The Broken Pieces of Us (The Devil's Dust #2.1)

“And you know this place how?” I ask, turning my bike off, so I don’t have to yell over it.

“My dad used to take me fishing here all the time,” Bobby mentions, looking at me with a sudden sadness. It’s a shame about his parents, killed by a drunk driver.

I nod and pull my gun out, sliding the safety off.

“Looks like we ain’t alone,” Locks says, pointing at the parked bikes.

“Let’s take care of business,” Bobby says, gun in hand.

We slide up behind the side of the building where some broken windows a few feet above us line the shed. Shadow kneels down and cups his hands, letting Bobby place his foot in them. Shadow lifts Bobby to look through the windows. Bobby sways his head back and forth looking around and holds his hand up displaying five fingers. Five men.

Shadow lowers Bobby down, and Bobby strides over to me.

“There is a large garage door in the front and a smaller door on each side of the place,” Bobby whispers.

“Shadow, Bobby, Locks, you get the front. Old Guy, you get that side,” I instruct, pointing to the side of the building. “I’ll get this side,” I continue.

Locks growls in frustration and follows Bobby and Shadow. I walk around the corner and find the white door Bobby said was on this side. Just as I hear shouting, I kick the door open, noticing Locks kick in his door across the way seconds later.

A young man, wearing a black vest with Blazing Dice MC colors, turns to face me. He’s too close to shoot, so I grab him by the neck and place him in a headlock. He rears up and hits me in the face with the butt of his gun, making me stumble back. Pain from my split lip races across my face. Before he has time to think, I slam my fist into his face. My fist is bigger than his entire face, its impact causes blood to spit from the guy’s face from all directions and all over my hand and arm. He falls on his ass, laughing, his teeth red with blood. I raise an eyebrow, a little disturbed at why he’s laughing. He jumps to his feet suddenly, surprising me by his flexibility, and spits blood in my face, pissing me off. I pull my gun up, ready to end this fucking shit, when he pulls a knife from behind him and slashes at me, hitting my arm holding my gun. My hand instinctively lets go of the gun, letting it fall to the floor. He swipes at me again, but I jump back, making him miss. I slam my foot into his knee cap, causing him fall to the ground screaming in pain. I grab his wrist while he is distracted by the pain of his knee, and twist it, breaking it. The cracking vibrates beneath my grip as he drops the knife. I grab it, and just as I am about to teach this punk a lesson, Locks walks up behind the wailing young man and fires his weapon. The bullet flies into the back of the guy’s head, spitting blood and tissue all over my face.

“You done pussy footing?” Locks quips, placing his gun in his holster.

“I had it handled,” I reply, wiping my face of the guy’s blood. “Besides, you guys got old fat guys. I got some fucking martial arts bullshit,” I defend myself.

I look at the guy Locks just shot, and then glare at Locks.

“You shouldn’t have killed him; you know the Ghost would have wanted one of these guys alive,” I observe. My brow curls in irritation at Locks’ impulsiveness. When shit like this goes down, you usually want one of the guys who fucked with your stuff. Get them to talk as to why it happened, how it happened, and who ordered the hit. Locks shrugs and moves along, like going against code and killing someone he didn’t have to means nothing.

“This is definitely the Ghost’s shit,” Shadow says, slamming the lid down on some wooden crates. I walk around the crates and find an outline of a ghost printed on the side.

“I’ll give the call. He’ll owe us for this one,” I reply, digging my phone from my pocket.



I have my foot propped up on the coffee table, painting my toes bright red, when Locks walks in. I think about telling him about the condom wrapper I found in his dirty jeans just moments before I started painting my toes, but decide against it. I don’t even care anymore, so it’s pointless.

“I won’t be home tonight,” Locks says, leaning down to kiss me on the cheek.

“Why’s that?” I ask, not all that interested.

“Party at the club,” he informs, walking toward our bedroom.

“Babs, come here, baby!” Locks yells from down the hall, his tone taking on a fake sincerity and seductive purr. I know that tone, and I won’t be coming to him. He wants some pre-party pussy. I haven’t had sex with Locks since before he made it clear my future with him was indefinitely.