Never Love An Outlaw (Deadly Pistols MC #1)(72)

The firefight lasted a cool minute before Sixty charged and rolled next to me at the wall. His magnum blasted right through a skinny tree, hit one of the f*cks hiding in the brush.

My ears rang with his satisfying scream. The other two retreated, falling back into the forest, probably on Big Vic's orders. I could hear the * screaming behind 'em.

They were f*cked. Our prospects circled their bikes, cutting off their only escape.

Soon as the return fire stopped, Dust waved us toward the forest, the only signal we needed to go after 'em.

Fucking finally. I'd never been so goddamned happy to see the tables turned.

Meg clasped my arm, trying to stop me from going in. I tore myself away from her with a grunt, shaking my head.

“I've got to do this, babe. It'll be over fast. I promise.”

I'd make it up to her later. I sure as shit wasn't gonna let the Prez and the rest of my brothers take down Big Vic and the rest of his guys.

That sonofabitch had to die by my hand, just like I swore.

I always kept my word, ever since I'd put on this patch. Always.

We chased the f*ckers deep, crawling over tangled brush. Caught the greasy haired shit, Snappy, first, found him hiding behind a stump. He got off a few more shots, but the * was blinded with pain.

Joker got him from behind, close combat, stabbing a knife through his throat while the little hyena was too busy trying to shoot us. He died with his other hand still pressed to the nasty wound on his thigh, a jagged wound too messy to be one of ours.

I nodded to myself, satisfied that Meg had f*cked a few of them up by making that dumb bastard blow his shotgun. He'd caught a piece of his own shrapnel, and now the devil had his soul. We pressed on.

The raging pain in my head stopped. I hit a second wind, running ahead of my boys, Sixty and Crawl at my side.

We found their guns before we found them. The last two Deads dropped everything, trying to run in a headlong panic. Crawl stopped for a second, picked up their shitty camera, and I took the machete laying next to it.

They'd followed a stream, probably hoping it'd lead them somewhere to hide, when we dropped 'em. Me and my best two brothers shot Big Vic and his boy in their calves from behind. They went down screaming like rats.

The Prez and the rest of the guys had just enough time to catch up as we approached.

“Goddamn, we got ourselves an officer.” He pointed his gun at Big Vic's name patch, ready to dispatch him at any time.

I grabbed his arm and shoved his gun down with a growl. The Deadhands' Veep blubbered like a baby, begging for his miserable life. I'd seen his type before – big, ugly bullies who always shit their pants when they were fresh outta bullets and guts.

The Prez walked up and kicked him in the ribs before he turned around and looked at me.

“He's mine, Prez. Let me do him. He tried to kill me and f*ck my old lady. Asshole was planning to film it all for ransom from her folks.”

“No arguments,” Dust said coldly. “What about this other piece of shit?”

He gestured to the pot bellied biker with the pockmarked face. I shook my head. I didn't have a personal beef with this * like I did their VP. He was just another faceless soldier in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong club.

“Joker?” Dust smiled as he looked at our crazy ass Veep.

The boy was finally wearing a ghost of a smile as he pulled his knife out. Sixty and Crawl grinned, holding the bastard down. Joker sliced his shirt open and started carving the ink off his chest, stuffing the scrap of dirty fabric in the *'s mouth to drown out his screams.

Ironic how he ended up suffering longer for Big Vic's sins. I wasn't interested in tolerating that bad motherf*cker tainting more air on this planet for a second longer.

He tried to crab crawl away from me with his shot up leg when he saw me coming, machete in hand. “Oh, f*ck. Oh, f*ck. Oh, f*ck.”

Normally, I gave *s a chance to say some final words.

Not today.

I stepped ahead of him to the creek's river bed and took off his arm with one quick, clean cut. Then the other. The bastard howled so loud he would've gotten our asses in trouble, assuming there was anybody to hear.

Lucky for us, that wasn't a concern when I swung the blade again. His ugly f*cking head came off and rolled like a rotten pumpkin, right to the edge of the stream, stopping against a jagged rock with his eyes frozen open in shock.

I looked at his sick face one more time. Asshole's mouth hung open like he died surprised, and I grunted. Sweet, sweet satisfaction.

He'd need a lot more than fresh mountain water to purify his black soul down in hell for what he'd done to my woman.

Two hours later, I was back at the clubhouse, Meg at my side while Dust's ma, Laynie, checked me over.

She had her work cut out for her today as a former nurse. First, Firefly, and now me.

“You should really go down to the hospital and get a brain scan, son.” She shined the bright light into my eyes one more time, turning everything brilliant white. “I'm not seeing any obvious signs of damage, but you took a terrible blow to the head. I don't have the right equipment to rule out the worst.”

“I'll be fine,” I grunted, feeling a tiredness coming over me, nothing but the burning drive to curl up with my old lady and go the f*ck to sleep.

“Skin, I want one of your friends to take us on a drive. I'm going to get you some help.” Meg stood up, pulling the rag she'd used to help clean the blood off my face out of its water, and wiped a spot she'd missed.