Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Cass
The sound of motorcycles approaching puts me on edge because Scott hung up his phone less than thirty seconds ago. “Get ready, Hounds,” Keith sneers.
Just the sound of his voice makes me want to snap his fucking neck.
“Shut the fuck up,” I grit, punching him right across his cheek. He groans from the impact and slumps over onto the floor.
I pop my head out the door and see the headlights.
The gunshots begin before the motorcycles are even stopped.
Fuck. I don’t have eyes on anyone. I duck back inside, drawing my pistol.
I trace over the entrances and what my best option is.
Keith’s loud ass mouth isn’t going to allow me to get away with being hidden.
I’m surprised he isn’t yelling yet. Fucking pussy.
I shove one of the dirty bar rags in his mouth against his will but it keeps him quiet.
I didn’t get a count on how many more of these motherfuckers just showed up but there were at least a few rows deep of motorcycles rolling in. The sound of engines being turned off and taunting beginning fuels my rage. I’m already fucking pissed.
“Cass! You in there, little buddy?” a voice calls from outside and laughter echoes from the rest of the group. I don’t recognize the voice, but somehow, he’s calling me by name.
I need to keep my wits about me, but whoever the fuck that is, is getting his teeth knocked down his throat.
I chance peeking my head through the bars on one of the windows.
It’s hard to see through the mildew on the glass, but I think there are six of them.
I have no idea where the rest of my guys are, or Ghost. I’ve got to be smart about this.
I drop my clip and replace it one from the small of my back, tucked safely into my belt. I feel a smidge better now that I’ve reloaded. Based on my calculations, I’ve got about another seven minutes until I’ve got backup, and a lot can happen in seven minutes.
The sound of their footsteps is drawing closer and closer and I’m running out of options. I duck off behind the bar, trying to locate any avenue I could take for a better vantage point. I stay hidden as best I can when I hear the sound of their voices inside of the building.
They’re searching for me, but they’re going to locate Keith sooner than later.
I peek around the corner and watch as three Moccasins walk around the bar.
I draw my pistol and fire a round, landing it directly between one of their eyes.
He falls limp as the other two scramble to hide, unaware of where the shot came from.
“You motherfucker!” the taunting one yells from across the bar somewhere. I smirk at his outburst that I’m the motherfucker when they’re the ones who started this entire fucking mess to begin with.
I hear a shot ring out and I duck behind the wall, thinking I’ve been spotted. But Scott’s gruff voice makes me relax instantly.
“I heard you think my brother’s a motherfucker. Well, what the hell are you then?” he grits, one arm wrapped around the taunting man’s neck.
He growls in frustration, but doesn’t say a word.
He’s wearing round, circle glasses and is covered in tattoos on every inch of visible skin. Color of greens and blues and blacks distort his features but there’s no denying the far-away look in his eyes. I walk around the bar and approach Scott and the tattooed Moccasin.
“Looking for me?” I inquire, stopping a few feet from them.
“Sounded like it to me,” Scott muses.
“I think you’re right,” I grit as Scott shoves him in my direction just as I rear back. My fist collides with his mouth so hard I wonder if I’ve broken a knuckle, taking my breath for a split second. Tattooed boy hits the ground, out cold with blood pouring from his mouth.
I shake my hand out, as if that will relieve the intense throbbing. It doesn’t. Fuck, that hurt.
“Brother, you need to go outside. I’ll stay in there with Keith for a minute.”
I look him in the eyes and see the grim expression on his face.
“Fuck,” I breathe. I know it can’t be good. Clayton hasn’t come in. Which means he’s still outside…for a reason. I bolt through the door. Ghost is kneeling next to Clayton, who’s leaned against the base of one of the larger trees surrounding the parking lot.
He’d been hit, that much was clear, but where was the question at hand. Ghost looks up at me, reading my mind.
“He’s going to live.”
I exhale a breath of relief and kneel down next to them. Examining Clayton closely, or as closely as I can in the dark, I don’t see any blood.
“Where are you hit?”
“In my side. Bullet missed my lung…barely…” he coughs out.
“Quit talking ‘fore you make that damn thing move in there.”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, son,” Clayton rasps. “You’re gonna need a cleanup crew. You do have one of those don’t you?”
“What do I look like, an amateur? Of course I have one but forgive us if we’re running a little short. Everyone’s out there doing what we’ve been doing. I’ll get with some of the guys at the house with the girls and see if they can fill in. The girls are fine now that Keith is in our hands.”
“Don’t make excuses, just get the...job...done…” Clayton barely got the words out before he is coughing so hard his whole head is turning different colors, and that’s saying something considering how dark it is out.
“Ghost, can you get him to the hospital? I got guys on their way to take Keith to the clubhouse. If I’d have known he was going to be that easy to get to, I wouldn’t have paid you half of what I paid for my damn house,” he chuckles.
“I can get him to the hospital. I’ll keep you posted. Take care of your club, kid.”
Headlights shine into the parking lot of the bar. Leo hops out of his truck, Shorty right behind him, running over to us. “Shit,” he huffs, looking down at Clayton.
“Can you help me load him up? I need to get him across the street to my truck.” Ghost already has an arm wrapped around Clayton’s lower back, beginning to lift him up.
Leo obeys, nodding as he helps lift Clayton off the ground.
Shorty opens the back door to the truck and helps lift Clayton in.
While they drive across the street and swap Clayton from one vehicle to the other, I make a beeline for the bar.
To hell with caging the beast. Keith has poked the sleeping bear for far too long.
Scott moves out the way as soon as he looks up and sees me coming.
My temper is not one to be taken lightly, and if anyone knows that, it’s Scott.
I untie Keith’s hands viciously. I’m not about to beat on someone who can’t defend themselves.
As soon as they’re free, I lay into him.
Skilled blow after devastating blow of right hooks and upper cuts, Keith is knocked half-stupid.
He doesn’t even attempt to block a single punch thrown at him.
“You sorry piece of fucking shit!” I holler. I’ve had enough of this shit. I’m sick and tired of the people I love and care about getting hurt and it’s all been at the hands of this grimy, no good, meth-snorting, sorry piece of dog shit.
Keith laughs and blood sprays from his mouth, leaving red dots all over my fists and forearms. After the third crunch I hear from my assault on him, I stop. That was three teeth that I’d knocked out, or quite possibly down his throat.
I’m out of breath, sucking in gulps of air.
Keith groans beneath me but makes no effort to move.
Somehow, we’d gone from standing up to me kneeling on top of him, beating his head into the floor.
Keith’s head is turned to the side, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.
He isn’t so cocky anymore. The beast inside of me is still hungry but it’d been satiated enough to be put back in the cage for a little while longer.
Besides, Snapper will have a field day playing with Keith.
He’d learned multiple ways of torture first-hand.
His father used to beat him as a child and one day, beating him wouldn’t suffice so he’d waterboarded him.
After water boarding, he tried plenty of other forms of torture, some of them so extreme that Snapper won’t speak of them to this day.
“Aw, come on Prez. I gotta put that in my truck?” Leo asks, looking down at the bloody scene before him when he walks in. Shorty is standing behind him, trying not to laugh.
I stand up, looking Leo square in his eyes. “Seeing as you’re the longest running prospect, I think the answer to that question is yes. But feel free to clean him up first if that makes you feel better,” I deadpan, a smirk tugging on the corner of my mouth.
Leo is going to make a fine brother, but he’s easy to pick with about damn near anything.
“Man…” Leo sighs and grabs a rag from the bar. Leo sits him upright and wipes his face with the dirty rag. It got most of the blood off his face. Keith laughs, spewing bloody spit all over Leo’s face and the front of his shirt.
“Fuck you, prospect.”
Without hesitation, Leo rears back and lands a blow to Keith’s face, hitting him right between his eyes.
“Shit!” Leo mutters, leaning back and staring at me wide-eyed. I grin at him and shrug.
“Good job, prospect.”
Leo smiles and grabs Keith’s arm, hoisting him up to his feet. “I’m not your fucking prospect.” He shoves him forward and out the door.
Scott starts laughing. “How much time you think he’s got left?”
“I don’t know, but I feel like it just got a lot shorter.”
We’re still laughing about that as we walk outside. “I gotta get Clayton’s bike back. Hey, Shorty!” I call, making my way toward Leo’s truck.
“Yeah?”
“I need you to take Clayton’s bike back to the clubhouse.”
“Good, I didn’t wanna be cooped up in the truck with those two. If Leo doesn’t kill him before they get there, I’ll be surprised.”
“Heard that!” Leo yells from the driver’s side window. He continues to mumble something toward the back seat, no doubt a string of curses directed at Keith.