Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 70651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70651 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
“What’s he doing here?” I demand. “You’re in the business of human trafficking?”
His head shakes profusely. “No, f-fuck, no. He’s j-just lying low for a c-couple of weeks before he meets up with his b-business associate out east.”
“Who?”
“Fuck if I know. Some guy named Victor.”
“Victor who?”
“I don’t know, man.”
I push down harder, not moved by his sobbing. “Think.”
“He didn’t t-tell me.”
The rumble of motorcycles can be heard in the distance, no doubt Gutter Trash and his scuzzy friends.
“Your life depends on getting me information. Figure it out, motherfucker.”
He stupidly stalls, his words stuttering out. If he thinks his biker buddies can save him, he’s wrong.
Squatting, I grab hold of the knife, twisting it just enough to make him cry out in agony. “Listen, you dumb fuck. You’re going to tell me everything you know in the next thirty seconds or I’m going to cut you open from skull to asshole.”
He gags, shaking his head. “P-Please don’t. I…”
I crack my neck, ready to make good on my promise, when the club door bangs open, the sound of metal against metal getting lost in the roar of motorcycles as several approach.
“Yo, Dragon,” Nees bellows from behind me over the noise. “We got company, dude.”
The rumbling of engines grows louder as the bikes get closer. With an agitated grunt, I yank my knife out of the useless prick’s back, swipe the blood off on his jeans, and rise to my feet.
Nees’s brow is raised as he looks past me at the guy bleeding out on the pavement. I shrug as I pass him and stalk back inside the club. Music blasts on the speakers, but I can hear shouting as I make my way back into the open area. Katana is nose to nose with some fuckface with a beer belly. Cove stands behind him, hands fisted at his sides like he’s actually going to do something.
Rushing past them, I slash at the fat fucker’s face, opening up his cheek on my way to where some big-ass bikers are entering the bar. The guy I cut roars in pain, but the sounds of Katana wailing on him with his fists shut him up real quick.
A guy with face tattoos and bigger than Koyn charges for me. He’s probably mid-forties, so I’m quicker being the younger of the two of us. I duck my head as I drive my knife in between two of his ribs. Before he can react, I’m already pulling it out and slamming it in between two more ribs. The guy stumbles, shock written all over his poorly tatted face. I shove him and am about to pounce on him when someone crashes into me.
“Fuck,” I snarl, slamming my head to the concrete floor. My knife flings out of my grip, skittering just out of reach.
“You motherfuckers will pay for coming into Falcon territory!” the crazy dude above me says. He goes to stomp on me, but I roll away, soaking my shirt in a puddle of spilled beer.
“Falcons?” I sneer at him. “Sounds like a goddamn football team.”
The guy sneers at me. “When Prez gets a hold of you and claws out your creepy-ass eyes, you’ll see exactly why we’re called the Falcons.”
Katana appears behind the guy like a shadow, the only light the brief glimmer of his blade before he drives it into the side of linebacker dude’s neck. Of course, K never misses his mark, so the second he yanks it back out, the arterial spray arcs out like a crimson rainbow. Katana darts between two guys, on a hunt for his next victim.
Another Falcon.
They’re not hard to miss among all the screams and chaos. The Falcons are the big bastards with blue leather cuts.
A guy grabs me in a headlock, and he’s massive. I struggle in his hold, a brief reminder of Night Giant sending a chill down my spine. His forearm and bicep are like a vise, crushing my throat. Blackness creeps in.
Until I see light.
Cove races after someone. I force my eyes open long enough to realize the guy he’s after meets the description of Corsetti.
Fuck.
Corsetti heads down the hallway with Cove on his heels. Just the idea of Cove alone with someone like Max Corsetti makes me explode with fury. Loki’s club wouldn’t want us hunting him down if he wasn’t the worst of the worst.
I go limp long enough for my attacker to relax an infinitesimal amount, and then I retaliate. Swinging my fist behind me, I nail him in the side of the head. It startles him enough that I’m able to wrangle out of his hold. Too easily, I turn the tables on him, climbing his back like I’m a fucking koala on a tree.
But, unlike him, when I get a hold of his head, I don’t keep it in a headlock. No, I just snap his neck. One and done.