Exacting Revenge by Kimmie Easley

Author:Kimmie Easley [Easley, Kimmie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wine Worthy Romance
Published: 2017-11-19T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

(Ronin)

Hercules seethes as his gigantic ham fists pummel the heap of flesh, now stripped of his King’s cut. He and his small crew never stood a chance. Clint is resting his hands on his knees, leaning against the rancid dumpster, struggling to catch his breath.

Troy is mopping the butt end of his flashlight across his jeans, cleansing away the smudged blood of the dead King lying at his feet.

“Enough,” I demand, drawing Herc back to reality. For being a humongous teddy bear, the Enforcer is ruthless when it comes to protecting his club. He becomes another kind of bear altogether. The kind that will use his teeth to rip your head from your shoulders and floss with your dangling sinew when he’s done. “Finish it.”

Herc snaps his head upright before stepping backwards and unloading his 9mm, equipped with a suppressor, into the sack of fat’s caving chest.

Clint staggers toward me.

Surrounded by bodies, I take inventory of the damage. We’ve got a few bumps and bruises, but we’re whole.

“You know what to do,” I command.

The big brute offers his signature nod, his broad torso still heaving with adrenaline.

“Troy, you stay and help Herc with disposal. You’ve got the rally point?”

“Yeah, shouldn’t take long.” Our newest member shoves his long strands of blonde hair back from his face.

“Get it done.” I look over to Clint. “Can you ride?”

He touches his side, pulling back red tinged fingertips. “It’ll wait. The arms are good.”

“Alright then, let’s roll.” I straddle my sled and zigzag out of the pitch-black alley, waiting to switch on my headlight. Clint is swift on my wheels. We leave Herc to and Troy to finish up the dirty work.

Seven Pistol Kings put down like the rabid dogs they were.

We slip in and out of Jericho without a trace. The plan to take down the Kings after their routine escapade at the local titty bar went off without a hitch. Now, we have to start getting creative. They won’t make it so easy next time.

After riding for a couple of hours, Clint and I pull off the highway. We find the twenty-four-hour coffee shop to wait on the others.

“Two coffees,” I bark at the visibly tired waitress.

She sighs and turns to walk away, hurt in her vein thread eyes.

“Hey,” Clint stops her. “Sorry, hun. He’s had a long day.”

“Yeah, haven’t we all,” she utters, dripping with annoyed sarcasm.

Clint shoots a glower at me before looking back to the woman. “Can we get a couple of plates? Eggs, bacon, sausage, the works.” He shoves a twenty across the booth. “And this is for you, darlin. Sorry about my friend here.”

She beams a genuine, toothy smile. Probably the first, and last, of her miserable shift.

“No worries,” she says and sashays away, tucking the worn bill into her bra.

“Don’t start.”

He throws his hands up, as if to signal a surrender. “I ain’t starting shit, man.”

“Good,” I mumble, savoring the hot liquid that the now peppy waitress drops off on her way to fill an abundant supply of half empty salt and pepper shakers.

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