Gods of Mischief by George Rowe

Gods of Mischief by George Rowe

Author:George Rowe
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Touchstone


Jack Fite.

Those who knew Jack best used to call him Satan, and everyone said he would die in prison. The man was a local legend when I was a teenager growing up in Hemet, a brutal sonofabitch who lived up to his name and had the long rap sheet to prove it. There was a time, before I got my head straight, when I was an admirer of Jack’s, but the day he beat the knees off a blind man with a ball-peen hammer was the day my infatuation ended.

The Hemet Vagos knew Fite’s reputation, but Todd thought the chapter could use more muscle, so he convinced Roy to patch Jack into the club straightaway. Wasn’t long before Big Roy realized his mistake. Jack Fite wasn’t what you’d call a team player. He was a dangerous force of nature that did as he pleased, and nobody—not even the chapter president—could control such a man.

I was caught in the eye of that storm the day Jack came looking to kill someone. He knew I owned a .380 and wanted to use it to settle a score for a drug deal gone bad.

“Where’s the gun?” he demanded, cornering me in the kitchen.

I looked past him to the living room, where Jenna stood frozen. She was well aware of Fite’s reputation too. Billy, the father of her child, was related to Jack.

“Get the gun,” I told her.

Jenna was smarter than me, though, and wasn’t about to become an accessory to murder.

“I don’t know where it is,” she said.

Jack immediately sniffed the lie. “Give me the gun, bitch!” he exploded at her.

“I swear I don’t know, Jack.”

He pulled a pair of handcuffs from his jacket pocket.

“You don’t know?” Jack fumed, wrapping the cuffs around his hand. “You’re going to tell me you don’t fuckin’ know?!”

He took a threatening step toward her.

“Hold on, Jack,” I blurted out.

The man spun quickly and hit me in the face with the cuffs, a blow felt in my back teeth.

“Run, Jenna!” I shouted.

The girl didn’t have to be told twice. She bolted out the front door, and now that crazed Vago’s anger was focused squarely on me.

“I want that gun!” Jack raged. “Give me the fuckin’ gun!”

As he was saying this, the fucker was pummeling the snot out of me, splitting my head open and knocking me to the kitchen floor. Now I was lying helpless on bloody linoleum and Jack was stomping my legs. I couldn’t defend myself, either. Jack Fite was a patch holder and I was nothing but a lowly prospect. Under the Vagos rules of engagement, a patched member had the right to kick a prospect’s ass whenever he felt like it.

Of course, once I heard the bone snap in my leg all bets were off. Fuck the code, the bastard was trying to kill me. I managed to stand and escape out the back door, hopping and stumbling my way toward the backyard fence. There was no vaulting it like the bad old days. The best I could do was claw my way over the top and fall down the other side to safety.



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