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“Because I stopped it just in time.”
“It was just business.”
I grit my teeth. “Business? Using our weapons shipment deal to gain access to Black Thorns territory so you can gather intel to relay to Skinner was just business? Intel that gave him the location of my wife and daughter, the school my daughter goes to? That’s just all business to you?”
“It went too far, I get that.”
“Then you made another mistake of shooting my brother.”
“That club brother of yours, Mullet, came at me like a crazy, unhinged maniac. It was self-defense.”
“He was dealing out punishment, real pissed that you brought my family into it. The guy’s all about loyalty and he gets upset when my princess is put in jeopardy in any way.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry it went that far, but it was just business. It’s all about survival right now, Dealer. I’m sure you can understand that.”
I smile, but there ain’t nothing nice about it. It’s downright sadistic.
That’s what he’s brought out, my brutal, sadistic side. There’s no stopping that once it’s out there. Not until that bloodthirsty part of me is sated.
There’s only one way to accomplish that.
I see him brush the side of his denim jacket, coming back empty and cursing himself.
“Yeah, you drop your guard when you’re on your downtime in this little nothing town.” I gesture to my gun that I’m grasping, but still concealing from the rest of the bar. It’s just for him to see right now. “I never drop mine, asshole.”
“Dealer, wait—”
“Outside. Now.”
He hesitates for a moment, before realizing the truth of the situation. There ain’t no way out of this for him. He shudders then slides off his stool.
We make our way out of the bar and step out into the dank, dark alley.
Barely been out here a second when Kenny makes a desperate move, spinning around and thrusting his fist at my face.
Like I didn’t anticipate that kind of move from the underhanded rat that he is.
I’m ready, bringing my arm down and deflecting it, then pistol-whipping him across the side of the face.
It disorientates him, making him curse and stumble back unsteadily.
I slam my fist into his face. Once. Twice.
“Piece of shit!” I roar, as I drive my motorcycle boot into his gut.
As he doubles over, I slam my elbow into his back, then sweep my boot at his legs, ripping him off his feet.
He crashes to the dirtied alley floor with a hefty thud.
I stride up to where he’s lying bleeding and groaning, cocking my gun.
“I’m… sorry. It won’t… happen… again,” he rasps.
“Too late, motherfucker.”
“No, we can… make a deal and—”
“Nobody comes after my family and survives it,” I seethe, my finger brushing the trigger.
