I rolled my goddamn eyes. “Looks like it.”
“Aren’t they sweet?” Tuck straightened up, scratching one of the beasts behind its ear until it stretched out at his feet.
“Don’t fucking believe it,” Brodie said, stepping through the hole in the fence.
The rest of us followed.
And suddenly it was go-time. I headed off with Brodie, Boomer, Tail, Cole, and Tuck.
Walker, Hunter, Bo, and Slade took the opposite side of the dirty-to-the-core MC compound.
Bo had advised us to use nonlethal force. The detail was to infiltrate, locate Ronnie, get her the hell out.
If she was even here.
If she was even still alive.
Breaking into the main building, the stench of musty sweat, stale beer, and even staler spunk assaulted my nose.
“Glad we got Probies 1.0 and 2.0 to take care of our digs.”
Fucking hell. My eyes are watering.
With a finger held to his lips, Boomer cautioned us forward down a hall at the opposite end of the compound Bo and his team snuck into.
Listening like my ears were on high alert, I tracked right behind the Steele brothers, their steady guard. Tuck, Tail, and Cole took the rear, and we moved as one silent body through the hall—each room quietly opened, quickly cased, and closed shut in our wake.
Until we reached the motherfucking epicenter of action.
The bar.
Which looked like a down-and-out hooker had puked up all over it. Empty needles on tables. Empty bottles rolling on the floor. Empty-headed losers looking up like all WTF?
And that particular stench?
I almost gagged. Before I reached for my knife because the shakedown was suddenly on.
Boomer rammed the first man out of his seat into the nearest wall. And big Boomer’s rage had to hit the redline when the crooked-toothed, crazy-eyed cunt nutted him, forehead to forehead.
I didn’t catch the end of that brawl because an assclown with waaay too much fumes fueling his fight rose unsteadily and tackled me across the floor. We went skidding, smashing bottles, overturning tables, slamming against walls until the doorway caught my shoulder and halted our slippery slide.
I’d lost my blade somewhere along the way, but I still had my fists.
That was when the ape on top of me pulled out a mean-looking pistol and shoved it against my temple.
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.