Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Good idea,” Preacher says with a nod.
Stone laughs. “I kind of meant for all this cash, but hey, whatever you guys think is best.”
“Everybody, take what you can, and we’ll divvy it up later,” Ace instructs and takes the can from Joaquin. “Let’s get this shit torched and get the fuck out of here.”
“With pleasure,” Joaquin says and pulls out his fancy Zippo lighter, which Dix snatches from his hands. “Dammit.”
“Sorry, kid. I need to set some shit on fire.”
“Be my guest, old timer.” Joaquin snickers to himself and motions for Dix to set the drugs and MC shit on fire.
A loud whoosh sounds as the flames climb high toward the ceiling, and the room quickly fills with smoke.
“So fucking satisfying,” Dix growls and turns to the rest of us with a smile. “Next?”
“Next, we hit up Smitty’s.” Ace nods toward the door a second before he heads out of the clubhouse, with the rest of us quickly at his heels.
Smitty’s is a shithole bar that sits just off the interstate. It has the feeling of an old-school saloon, which is perfect for the type of shit we’re about to rain down on the Iron Kings. Rock music blares into the parking lot when we pull up, and it provides the perfect cover for stage two. Chaos.
Nova pulls into the parking lot behind the bikes in one of our MC vans, and we all converge to grab bats and axes, knives and clubs, pretty much anything to fuck shit up.
Ace points at the row of bikes out front. “Do your worst, boys.”
We move together like a well-oiled machine toward the bikes. Over the sound of the hard rock music, all I can hear is the sound of bikes being smashed. Shattered windows and windshields, the sound of metal slicing through leather seats and bags.
Seven minutes in, and six bikes are nothing more than heaps of leather and chrome and busted lights.
I step back and grin at the damage. “I’d say we fucked shit up properly.”
“Damn straight,” Ace grins a second before the bar doors swing open, and six Iron Kings spill out, laughing and drunk.
“What the fuck are you assholes…Reckless Souls,” the drunk fuck slurs and pulls a nickel-plated gun from his waistband. “You pussies are dead.” He aims, but the drunk fucker is unsteady on his feet, and the bullet flies right past my head.
Lightning fast, my gun is in my hand, and I’m aiming at the swaying piece of shit. My finger tightens on the trigger, and instead of hitting him in the chest, it strikes his shoulder, and he falls to the ground. “Everybody good?”
“Yeah,” Ace growls. Seconds later, the parking lot erupts in gunfire.
Iron Kings are shooting, and we’re shooting back.
“Shit,” Preacher calls out, and when I look back, he’s on his knees, clutching at his midsection. “I’m hit.”
“I got him,” Nova shouts as he runs from the van toward Preacher. As much as I want to watch Nova examine one of our brothers, we have to put down these fucking Iron Kings.
Dix pounds it out with one of the patched Iron Kings, trading blows as blood flies to the blacktop. Meanwhile, Joaquin is pistol-whipping one of the newer bikers, who is probably regretting his need for danger and excitement.
With gunshots still flying all around, Ace picks off one of the old timers as he charges forward.
The ground practically vibrates under my feet, and I don’t know what, but something tells me to turn around. When I do, I see four more headlights aimed at our backs.
“They called for backup,” I shout and shoot at the first fucker I see. Nogales. He falls off the bike, but like the goddamn devil, the fucker isn’t dead yet.
Half my MC turns to face the incoming bikers, guns aimed and ready to inflict maximum damage. Two bikes fall over, and the Iron Kings use them for cover while they send bullets flying our way.
Two shots ring out behind us, and when I glance over my shoulder, Joaquin’s face is covered in Iron King’s blood spatter, the whites of his eyes and teeth the only visible light with all the blood dripping down his face.
“The best King is a dead King.”
Two down, eight more to go.
Ace charges at Nogales, who’s gripping his arm, grunting and swearing as he lifts his bike and jumps on it.
“How did we miss fucking up Nogales’s bike?” I yell to Ace.
Nogales doesn’t hear me. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he shouts, but his words are barely audible over the gunfire, over the sound of bones cracking against soft human flesh. “Now!”
Ace takes aim, but Nogales is on the street and speeding off before another bullet touches him.
“Damn, that fucker is slippery.” Ace shakes his head, and our gazes connect. I spot another unknown biker behind him and raise my gun, setting up my shot as I advance toward my Prez.