Chapter 1
Down & Dirty: Rage (UNEDITED sneak peek)
CHAPTER ONE
“Where the fuck is she?” Rage roared as he burst through the ER doors the second they slid open far enough for him to wedge his big ass through them.
“Which one?”
His head twisted toward the voice to see his cousin Indie standing with a few other DAMC women and Asia Moore. Asia was also a member of that bullshit all-women’s MC, Angels of Fury.
He expected Magnum, the former sergeant at arms for the Dark Knights MC, to come exploding through those automatic doors soon.
Unless he didn’t know about this clusterfuck.
Rage wouldn’t put it past the nineteen-year-old to try to hide what happened from her parents.
Except word traveled fast between the club allies, so she wouldn’t be able to keep it secret for long.
Especially since Asia’s mother was Cait.
And Cait was long-time DAMC member Dawg’s daughter.
So yeah, since Asia was considered both DAMC and Dark Knight’s property she wouldn’t able to keep none of this shit secret.
If she somehow managed it, Rage would be having some words with the Knights’ current sergeant at arms Voodoo. That club, along with the Blood Fury MC, needed to know that any women in their goddamn bullshit female MC were at risk.
At least from what Rage could see, Asia and Indie looked to be uninjured.
His gaze sliced through the ER to see it was already packed with DAMC family. He was sure as fuck the hospital security would be trying to limit their numbers soon since most of occupants of the waiting room wore their club colors.
Including those fucking Angels of Fury.
He ground his teeth, then pulled a long breath in through his flared nostrils.
He was starting to unravel and the last thing he needed was to lose his shit in the hospital.
He’d end up cuffed and stuffed into the back of a pig’s cage leaving him no way to find out what the fuck happened to the women he promised to protect when he was voted in as the DAMC sergeant at arms a few years ago.
Keeping everyone safe was his responsibility.
As was revenge.
Even so, he reminded himself that he couldn’t focus on only one of the injured women, he needed to focus on them all.
He spotted a certain woman he needed to have a goddamn word with.
Lexi.
The so-called fucking president of the AFMC.
Also his cousin.
And a red-head.
Who liked to go head-to-head with him like it was a goddamn sport.
But today she was not going to fucking win.
In a few long strides, he stood toe-to-toe with her.
Of course, her steel blue eyes narrowed on him immediately.
Some men might be afraid of her, but the fuck if he was.
Lexi shoved her open palm in front of his face, making him jerk his head back. “I don’t want to fucking hear it.”
Fuck that. “Woman, you’re gonna fuckin’ hear it. But some shit I gotta say can wait. Right now, wanna hear what the fuck happened. And don’t you fuckin’ dare leave a goddamn thing out. Not one, Lex. You see the fuckers who ran you girls off the road?”
“Bikers.”
“No fuckin’ shit. They wearin’ anythin’ that would identify them?”
Lexi shook her head. “No cuts at all. Would’ve told you that first if we had.”
“Don’t be fuckin’ lyin’ to me.”
“I’m not lying to you, Ash-hole. They tried to take out whoever was riding at the rear of the formation. We didn’t see them coming.”
“I find out you’re keepin’ shit from me ‘cause you want Vi and Indie to handle it…”
His cousin rolled her eyes. “You’re fucked up.”
“Told you this all-girls MC was fucked up!” exploded from him.
“We’re women, not girls. And I have no reason to lie.”
Rage shook his head. “Yeah, right. Who knows with you women. If not the Shadows, maybe you expected your own fake enforcer to handle it.” He got into Lexi’s face. “But don’t even fuckin’ think about it.”
“If you haven’t noticed, Ashton, Piper is in a damn hospital bed right now. She isn’t able to do anything. She needs to heal.”
“Today proves you women shouldn’t be playin’ bikers,” Zeke said as the DAMC president joined them.
Lexi rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You’re not our president, Zeke. I am.”
“And look where that fuckin’ landed you,” the DAMC president countered.
“It could’ve been random.”
“Warned you fuckin’ women ‘bout the Twisted Souls and La Cosa Nostra. Told you to be cautious. But fuck that, right? Gotta be stubborn,” Rage growled.
One of her eyebrows rose. “Do you want to talk about who’s stubborn?”
“Think you girls were targeted?” Zeke asked next in a rare moment of him trying to be calm and sensible.
“Of fuckin’ course they were targeted,” Rage bit off.
Zeke ignored him. “Who the hell’s injured besides Pip?”
“They’re treating both Bri and Lyric for some minor brush burn, but Piper got the worst of it. They knocked her into the other two.”
Probably like a goddamn bowling ball.
“How many of you were ridin’?” Zeke asked. “Know Vi wasn’t with you since she was with us.”
Violet, the manager of In the Shadows Security, had already been at the pig roast Zeke had thrown to officially introduce his three-year-old son to the club members.
The rest of the AFMC had been headed over to the DAMC clubhouse to join them when they were attacked.
Because that was how Rage was labeling it. A fucking attack.
“All of us, except for Dyna and Daisy. They didn’t come down from Manning Grove.”
Thank fuck for that.
“Need more details,” Rage demanded from Lexi.
“How many were there?” Zeke asked at the same time Jag joined them.
“You good?” the OG asked his daughter, pulling her into his arms for a quick squeeze.
“Yes, I’m good. Piper not so much.” Lexi turned to Zeke. “We spotted three. No cuts. Nothing to identify any of them. They had bandanas over their lower faces, skull caps covering their hair and dark sunglasses. I just know they were white men with tattoos.”
“Christ. That describes about eighty fuckin’ percent of bikers,” Jag grumbled.
It also described one-hundred percent of the Twisted Souls.
Since they hadn’t even had one interaction with the Souls yet, it made no fucking sense why the other club would go on the offensive.
It also made no sense why they’d want to make enemies of the Angels—both the Dirty Angels and the Angels of Fury—when they wanted to run drugs through their territory without being harassed.
He needed to check on Bri and Lyric but he also needed to have a word with Trouble first.
“Yo,” he said to Zeke, tipping his head toward a corner that wasn’t so crowded.
Zeke followed him over there and as soon as Rage turned, he got in the president’s face. “We can’t fuckin’ let this go, Prez.”
“No fuckin’ shit.”
“We gotta decide how we’re handlin’ this shit soon. If not, I’m gonna handle it.”
“The fuck if you’re goin’ against not only an MC, but the Mafia on your own. That would be fuckin’ stupid.”
“We fuckin’ know this is the Souls. But what the fuck? We haven’t done shit to them yet. You said you let the Mafia boss think our club wasn’t gonna fuck with their bitches, right?”
“Right. Let him assume that, but didn’t give him an answer either way.”
“So why the fuck are the Souls causin’ shit already?”
Zeke shook his head. “Don’t make much fuckin’ sense. Why the fuck would they wanna start a war with us when they got the Mafia at their back?”
Rage sucked on his teeth as he considered that. His gut churned as he came up with the only probable answer he could think of. “They want our territory.”
Rage could see Zeke’s mind turning as he stared at him. A few seconds later he glanced over his shoulder at the full waiting room behind him. “Yeah. That, or it’s just a warnin’ not to fuck with them.”
“Already got that fuckin’ warnin’ from the motherfuckin’ Russos when they took your boy.”
They had forced Zeke to meet with La Cosa Nostra by taking the president’s son Ledger. All to inform him that the Souls would be transporting drugs from some cartel down in Mexico up to the Pittsburgh mob.
Cutting right through DAMC territory.
To Rage, that was a no fucking go. But they were trying to handle this shit right by not going balls to the walls so they could figure out a plan first.
Only they still had no fucking plan.
And that was a problem.
If it was only the Twisted Souls, they could easily handle them. But having the goddamn Russos involved—the cut-throat Sicilians who “ran” Pittsburgh—made it a bigger issue. A much more dangerous one.
The Sicilians could wipe out their entire club easily. The same way they did to the Deadly Demons MC.
Having access to explosives, they could blow up all their shit—their club, families, businesses, everything—and then gift the DAMC’s territory over to the Souls after being wrapped in a goddamn bow.
Territory the Angels have ruled since 1974. All way back to when his great-grandfather Doc was one of the founders of the damn club.
The fuck if he was going to let that happen.
He had four generations of DAMC blood running through his veins and he planned on making sure the club was around for the next one and the next.
Rage shook his head. “Goddamn stupid fuck Demons got in bed with the devil all ‘cause they were greedy motherfuckers.”
“Russos might think they got the Souls on a tight leash, but that might not be true. They’re outlaws. They do their own shit, make their own rules, and might not like takin’ orders from those slimy bastards.”
“Or they plan on backstabbin’ them like the Demons did,” Rage suggested. And if so, the Mafia would take out the trash for them.
“Ain’t gonna turn out well for them, if they do.”
“Yeah. We fuckin’ know that but they might be dumb fucks.”
“They proved they’re dumb fucks when they tried to fuck with the Kings of Anarchy.”
“We can be pissed at the Kings for chasin’ the Souls west, but even if they hadn’t, the Russos woulda found another stupid as fuck MC to do their biddin’.”
With a groan, Zeke rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Need to find a goddamn solution. Need to make sure everyone’s protected.”