Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(147)

He licked his lips. Fucker had murder written all over them.

I smiled. “That's because I thought this was all harder and more complicated than it really is. I didn't see all the evidence of the shit you've done right underneath my nose.”

“What f*cking evidence?”

I reached behind me and grabbed her, holding her in front of my chest. Christa flinched once, but then stood still, staring at the monster through her swollen eyes.

“This. Take a good, long look, everybody. This is why we turned on national! This is why we'll never follow this motherf*cker, as long as he's Prez!” I was screaming.

Crack looked at me in a stupor, and Fang's eyes darkened. Didn't think it was possible for him to beam more hate, but he sure as f*ck did. My hands loosened near her belly, holding on tight, ready to throw her down as soon as he let the demon inside him off its chain.

“This is what our Prez does. He rips innocent girls to pieces. He kills anybody who disagrees with that shit, frames 'em as rats. He's too f*cking busy fattening his own wallet off the blood this club's spilled to inspire us, and that's exactly why the cartel's running over our bodies. We beat 'em by being better than vermin. Right now, this club's just as brutal. Just as f*cked up. Is that what you wanted for the Grizzlies MC when you put on that patch?”

Silence. A long, tense, fiery quiet.

The surprise on Fang's face shrank, slow and vicious, turning into volcanic anger. His hand flew to his hip, surprisingly spry for a man his age. I had exactly one second to throw Christa to the ground and keep her there while he fired.

The gunshot echoed loud over the horizon. I waited for more, holding my breath, wondering if we were all about to die.

“Shit!” Blaze cursed.

I rolled, looked up, and saw the hole in Blackjack's thigh. He hit the ground, clenching his leg, blood pooling between his fingers. Fuck! Fang missed us, and hit the only man worth serving in this f*cking club instead.

One 'shit' spoken, and about a thousand more to go. Only way to describe the situation.

Blackjack clenched his leg harder, a sinister smile on his face. Blaze crouched with his gun, and everybody in our crew behind us locked and loaded. I was reaching for my own sidearm, ready to blow Crack's f*cking head off.

Except I didn't have to. The bastard's skull exploded before he could draw on me, and it came from behind him.

Fang spun, stunned silence twisting the sneer on his face. The huge throng of Grizzlies serving him had their guns drawn on each other. Another shot exploded. Another guy went down, one of Fang's men.

Total f*cking chaos.

The guys who'd decided they didn't want any part of serving the * hit the dirt. Some ran toward us, only to be mowed down by the bastards staying loyal. They were brutal f*cks, men like Serial, who loved everything Fang did to drive this club into the ground, hungry for more of it to satisfy their sadistic urges.

I struggled to stay down, protecting Christa, but I had to see what the f*ck was going on. All that mattered to us was numbers. If enough of them mutinied, especially in this storm, we had a chance.

Looking to my other side, I saw Blackjack keeping focus, pressing both hands tight to his wound. Blaze had his gun trained on Fang, who was high-tailing it back to the guys he had left.

Shit! The Devils' Prez emptied his clip and one hit the bastard in the leg. Fang dropped, grunted, and started to crawl. He was on the ground, roughing his way forward, when several goons ran toward him and picked him up.

Our guys were pouring past me now. Rabid leaned down to me, reaching for the woman's hand.

“Let her go, bro. I got her. Need to get her to the rear.”

I nodded. Good. Now, I was free to go, following the long push toward the woods, where lots of vehicles were abandoned in all the commotion.

“Missy! Missy!” I screamed her name when I got closer, looking all over for anything bigger than a bike, or maybe a pit where they'd thrown her for the exchange.

Nothing. More shots rang out around me, and several brothers wrestled on the ground, Grizzlies and the odd Devil doing close combat.

A dead eyed f*ck popped out of the trees and lunged with his dagger drawn. I blew his head off and went forward, forward, heading for the place where I'd seen them dragging Fang.

No f*cking way was he getting away alive. Not today.

Someone tugged on the back of my cut. I spun, pressed my gun to his head, and felt my heart stick in my throat when I saw it was Blackjack, struggling to upright.

“Christ! You should've stayed back. What the f*ck's going on?”

“Keep going, son,” he growled. “Don't f*cking worry about me. I can't rest until I see him dead. We have to find him.”

I nodded. The gunfire was dying down around us, and I was relieved to see mutineers and Devils standing around prisoners, gathering the f*cks together who'd thrown down their arms.

Blackjack hung close to me. We walked through the trees, and I cleared a path for him through the brush. Almost tripped on a dead man with a hole through his chest. Shit, it was one of the bastards who'd grabbed Fang. He had to be somewhere.

I heard him before we caught up through the brush. He'd rolled through the weeds toward a shitty little pond, and he was holding his leg, screaming at the * who'd gone with him.

“Come on! Keep f*cking moving. We can't stop. We've gotta get outta here.”