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Just like he had Mel.
As the Demon scrambled to rise, dropping F-bombs left and right, Finn grabbed his stringy hair and dragged that motherfucker farther away from the front of the convenience store.
Just like he had Mel.
Finn fought the urge to shout in Saint’s face and to tell the biker why he was about to be served a fresh slice of karma. Unfortunately, the man would still be breathing after Finn was done with him, so he needed Saint to think the attack was random or from a rival club. He didn’t want the Demon tying this back to him or Mel if that could be avoided.
When Saint reached under his back, Finn pinned his arm with one boot while using the heel of the other to kick the man hard in the head.
While the man’s bells were still ringing, Finn confiscated the Beretta from the back of Saint’s waistband and tucked it into his own. Later he’d unload it and make sure it was never found again. Once he wiped it clean of any prints.
Technically, Finn could bring charges against him for the weapon—he was damn sure the gun wasn’t obtained legally and with his rap sheet, Saint was prohibited from carrying one, anyway—but all that would do was splash shit back on Finn.
It was simply better to get it off the street once and for all. He only wished he could do the same for Saint. But he couldn’t, so this was the next best thing.
When Saint tried to get to his feet again, Finn slammed his boot into his chest, knocking him back down, his head smacking against the pavement with a dull thud.
Just like he had Mel.
However, Finn was done playing. He needed to take care of business and get the fuck out of there before someone saw them or tried to stop him.
Or called the police, creating an awkward situation.
Using both hands, he grabbed the biker by his leather cut and yanked him to his feet, then whipped around and slammed Saint against the wall.
Just like he had Mel.
But Saint’s head hit the brick harder than the pavement, causing him to float in and out of consciousness.
A slurred, “What… the… fuck,” came out of the dazed man as he began to slide down the wall.
Finn quickly pulled him back up to his feet.
He so wanted Saint to know who was doing this to him. Why he was here. Why he was dolling out revenge on his ass.
But like the gun, doing so would come back to bite him hard on the ass. Instead, he locked his jaws to keep all the words wanting to burst from him contained and drove his fist squarely into Saint’s face, causing his nose to explode and blood to fly.
Finn followed that first punch with a hard left jab, and then a powerful right cross. When the man began to slide down the wall again, Finn finished with a right uppercut.
With a sliver of satisfaction, Finn watched Saint collapse into a lifeless, bloody heap on the pavement.
After delivering a wad of spit as a parting gift, paired with a hearty “Fuck you,” Finn walked away.
Not once looking back at the trash he left behind.
Instead, he focused ahead on his future with Mel.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Finn sank into the office chair and glanced around at everyone gathered at the long table.
Hold the fuck on…
His head whipped back in Decker’s direction and his eyebrows pinched together. “Did you forget to shave?”
The man was anal about shaving. Was he ill?
Decker scrubbed a hand down his stubbled cheek. “Not shaving anymore.”
“Ever?”
“I’m growing out my hair and beard.”
“Oooooh shit.” Could that mean…?
Crew circled the conference table and settled at the head of it. “Big Deck’s going undercover with the Uniontown Demons.”
Finn stared at the task force leader for a few seconds before sticking his finger in his ear and wiggling it. “Sorry. What?”
“He has to ditch the cop cut and smooth face to fit in.”
No shit. “Decker’s going undercover as a biker?” That would be a feat since it wasn’t only his clean-cut look that screamed law enforcement. The man was in shape. And not in the shape of a potato, either.
Sitting next to Finn, Rez rapped his knuckles on the table. “I would’ve taken the assignment but my Venezuelan blood isn’t pure enough for them.”
“But you’ll still be able to do buys,” Crew told him.
“Right. Dark enough to sell me drugs, but too dark to join them.”
“If those MC members actually took a bath once in a while and did a little grooming, they’d be so damn white they’d glow,” Fletch’s voice came from the conference phone set up in the middle of the group.
“They’d be translucent,” Reynolds added on a laugh.
“Hey, you’re in the same boat as me,” Rez told the Black state police corporal. “They’ll take your money, they just won’t take you.”
