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Everything happens in slow motion. I feel a punch to my shoulder, my phone that I had pulled out of my cut falls to the dirt, then pain flares in my shoulder and I know before I even look what the fuck happened. My instincts kick in and take over and I dive from my bike opposite of where the shot came from. As I shift myself into a crouching position, I pull my Ruger from my back holster. With the only cover being my bike, I remain couched behind my machine. Lifting my arm, I release a few shots, not aiming, but knowing if I don’t do shit, I’ll be fucked. Being out in the open with no backup, I have few options. I curse myself, knowing I’m going to catch hell from my boys and VP.
When no return fire comes, I lift my head to see who thought they could get the drop on me. The black SUV from earlier sits idle in the middle of the road. The rear passenger window is down. I curse and have a decision to make. If the motherfuckers are packing enough heat, I’m a sitting duck with only my bike for cover.
Fuck fuck fuck.
I release a few more rounds while trying to use my useless arm to grab my phone that sits in the dirt near my front tire. Thank fuck for Princess and her insisting on me getting one of those fancy phones you can talk to because with a bullet in my shoulder, my shit is not doing what I want it to do and I’ll be damned if I put my gun down to make a fucking call. With a growl, I yell out for my phone to call my VP. The phone connects and rings a few times before Taz answers.
“Yo, Prez. What the fuck, brother? I’ve been calling your ass for hours. Where the fuck are you, man? Shit is going down here and your woman is about to put her foot in some asses…” Taz says.
I can hear music blaring in the background and catch a few raised voices. Taz argues with someone on the other end of the line. Fuck. I don’t have time for this shit.
Even with all the noise through the line. I don’t miss the sound of the SUV doors opening. I catch three, maybe four, voices as they speak either to each other or to me. Fuck if I know because they aren’t speaking in a language I can understand. Sounds like French. It shouldn’t be surprising, given the history of the area.
Raising my head, I take a chance, which is not a good idea because the fuckers let off a spray of bullets. Bullets wiz past me, one catching my ear, and I curse and fall back onto my ass. Motherfucker. Guess they are all done being nice. I curse, knowing these fuckers are fucking up my baby and making me bleed. Anger pulses through me with each bullet that pings off my ride. These motherfuckers are going to die. You don’t fuck with a man’s bike. Sick of this shit, I right myself and release more rounds in their direction. When I hear a quickening footfall coming toward me, I take another chance and look over my bike, catching two fuckers out in the open coming toward me. I release a few more rounds, hitting one, causing the other to curse and retreat to their vehicle, leaving his comrade cussing him out for all he’s worth. I chuckle. Yeah, motherfuckers, I will not be an easy target.
“Fuck, Prez. Prez. Motherfucker, if you don’t answer me when I find you, I’m going to fuck you up. Fuck. Prez… Shut the fuck up, shit. Prez?” Taz’s voice bellows over the line.
I aim and let off another round, hitting the second fucker in the stomach, causing him to grunt and fall back into the SUV before he slides down to the ground with a thud, clutching his stomach. Fuck, I’m good the two fuckers are down. Dead. The other two scramble behind the SUV for cover. Only one of the idiots is dumb enough to take potshots as they go. Each shot bounces off my bike and I curse with every ping.
Curses come through the phone from my VP. I can also hear the fuckers who plan on dying today yelling at one another. Taz bellows orders and then the line goes quiet. I don’t look over to see if the call dropped. My focus is on the fuckers in the SUV. By my count, I have three rounds left in my Ruger. I scoot closer to the rear of my bike and take a chance. I put my gun on the seat and reached for the compartment between my saddle bags and wheel. Pulling out my P90, the fucker may be compact, but it packs a hell of a punch. Fuck, my kids are saving my ass in more ways than one tonight.
Taking a breath to calm my breathing, before bellowing out my location. “Route one half a mile from Dano’s. Get here fucker.”
“Prez,”
“Pop,”
“Pops,”
More curses over the line.
“We’re coming, fucker. Don’t fucking die.” Taz bellows as he yells out orders.
When I hear engines revving, the sound has a sigh leaving me, and that is probably why I decide what I do. Standing, I raise my good arm that’s gripping my P90 and I let shit go. These motherfuckers don’t know who they fuck they are fucking with. I’ll be damned if they are going to take me out on the side of a fucking road. I’m fucking Gunner goddamned Church, the National President of one of the most feared MCs in the state. I don’t cower to fucking nobody.
I release a spray of bullets. I take off towards the SUV, eating up the distance. My eyes remain focused as I aim at the bobbleheads. The fuckers on the ground receive a few more bullets for their troubles. But the other two are too shocked or too dumb to realize I’m coming from them because neither of them takes a shot.
I reach the SUV. I don’t think I act. Knowing my bullet count is low. I made a decision. I don’t need to ask questions about why neither man fires on me. They don’t want me dead, if they did I probably would be already. What they want, I don’t know and ain’t gonna fucking ask. At least not yet, which is why I’m going to keep one of these dead men walking alive for now.
The two fuckers I’d already taken out were townies and would do anything for a buck. Idiots. A skinny fucker I’ve seen around town, who looks like he is about to shit himself, looks between me and his companion as I make my way around the SUV with my gun raised. The idiot tries one last-ditch effort to save his ass by raising his gun. Before he can fire, he releases a grunt. My eyes catch the glint of a knife sticking out of the center of his throat.
Well, shit.
I realize the fucker I have to contend with who just shoved a fucking ten-inch Bowie knife in his companion’s neck can only be described as a meathead; The fucker is a good inch or two taller than me, with broad shoulders and arms encased in a black tee the size of tree trunks. With his bald head and nearly black eyes, the fucker looks menacing than a motherfucker. His eyes take me in with cold calculation. I don’t expect to see a smile spread across his lips like this is the best day of his fucking life. With his eyes on me, watching me register what the fuck just happened and what I’m up against. There is no fear or emotion in his eyes, but the creepy as fuck smile remains. He’s not a towny, that much is clear. And this motherfucker is crazy as shit. I’m tempted to just end him with a bullet to the head. But I need one of them alive. As I stare at him, the numbness I’m used to when dealing with motherfuckers who are begging to die washes over me. The pain in my shoulder fades. I square my shoulders, letting this mother fucker know I’m not a pussy who will piss himself at the site of his big ass. Fuck that.
Fuck, this is gonna hurt.
Without thought, my P90 leaves my hand sailing through the air toward him as I take steps eating up the space between the two of us. He swats the gun away with his meaty hands as he adjusts his stance, understanding my intentions watching the gun sail through the air and hitting the ground. I take advantage of his momentary distraction and I’m on him. With my good arm, I take a swing connecting with his jaw, causing him to stumble back, not prepared for the strength of the blow. The fucker doesn’t go down. I internally curse, preparing myself for what I know is coming. I raise my arm to block the blow, but with only one good arm, shit pushes me back. Retaliating with a blow of my own, the power I usually have isn’t enough. I nail him in the kidney. He punches out, catching me in the side of the head causing me to see stars, shaking my head. I breathe through the momentary pain, refusing to give an inch. I don’t register the sound of pipes as me and the fucker trade blow for blow. And fuck if this motherfucker isn’t taking everything I’m giving him. When his foot kicks out, it catches me off guard and I stumble back and he takes advantage of it advancing on me with blow after blow to the face and body.
Fuck this shit.
No way am I letting this fucker take me down. With one last push, I kick out, nailing him in the dick. Fuck yeah, I’m fighting dirty. He grunts, falling to his knees, and looking up at me. The look in his eyes is deadly. He will not stay down, and he thinks all isn’t lost. He’d be fucking wrong about that shit. When he reaches behind his back, I don’t give him a chance to pull out whatever the fuck he’s going for. Two strides and I’m on him again, kicking out and nailing him on the side of the head. The force has his body falling to the side–out cold. With a grunt, my body falls back and my back slams into the SUV, pain shooting through me.
“PREZ” is the last thing I hear before everything goes black.
Twenty
BLAZE
