Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 104(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
“Hey, Henry, I got Marv on the line. He’s got a few bikers acting up at The Cracked Barrel. I’ll patch him in.”
“Hey, Marv,” Henry says as he starts the car and throws it into drive. “What’s going on?”
“These fucking maniacs are causing all sorts of shit,” he shouts. It sounds like a rodeo is happening behind him. “Better bring Emmanuel.”
“He’s sleeping.”
“Then wake him up! These boys are rowdy.”
Something breaks in the background and Marv curses. “Hey!” he shouts to someone in the bar. “You touch that again and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor!”
The line goes dead as he hangs up.
“Damn,” Henry mutters as he pulls out his phone while racing down the empty street. “Biggest brawl of the year and my knee is throbbing from softball.”
He thumbs through the phone and hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I say as I look at it. “Oh, hell no!”
He’s calling Emmanuel at two in the morning. That brute is grumpy as hell in the afternoon. I don’t want to be the one waking him up in the middle of the night.
I drop the phone on Henry’s lap like it’s a hot potato. He grabs it and shoves it back into my hands while it rings.
“I’m not talking to him!” I say in a panic. “He already hates me.”
“He does not.”
“He’s a grumpy beast!”
“Exactly,” Henry says. “A grumpy beast who’s an all-star at kicking bikers’ asses. He lives near the bar. He’ll probably be there before us.”
“Oh shit,” I mutter as I put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” he grunts in a deep hoarse voice.
“Hi, Emmanuel,” I say, my voice coming out extra chipper. “It’s me. Cara.”
Another grunt.
“There’s a big brawl at The Cracked Barrel Saloon,” I say. “Some bikers are causing trouble.”
“Bikers?” he grunts, his voice a little more perky. “I’ll meet you there.”
There’s a click and then the dial tone.
“He’s coming,” I say as I turn off Henry’s phone and put it in the drink holder between us.
“I hope three is enough,” Henry says as he turns the lights on and speeds onto the highway.
We arrive a few seconds later, pulling into the parking lot of the seediest bar for miles.
“Holy shit,” I whisper when I see the chaotic scene unraveling before us. There are dozens of huge bikers battling it out with fists, beer bottles, and clubs.
This is bad even for Chicago. And we’re vastly outnumbered.
Our car skids to a stop in the parking lot, our headlights illuminating the worst brawl I’ve ever seen.
“Welcome to the seedy side of the Greene Mountains,” Henry says with a grin. “Time to earn that meager paycheck.”
CHAPTER SIX
Cara
“We need backup,” I say as we step out of the car and face the massive brawl outside of the old worn-down bar with the gray faded wood and the bright neon signs.
“Emmanuel is coming,” Henry says as he pulls out his club.
“We need at least another dozen units,” I say as I pull my club out with my heart pounding. I cringe when I see someone getting punched in the jaw and dropping to the pavement.
“Small town, Cara,” he says with a shrug. “We work with what we got and this is all we’ve got.”
He runs into the mob and starts swinging his club, trying to break it up.
“What the hell?” I mutter as I watch him go. That is not police protocol in any town anywhere in the world. I don’t know what that is.
I spot a biker close by who’s about to nail some college boy from behind with a stool. “Hey!” I shout as I rush over and grab it.
And just like that, I’m absorbed into the brawl.
The biker turns around and throws a haymaker that grazes my chin, so I hit him in the ribs with my club. He drops the stool, but someone kicks me from behind.
I go flying and roll onto the ground before popping back up with my hands clenched into fists. I lost my club. Shit.
Another biker swings at me and hits me in the temple. I stumble back, dazed for a second as he comes forward for another shot. Someone else breaks a beer bottle over his head and he drops to a knee before he can hit me again.
I knee him in the face and then turn him around, grabbing his wrist as I take out my handcuffs.
“You’re under arrest,” I say as I cuff his wrist.
A massive Jeep screeches to a stop in the parking lot. Emmanuel jumps out wearing nothing but pajama pants. He’s not even wearing shoes! I spot a few dozen zip ties sticking out of his pocket.
“What the hell?” I whisper as he charges into the battle with a booming war cry. He looks gigantic with a shirt on, but his torso looks like it was designed by CGI now that he’s shirtless. Good lord.