Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(38)

Chapter Nineteen


And Fuck You Too





OH, MAN. THE FURY fired by Diablo’s ultimatum found a nice handy target when the drunk asshole held his gun against me.

Blow a hole through my brains?

He could try.

And die trying.

Oh yeah. Nonlethal force.

I’d do the next best thing.

Raising my torso off the floor, I bucked Hillbilly Bullshit off me. His gun flew through the air, and the assault of my fists on his flesh was music my ears.

Nice song.

I dug right into it. Pursuing the Missing Link into a corner, I boxed him in.

Bashing his face with hammer-style fists until his cheeks swelled, his lips cracked, his eyes bruised, I lashed out one last time.

That final connect slumped him near to dead at my feet.

Finally.

Some goddamn retribution.

Not enough.

The rest of the fray had stilled around me.

I blew at my swollen fists, spinning around. “What?”

“Jesus, Handsome.” Tail kicked the unconscious dude.

“He was asking for it.” I shrugged. No apologies.

“Hoping for the long kiss goodnight via your knuckles?” Brodie worked his fingers through the sculpted whiskers of his blond goatee. “Thought you were all peaceful and happy and shit.”

“And clearly killer.” Boomer looked me over, head to toe.

“Yeah. That.” I shrugged. “Had some aggression to work off.”

“You don’t say.” Tucker looked down at the pile of man I’d pretty much destroyed.

Fucker deserved it.

Tension ramped through me. Not one bit appeased by the waster asshole bleeding on my boots, I grabbed my blade and made for the door.

Ringing shots echoed down the damp, darkened hallway.

We raced toward the ricochet sound, our boots pounding louder.

The first man we came across was dead, slumped over a desk piled high with cash.

So much for nonlethal force.

Slamming to a stop, we discovered Bo and Ronnie, with Slade, Walker, and Hunter keeping guard as the big bad Marine dried her tears, covered her in his shirt, lifted her in his arms.

I almost bent over from the waist, winded not from the fight, but from instant relief.

We’d done one good thing.

We’d found Doc Ronnie.

She was safe.

Alive.

Then I looked beyond Bo to the dead body on the floor. Blood pooled beneath him.

That nonlethal measures thing again. Apparently Bo hadn’t gotten his own memo because that twisted, mangled form was nightmare-level.

Ronnie, her takes-no-shit-’tude a little diminished, whispered, “Are you all okay?”

Bo snuck his head to her neck. “Yeah. You don’t worry about us. I got you now. Got you forever.”

We formed a line in the hall as he carried her out.

Jesus.

Then shots started cracking, whistling toward us, pinging way too goddamn close for comfort.

During our dicey retreat, Coletrane took a bullet to his shoulder, barely slowing his footfalls as we escaped that motherfucking hellhole.

We’d made it through the building to the fenced-in enclosure when Walker swung back, his grin gleaming so evilly you could see it in the swallowing darkness.

Never mind we were still being pursued, he looked downright gleeful.

Hunter glared at him. “What now?”

“Brought my party trick.”

“Not sure we want that many civilian casualties. I’m a friggin’ police detective, remember?” Hunter growled.

Oh yeah. Walker and his best buddies: C and 4. He had to be packing the explosives.

“Who said anything about casualties?” He pulled a remote from his pocket and jabbed the button before anyone could stop him.

Off to our right, a squat building went up like dry tinder. The big bang rocketed through the night and the blaze hit the skyline like sheets of white and red and orange lightning sent in reverse.

“BOOM. You’re welcome. That was their gun-stores. And you know how I like my diversions.”

“Yeah. The last one was my Tahoe,” Hunter grumbled some more, but he couldn’t stop shaking his head as if to say this fucking guy.

We hurried to the opening in the fence as the MC members who’d been hot after us stopped to stare at the blazing bonfire of their ballistics hoard.

At the fence line, Bo halted his steps. “I’m not done here yet.”

“How much more done do you need to be?” Cole asked, blood from the bullet wound in his shoulder dripping down his shirt, but he didn’t complain about the pain.

Bo handed Ronnie over to Slade, hushing, “I’ll be right back, babe. Gonna make sure you’re safe once and for all.”

He ordered Boomer and Cole to head off with Slade, and his face collapsed for a second as soon as Ronnie couldn’t see him.

Putting his flinty mask back in place, he turned toward the losers who looked a little pissed right the fuck off we’d torched their illegal arms.

Too bad they still had their handguns on them.

Walker, Hunter, Brodie, Tucker, Tail and I joined ranks behind Bo, and no one questioned his decision. Not when it came to his woman.

His face deadly, his Beretta raised, he said, “Your Prez is dead. Your club is killed. You really wanna be next?”