Page 22 of Rooster


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“Rooster,” he said, clucking his tongue in dismay. “Looks like you need to learn how to count. I have twelve men. You only have nine. Do you think I won’t slaughter you where you stand?”

“Are your men proud of you?” I asked.

A heartbeat of stillness echoed in the air. The Devil’s Disciples shifted, exchanging a few nervous glances.

“Did they willingly follow you all the way from Louisiana and into the hot, dusty, dry California desert to terrorize your own wife who doesn’t even love you? If you’re willing to do that to a woman you’re supposed to cherish…you must put your club through the meat grinder.”

Pruitt pushed away from the door frame with his shoulder and stepped into the parking lot. I shoved the divorce papers into his chest but he didn’t take them. So they fluttered to the ground like a broken moth, pale against the dark pavement.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” he hissed.

“My club is my family,” I continued. “I’m proud to see them get married, to have kids, to build a home and a life of their own. Never—not once—did they threaten me to stand beside them. That will always be my choice. And I will always defend my family of my own free will. Can your men say the same for you? Or are you too obsessed with screaming for the respect that you feel is owed you simply because of that fucking patch on your chest.”

I thumped his President patch with my fist. Pruitt rocked back on his heels and stumbled a step to regain his balance. His eyes flashed with fury.

“Giles! Deal with this bastard, will you? Crack his skull on the pavement until he stops moving.”

He gestured to the big man who had spoken when we first arrived. Giles wavered and remained rooted to the spot.

“Giles,” Pruitt bellowed. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

No one moved. No one spoke. The Devil’s Disciples didn’t make eye contact with their leader. I could see the moment when Pruitt realized his control was slipping from his grasp. Panic flared across his face, twisting his mouth into a scowl.

Pruitt marched over to Giles and drove his fist into Giles’ gut. When Giles doubled over, Pruitt grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved him to his knees.

“When I give a fucking order,” he growled. “You obey me. Is that clear?”

Giles glared up at Pruitt.

“No.”

The Devil’s Disciples all shifted at that single word, brimming with defiance. It turned everything upside down, leaving Pruitt alone and defenseless. A minute ago, he had the arrogance that came with a small army at his command. Now, he had nothing.

“That sweet woman deserves better than you,” Giles said. “All you’ve done is tear her down. You never once touched that woman with kindness.”

Pruitt released his grip on Giles roughly and stepped back.

“Do you all feel that way?”

The Devil’s Disciples were silent. He pointed at Giles.

“I’ll tell the cops you were the one who did that drive by shooting. You’ll be arrested. I’m the only thing saving you from going to prison. You should be grateful for everything I’ve done for you instead of turning your back on me.”

Giles fixed him with a level look.

“You never did a damn thing for me, or any one of us, if it didn’t serve you first. So shove your fragile ego up your ass. I won’t grovel anymore.”

I huffed a laugh and gave a low whistle.

“Looks like you’re the one who’s outnumbered now, President. Your club just went from twelve members to one. How does it feel to be the leader of…well…nothing?”

Pruitt spun toward me. My club shifted closer, tense and ready to defend me if he attacked.

“I will bury you for this,” he hissed, spittle flecking his lips. “Every single one of those fuckers are replaceable. I don’t need them. I’ll find men who know how to respect their leader and follow orders.”

I pointed to the ground.

“I don’t give a damn, Pruitt. But you’re going to pick up those papers and you’re going to sign them.”

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