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The sound of someone cocking a shotgun distracts me long enough for Punk Two to take a swipe at me. He misses but manages to really piss me off. Grabbing the asshole around the neck, I hold him in a chokehold while drawing my gun and point it toward the man standing just outside the firelight with a shotgun in his hand.
“Fuck, sorry, looks like what I thought was a damsel in distress is actually a damsel causing distress. Doesn’t look like you need help from my sorry ass,” says the man, bending to put the shotgun on the ground before holding his hands up.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask.
“Name’s Barry Jones,” he says. “This here is my property. I saw your campfire. I don’t like people camping on my land.” He nods at Punk Two, who is weakly flapping at my arms. He’s about two seconds from passing out. “I think he’s about to… Never mind, he’s out.”
I drop Punk Two to the ground and kick him in the dick for good measure. Leaning over, I grab his wallet out of his pants and then do the same to the other two. “Sorry about being on your land. I’ll clear off. As soon as I take out the trash.” I open each wallet and remove their driver’s licenses before tossing the wallets back at them. “Watch them for a second. I don’t want them leaving just yet.”
Barry smirks at me as I duck back inside my tent and return with my kutte and a bottle of water. His eyes widen when I slip it on. Moving to each punk, I pour some water on each one to get their attention. I need half the bottle to wake up Punk Two. They sputter and sit up, looking around before scrambling away from me. Their eyes widen when they see Barry standing over them with his shotgun. Snapping my fingers, I draw their attention. When they take in the kutte, they let out a muted ‘fuck.’
“Yeah, you fucked up. Big time. I should fucking kill you for threatening to rape me, but I won’t. I’d have to kill Barryhere, and that doesn’t seem fair since we’re trespassing on his property. But I have your names and addresses,” I say, flashing their licenses. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get the fuck out of town before my club and I come looking for you. My tech guy will run you, and if I find out you’ve raped other women, well, there is nowhere you can run where we won’t find you.”
“We aren’t afraid of no club made up of pussies,” Punk Three mouths off, blood still oozing down his chin.
I turn slowly so he can see my rockers, my eyes fixed on his face. When he gulps, I laugh. “I can’t wait to see what Puma does to you when he hears you called him a pussy. Fuck, can’t wait to see what our SOA does to you. She loves breaking pansy-ass rapists. Has a hundred different ways to make them pay. Each more painful than the last. I suggest you run now,” I say as I draw my gun and point it at Punk Three’s head.
The three of them run off. Punk One’s limping more than sprinting.
I turn to Barry, who doubles over laughing. “Fuck, that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” He sniffs the air. “I think they wet themselves.”
I chuckle.
“You really a member of the Demon Dawgs?” he asks.
I nod before stepping over to shake his hand. “I’m Viper, Enforcer. Sorry about camping on your land. I’ll clear off. I got a late start and didn’t realize I hadn’t gone far enough into the canyon.”
He waves me off. “You can stay. Would never turn away a brother from another club.”
“You a biker?”
“Long time ago. Belonged to a club in Arizona. We were pretty small. Another club came to town and took us out. Bastards. Last I heard, another club took them out. The Demon Dawgs.”
“The Devil’s Disciples out of Yuma?” I ask.
He nods. “You were part of it?”
“I was just a prospect back then.”
“Know better than to ask, club business and all. Just want to say thanks for taking them out. Like I said, we were a small club, just wanted to build something we could be proud of, but those assholes had other ideas.”
“My Prez, Puma, might share details. You could always ask him. He keeps the clubhouse door open for any biker who offers respect to the club.”
“I might take you up on that. I’ve been to that casino you guys own. 1%? That’s a fucking jewel.”
I laugh and give him a nod. “It is. Puma’s pride and joy. He does nothing small.”
“How did you get the scratch for that?” he asks, then holds his hands up. “Sorry, shouldn’t have asked.”
“No worries. Puma fronted the money. If you stop by and say hi, you’ll likely recognize him. He used to play in the NBA. Maklin Brooks.”
“Fuck me, that’s Puma?” I see the wonder on his face. The same look most guys have when they think of Maklin. He’s larger than life. When wonder turns to humor, I grin as Barry bends at the waist and slaps his knees. Tears stream from his eyes when he looks at me. “I just pictured how those punks would react if they had to face Puma after calling him a pussy. Fuck me, that would be hysterical.”
I chuckle in agreement as I pull out my phone. “That reminds me. I need to send their info to Spark so he can run them.”
“You won’t get service here,” Barry says, and I see he’s right. Fuck me. “They might come back. I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
I glance around. “Yeah, they might. I guess I’ll move my camp.”
