Page 33 of Her Passionate Hero

Neither one of them looked old enough to shave. Both slunk down in their seats. The one in the passenger seat, tattoos crawling up his neck, glared at Hunter.

“What do you want?” the driver asked, a hint of a stutter in his voice.

“It’s not what I want. I was just standing here minding my own business, when you four ass-clowns show up, deciding to wave your pieces. Why are you here?”

“No reason.”

Hunter dug the tip of the pistol into the guy’s flesh, hard, and he hissed out a breath.

“I can do this all day. As a matter of fact, it’s breaking up the monotony.” Hunter twisted the gun so that the tip dug deeper. This time, the man let out a squeak of pain.

“Mateo told us to see if the bitch’s granddaughter was here,” the driver said.

That was good, they weren’t sure Aliana was here, but who was Mateo?

“You Las Nuevas Espadas?” Hunter asked.

A series of ‘No’ and ‘Fuck No’, resounded through the car.

“Those guys are pussies,” the driver said.

“You need to come up with a new insult,” Hunter admonished. “So you’re Los Demonios?”

“Goddamn right, we are,” the one in the in the passenger seat said. He pulled down his wife-beater tank and pointed proudly at a tattoo of some kind Halloween figure. Hunter figured it was supposed to be a demon. “See. We’re Los Demonios,” he said proudly.

“What do the Los Demonios want with Mrs. Jankovic’s granddaughter?” Hunter asked.

“She’s messing with our family,” the driver said. “Mateo is pissed. She’s causing trouble, stirring things up.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

Hunter looked at tattoo boy. “How?”

“It’s above my rank. We’re just supposed to check to see if she’s here. Just Mateo, the other lieutenants, and San Marcos really know what’s going on. We only heard the rumors.”

“Let me get this straight. The leader of the gang called the Demons is St. Mark?”

“Pretty cool, huh?” The tattoo guy smiled. Hunter shook his head. To think he used to be a part of this madness.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the kids in the back fumble with his gun. Hunter, gripped the driver with his left hand by the throat, easily cutting off his air, then aimed his gun at the teen in the back.

“Do you want to die today? Are you straight with God? Been to mass recently? What’s your Mama going to say?”

The kid blanched.

“Put the gun on the floor.” He motioned to the other kid. “You too.” He kept an eye on tattoo boy as well. The driver was trying to break his hold, but it was impossible. He was thrashing and turning purple. “Better hurry before your friend runs out of air.”

“You won’t kill him.”

“Won’t be the first time I killed somebody, not by a long shot. Won’t be the last.”

“Who the fuck are you?” tattoo boy asked.

“I’m a friend of Mrs. Jankovic. I’m also a friend of her granddaughter. I don’t give a shit if she’s messing with your family. I consider them my family. Got it?”

The guns were put on the floor of the car. He released the unconscious driver who slumped onto the steering wheel.