Chapter 20 Grifter
We rolled up to Bo Ridley’s place around five in the evening.
The sun was starting to move lower into the skyline.
It wouldn’t be long until it would disappear behind the mountains.
I had three men with me today. None of us wanted to be here, but I needed to make an example of Bo Ridley and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
C and Cowboy had been riding right behind me—side by side.
Alex brought up the rear. I know the asshole is probably wondering what’s going on, but he’ll soon find out.
I’m hoping to teach him a lesson. He’s been a thorn in my side ever since I heard what he did to my woman.
I’m warring with the need to kill him and balancing as the President of the Kings of Anarchy—a club the asshole has been wanting to be a part of for a while.
He’d been stupid, when it came to Georgia, and that made him my problem.
Still, C said he had been a good prospect and showed great promise.
Until then, I’d been planning on cutting him loose.
Now I was going to let him learn what happens when you keep harassing Georgia now that she belongs to me.
How he reacts after today will give me all the answers I need.
For now, I turn my attention to Bo. The man’s house was in bad shape.
It sat like a sad shack at the end of a gravel lane.
At one time it was probably a great farmhouse, but that was decades ago.
Now, the porch is sagging, The roof is sagging, and the siding has years of dirt lying on it like a second skin.
There’s an old truck in the yard, one side on a jack stand.
The man looked to be working on his brakes.
He stands up, his gaze connecting to mine as he begins wiping his oil—covered hands on an old rag.
I watch as he shoves the dirty cloth into the pocket of his jeans.
He looks older than I expected. I was told the bastard was fifty.
Just looking at him, I’d add about ten years to that.
His skin looks like dried-out leather, and his dirty brown shoulder-length hair has gray woven through it like a testament to years that have been anything but good.
His face scrunches up in displeasure as he looks at us, and that makes me want to laugh.
“Should I be worried the Kings are on my doorstep?” he grouses. I can tell he’s trying to make his voice brave and rude, it comes out weak and worried—making me smirk.
I cut off the engine and slide off my bike, walking toward him.
There’s about four feet of air between me and him.
It gives me a front seat to watch the way his chest rises and falls with every breath.
I can see the fear he’s trying to hide behind a cocky smirk.
It makes me want to laugh. This may be more fun than I thought.
“Well, yeah, Bo,” I hum. “I’m thinking you should worry.”
Bo’s features shift into one of disgust. “You must be the new guy.”
My lips spread into a cold smile. It has no humor at all.
It’s a sign that I’m going to enjoy killing this S-O-B if he doesn’t learn respect quickly.
From the way his shoulders flex and tighten, I can tell that for some insane reason Bo thinks he’s in control right now.
Maybe he thinks I won’t dish out old school judgment.
From what I hear, Ace made sure to stay in the lines—not wanting trouble with the law.
That’s not who I am. The War Kings, Deputy Davis, Alex, and especially Bo Ridley will learn that shit the hard way.
“This is my club now,” I confirm. That simple sentence tasted good on my lips. I wasn’t sure how I’d like it here, to be honest. Taking over a club in trouble was a crap shoot. Maybe it was finding Georgia, but now this place is definitely feeling like home.
“I don’t have anything to do with you assholes,” he grumbles, all bravado and stupidity. “What are you doing trespassing on my property and bothering me?”
I tilt my head and study him, looking at him the way you watch a piss ant on a picnic blanket trying to find food—full of curiosity, before growing tired enough to snuff it out.
Bo was a small, bitter piece of shit. That makes him dangerous only because men like him have no moral compass, no loyalty, and no purpose in life.
They are rotten on the inside and it shows in everything they do.
I pull myself from my thoughts and concentrate on the idiot. “You see, Bo, I found out that you actively hurt someone that I care about. I’m here to make sure you treat her with respect from here on out.”
He laughs, the sound almost as ugly as he is. “Man, I don’t even know you. I have no idea what you’re talking about. You need to get off my land or I’m calling the cops. My nephew works at the police department in town. One word from me and they’ll make your life a living hell.”
I genuinely laugh at that. Lord, this idiot has no idea who he’s fucking with.
“Bo, I’m going to make you and my men a promise right now.
When I’m done with you, you aren’t going to be able to call anyone, asshole.
” My voice is cold, filled with hate. You can tell that I’m trying to control myself so that I don’t end this game too soon.
I can feel my men at my back, their gazes beating down, watching me, and prepared to help if I need it.
“Bo, my woman tried to warn you that your barn was going to catch on fire,” I said, and I can see the confusion crawl across his features.
“You might not have known what to make of what she said, I can understand that. Still, I also know that a real man would have laughed it off and told her thanks for reaching out. Instead, you belittled and mocked her. Then, when it did burn and you lost everything because you didn’t try to listen to her, you harassed her by starting rumors and doing shit that made her life a living hell.
You did all that because you’re a miserable piece of shit. ”
Bo’s eyes narrow so much that it looks painful. “You’re screwing that Cutter bitch?” he sputters. “You deserve whatever curse she puts on you. That woman is pure evil.”
That’s when my control breaks. No one talks shit about Georgia—not anymore.
I won’t allow it. I don’t think twice. I draw my hand back, clutch my fingers into a tight fist, and connect with the bastard’s face.
He topples over like a house of cards in a windstorm.
He’s a chubby fucker, though. Which means, he goes down hard—all while clutching his nose that is pouring bright red blood, across his withered features.
He lets out a raw cry full of enough shock and fear that it could wake the dead.
I ignore it and kick the asshole hard in the ribs with my steel-toed boots.
“You bastard!” he cries—voice raw, muffled by his hand pressed over his nose.
He can’t even pretend to be a man. He’s just a whiney waste of space.
I step closer, then squat down so that my face is level with his.
I grab the hair at the back of his head and yank it hard enough to make him scream again.
“Georgia Cutter is my woman,” I tell him, slow and cold.
“You may not know me, but I’m not a man you want to mess with.
She’s under my protection.” My words are a growl by the time I finish.
Bo doesn’t look at me. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut.
He’s trying to shrink out of the space I just filled — stupid move.
“In case you don’t understand that,” I add, as my fingers tighten in his hair.
“It means if you so much as look at her, I’ll end you.
If I hear you running your mouth about her, my club, or me, I’ll end you.
If you see my sweet Georgia out somewhere, you leave immediately.
Asshole, you don’t walk away from her, you run.
You don’t breathe the same air as her at any time. Do you hear me, Bo?”
I’m met with silence, then a wet hiss. “Fuck you,” he spits.
“I asked if you heard me, asshole.” My voice thins—full of anger.
Bo doesn’t say anything else. He’s probably afraid to.
I look over my shoulder at Alex. It’s time I start phase two of today’s plan.
Alex is standing still, and I can see the worry on his face.
He should worry. The bastard knows I’m aware of what he did to Georgia. He has to know he’s next on my list.
“Alex, hand me your knife,” I order.
Alex fishes it out of his pocket. I take in the fact that his hand trembles slightly. He hands it over like a kid handing in a failing report card to his parents—nervous, eyes going everywhere but to me. “Here,” he mumbles.
I flip the blade open, pointing the tip to Bo’s cheek. The metal glints, a thin, hard promise. “Let’s try this again.” I keep my voice careful and controlled. “I asked if you understood what I told you, shit-for-brains.”
Bo tries not to answer. “Fuck you,” he hisses.
I press the knife into his cheek, then cut a jagged but deep line at a slant. The skin parts and blood pours quick and bright. He yells like a stuck pig. Good, I want him to scream. He needs to know the price of crossing me. “You cut me!” he yells, sounding completely surprised.
“I warned you,” I mock him, and laugh. “You’re the one that had to make things more difficult.” I carve another slanted line to meet the first. He hollers again, words spilling out between sobs. “I won’t get around her, I won’t say shit, just stop!”
“Dang it, Bo,” I say, mock disappointment heavy in my voice. “While you were begging like a little girl, you didn’t say please.”
My crew is laughing low in the background — Cowboy whistles. “Fucker looks like he’s about to piss himself.”
“Actually, he stinks like he shit himself.” The laughter builds into a chorus of approval. Alex doesn’t laugh. Alex watches every move I make. I can see he understands why he’s here. This could be him, and he knows that now. His fate is in my hands.