He wheezed.
“Where?” I cocked my fist, readying for one more lights-out blow.
He whimpered and cowered. “It’s Friday night, dude. Where they always been.”
I hopped off the fat lump of flesh. I had all the intel I needed now. Should’ve figured it out hours earlier.
No time to stay and kick more ass, I stalked off.
“Should I kill him?” Tail called after me.
“Not worth it.”
This could’ve been my life.
****
Twenty minutes later, we halted at the far end of Township Road 13 in Jedburg.
Where the Friday night grudge races went down between the hottest lowcountry street teams. Out in the willywhacks. Off the grid. Off the po-po’s radar.
Nothing but hopped-up spectators exchanging money and non-legit drivers in customized hot rods using NOS for fuel burning.
Merging with the crowd of piston-heads watching ongoing action from the side of the road, nobody paid any attention to us.
My phone rang, barely audible over the competing beats blasting from Bose car stereos.
I palmed the cell to my ear. “Yeah?”
“You ready to make an exchange?” Diablo asked.
“Fuck you, fucker. I’m already here on the strip. And I brought more than the hundred you want.”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem seeing this. Saved you a VIP spot up front.” Dick-blow ended the call.
I paved a punishing path through the jeering crowd, bullying my way through bystanders with four massive dudes widening the route behind me.
Then I saw what the new entertainment was.
And my fury went apocalyptic.
My heart dropped so fucking far down it might never recover again.
Shy stood in the middle of the road, not straddling the yellow line, because she goddamn couldn’t. Because she only had one leg . . .
She was so far away but I could make out how exhausted she was. How pale she was.
How close to falling down she was.
Then a car swerved so near to her I thought the bumper brushed her right leg.
She staggered, staying upright. Just barely. Hopping on her foot.
Two cars, and they were playing chicken.
With Shy.
Wild frenzy took hold of me right then and there.
“SHY!”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Running Down the Devil
SHE TUMBLED TO THE ground, unable to stop her fall.
“SHY!” My heart almost ripped out of my chest.
Get up. Getupgetup!
Scrabbling around, she found something on the ground. A fucking fender that had busted off one of the cars. Holding onto the metal, she hoisted herself slowly to her foot, pain on her face, blood dripping from her stump.
I went white-hot with sheer, uncontrollable anger. So intense I was on fire for some fucking real-life retribution.
She swayed on her foot, using the makeshift crutch to remain upright. She tried limping away from the two cars gunning dangerously close to her. They were gonna clip her. Or worse.
Scanning the bloodthirsty crowd, I couldn’t locate Diablo.
“Diablo’s driving the Camaro.” I bulked up with potent rage. “He’s driving that fucking car!”
Boomer swore. Tail muttered ugly threats about dismemberment in a menacing tone.
Tucker and Cole tensed beside us.
Strafing to the start line where more modified hot rods waited for a new race, I hissed back to Boomer. “Gimme your gun.”
He slapped his Heckler into my palm.
“Tail?” I glanced back at the man who was in beast mode just like me.
“On it.”
I encouraged the dude sitting in the bucket seat of a souped-up Beamer to get the fuck out. At gunpoint.
Tail likewise took control of a revved-and-ready-to-go car next to mine.
As one, our engines thundered so loud the crowd quieted.
Flashlight start before I plowed into Diablo until his head went through the windshield?
Fuck that.
I rammed my foot down on the gas, my tires ripping rubber on pavement.
My sole attention was on Shy. And Diablo.
Tail?
I assumed he followed my lead.
I relaxed into the seat, shifting into higher gears, thrilled the Beamer burned an NOS engine, which popped the car into the fast track. No way could D escape me now. I was gunning for him. Hard.
Diablo squealed a donut right around Shy. Billowing white-gray fog from his tire burnout momentarily hid her from view.
I was within range of Diablo’s car when Tail barreled into view on the left. He maintained high speed withou
t swerving, on a deadly course with the second car on the road.
He revved the fuck out of his engine and slammed into the side. The splintering, crushing sound of metal on metal ignited the air. His vehicle drove the asswipe’s car another twenty feet down the road.
Hoped Tail was wearing his seatbelt.
Turned out I didn’t have to worry about him. The cars screeched to a stop in their tailspin, and he jumped out. Leaping across the crumpled hood of the car he’d just busted up, he reached in through the broken window and plucked out the man who’d had half a hand in terrorizing Shy.
Goddamn Sketch. One of D’s fucking loser posse.
With fists the size of blocks and fury almost rivaling mine, Tail pummeled the deadbeat dude.
Diablo started for another run at Shy, who clung to the fender she used as a cane. I watched, shouting for her, when her hands slipped on the metal. She collapsed to both knees again, her hands bloody, too, from gripping the jagged metal.
FUCK!
I didn’t know if she could get up again.
Slamming on the gas, I sped toward Diablo.
Shy managed—just barely. Her right foot connected with the pavement, and she dug her wounded knee—so fucking recently infected—into the ground to push up. To standing.
One. More. Time.
A snarl broke out of my chest.
I punched down on the gas . . . willing my car faster.
Just before connecting with Shy’s body, Diablo spun in a 180, putting him directly in my path.
My gaze pinned on Shy who pitched suddenly off balance. I watched as she collapsed onto her bloody knees.
She didn’t get up that time.
She didn’t even move.
The bitterest bile pushed up from my stomach. I nearly puked.
Not yet.
Not with Shy out there. Vulnerable.
Not with Diablo grinning at me through his windshield, aware of my woman in pain while I couldn’t get to her.
My jaw clamped tight. I almost smashed the gas pedal through the floor. My hands gripped the steering wheel in an unshakable hold. My anger going totally combustible.
Diablo’s Camaro launched forward, and I headed straight for him.
If it was a game of chicken the fuck wanted, he could play it with me.
I heard nothing above the screaming squeal of rubber marking the road and the roar of high-octane engines.
I saw nothing but Diablo’s ugly grin plastered to the face I wanted to see splattered right through his windshield.
The closer we got, the faster we drove.
Head-on collision imminent.
One thing he’d forgotten was I had nerves of steel.
And he was messing with the wrong man. He’d messed with my girl.
Our cars on the verge crashing, I could see the maniacal gleam in his dark eyes.
One second to impact . . .
He faked to the left.
My field of vision cleared, I pushed down on the break.
Up ahead, Tail scooped Shy into his arms, and she held on for dear life.
Boomer, Tuck, and Cole rushed onto the scene, on the move toward Shy, forming a big, badass human ring.
No more fucking around.
I hit reverse with a quick shift of my hand, my tires peeling on pavement.
The whine and smoke sent from the tires when I thrust into sixth gear gave whole new meaning to 2 Fast 2 Furious.
The level of my rage was . . . atmospheric.
Diablo had stopped at the starting line, and he faced me, his big block engine purring.
Pretty soon that mechanism would be crying for mercy, just like him.
Chicken. I was bringin’ it this time.
Screaming down the road, my speedometer climbed. 100mph. 110. 125. Staying locked on D’s Camaro as he started ripping it toward me, I took the chance he’d feint in the other direction that time.
I was right. Predictable asshole.
As soon as Diablo breezed past me, I shifted down, peeled around, and doubled back.
Hitting 130 miles per hour, I widened my lane and overtook him far enough to cut a fast left.
Ten seconds later, I struck the front corner of his car.
Fucker hardly had time to see it coming.
Might’ve felt it, though.
I kicked open my door and vaulted out.
Sliding across my hood then his, I jumped to the ground just as his engine caught fire. The burst of orange flame leaping from the hood had nothing on the blazing desire to destroy the shit inside until his blood was little more than oil spilled on tarmac.
I jerked Diablo from his car and tossed him across the pavement with his face leading the way.
Road rash much?
Even worse when I planted a boot on his back and leaned over to scour his face against the bumpy road like a piece of fucking sandpaper.
“You hurt my woman?” I gripped him by the shoulders, lifting him so his feet reconnected with the ground.
Then my fist connected with his fugly face.
He spun away.
I coiled a hand in his shirt, hauling him back to me.
Rope-a-dope.
I heard people cheering. Whistling.
Maybe asking for his death.
If that was the case, they were in luck tonight.
I landed an uppercut that twisted him backward, but when he swung around, he pulled a knife from his boot.
“You don’t wanna go there.” I stood my ground as he advanced.
“You know where I wanna go?” He flashed the blade back and forth, a sneer curling his lips. “Back between your girl’s thighs. She might be a cripple, but she’s still got a sweet pussy, Rush.”
Insidious hate lit me up. “YOU FUCK!”
The impact of our cars was nothing like the impact of my body hitting his. I crashed against him, ducking from the knife, plowing into his midsection.
Knocked free, the blade flew across the air, and so did Diablo.
I pounced on him midflight, throwing him to the ground. I hammered him on both sides, from both hard-knuckled fists.
He kicked up, almost getting me in the nuts. A stab of pain shot through my groin, and he had enough room to wriggle free.
Up on his feet, he limped backward. I advanced. The crowd on the sidelines moved out of our way.
“I’ll fucking kill you so dead you’ll wish you were already DOA.” My next punch beat him so hard on the chin his neck snapped back.
His arms flailed.
Someone behind him helpfully set him upright in front of me again.
I pulled the pistol from the back of my jeans, twisting D into a sleeper hold. Locking him against me with an arm cranked around his neck, I pointed the Heckler against his head with unwavering aim.
“You. Hurt. Shy.” Blinded by the possibility he might’ve raped her, I so badly wanted to plow a bullet into his brain.
His voice went soprano-level. “Just wanted the money, man.”
“Yeah?” I bashed the butt of the gun against his cheek.
That crunch of metal against bone?
What a great fucking sound.
I wanted more.
“Now you’re getting nothing but time.” I growled.
I was tempted to shoot him. So, so tempted.
A hard hand curled around mine as I started squeezing the trigger.
“Shy needs you, man!” Boomer urged me back, pulling my hand off the gun, my arms off of Diablo.
His eyes wild, D bent over from the waist, his back heaving as he fought for breath.
“Where is she?” Glancing at Boomer, I gulped down the rising emotions.
Hope and horror clashing inside me.
“Tail’s got her.” He looked back at Diablo who really wasn’t beat up enough for my liking.
Cracking his knuckles, Boomer asked, “You mind if I?”
I’d gotten to be a big motherfucker of a dude. But Boomer Steele? He was muscle-bound bad, a full six-foot-five inches
of concentrated vengeance.
“Be my guest.” I snarled at D who was about to meet his second-worst nightmare.
Bloody flesh-on-flesh style.
Boomer smiled. And it was pure evil.
He snaked a huge hand around D’s throat and squeezed. And squeezed. And squeezed.
When the blow came from Boomer’s other fist, Diablo’s eyes spun back until the whites showed and his eye sockets bulged and his breath scraped from the twice-broken nose.
“You go after one of our women again and I’ll start with maiming you, if Handsome doesn’t murder you first.” Boomer laid it on again, that time with a right hook to the head. “Actually, I’ll still fuckin’ maim you, you worthless excuse for a human shitstain.”
I left him standing over the collapsed cunt-bag, hurrying to Shy, my heart beating so fucking hard it almost knocked out of my chest.
I pushed through Cole and Tucker, opening my arms as soon as I saw Tail with Shy.
He placed her gently into my arms.
Fucking tears shined in my eyes.
I held one palm over her chest.
I looked her over, breath rasping from my lungs.
“She’s not conscious?”
“She’s stable we think.” Tucker peered at me, his eyes troubled.
“Injuries?”
“We . . . uh . . . didn’t take a good look in case they’d—” Cole stopped, swallowing hard.
“Could be police evidence, brother.” Tail stared down at Shy.
In case she’d been raped. I hoped to hell Diablo had been lying about that.
My breath knocked out of me. I pulled her tighter against my chest.
Curling over Shy, I looked up at the guys. “Now we call Hunter.”
“Already on it,” Cole answered.
Tail stood beside me until the police arrived. Might not have been MPPD’s jurisdiction, but somehow Hunter was first on scene.
He took quick statements from Tuck, Boomer, and Cole while Shy was put into an ambulance.
Diablo—still breathing—and the fuckface Tail had beaten into goo were cuffed and taken into custody along with several others.
Me?
I sat inside the rig, my hand clasped around Shy’s when the doors were shut, and we rushed en route to Roper.
“She’s an amputee?” The male medic asked.