Teller
Rock turns as we approach.“Got what we need?”
“Yup.”
The corners of his mouth curl up. “Good. Look who showed up.” He steps aside. Three men lined up and facedown on the ground. I recognize the South of Satan MC patches. Farther away lay three Harleys, wheels still spinning.
“Couldn’t even let ’em dismount properly?”
“They came in hot,” Wrath says. “Shootin’ like we’re in the Wild fucking West.”
“Nice work.” I pull out my hunting knife and run my gaze over the trio at my feet. Heidi gave me the knife one Christmas. I should’ve brought a different one with me for tonight’s wetwork. “Which one of you is Thumbs?”
The guy facedown to my left kicks his foot out. “Him.”
“Shut up, you stupid fuck,” the one in the middle says.
I grab him by his belt and turn him over.
His eyes widen at the knife in my hand.
Mine widen with recognition. “Fuck.” I glance over my shoulder at Rock. “We’ve dealt with this asshole before.”
Rock moves closer and stares down at him. “Slow learner, huh?”
“Fuck you. You and your bullshit club ain’t got the right to take over Ironworks and Slater. Don’t matter what Whisper wanted. Wolf Knights are out. They don’t get a say. We coulda run that area.”
Rock does a slow, sarcastic look around. “Sure. Absolutely. You seem equipped to handle the job.”
“We should’ve killed him when we had the chance.” Guilt settles in my stomach. Carter wouldn’t have been hurt if we’d taken this punk out last time.
Wrath stares down at Thumbs. “The beating should’ve been enough for him to learn some respect.” He kicks the guy next to Thumbs. “Seems Prez, here, doesn’t have control over his crew.”
“Fuck you, asshole.”
More vehicles draw closer, drowning out everything else. I recognize the Harleys and breathe a sigh of relief. Our guys are whole.
Rooster’s truck pulls up in the rear with Merlin still inside.
Dex jumps off his ride and stalks straight toward Whitey, slamming his boot into the president’s ribs.
“I take it the meeting went well?” Rock raises an eyebrow at Dex.
“We need to get Rooster to a doctor,” Dex answers without taking his eyes off Whitey.
“Why? What happened?” Jiggy shouts.
Rooster’s door creaks open and he slides out of the truck, landing heavy on the gravel. “I’m fine.”
“Fucking pussy,” Whitey mumbles.
“Yeah?” Rooster’s deadly voice rumbles as he picks up speed, boots slapping against the ground. “That right?” He cocks his gun, aims at Whitey’s thigh, and shoots. Blood explodes over the dirty denim covering the man’s leg.
Whitey screams and digs his nails into the ground, trying to drag himself away.
Wrath stops his attempted escape with a boot on Whitey’s back. “We’ll get you a Bandaid in a minute. Sit tight.”
“That’s for the knife in my side, fucker.” Rooster tucks his gun away and nods to Rock. “Sorry for the interruption. Please continue.”