Page 17

SEVENTEEN

MADDOX

Knives hands me the binoculars. “Five guys inside, including Tommy and Pyre. At least another seven getting drunk by the firepit. I haven’t spotted Boar, though.”

I hold up the binoculars and do my own counting even though I trust Knives’s abilities. It’s dark, and it’s possible he missed something.

We’re sitting inside an old, rusty sedan that we’d borrowed from Hank. It blends in surprisingly well on this abandoned farmland that has easy boat access to the swamplands. There’s an old tractor and a rusted over truck without wheels within the vicinity.

The barn, which has seen better days, is where the Demon Gators have holed up. I spot all of their motorcycles parked near it. No obvious signs of illegal goods, but I guess that’s what the swamp location was for.

“It’d be a shame if those nice bikes got caught in a fire,” I mention casually.

Knives chuckles. “I had that same thought. That would lure them all out. If we stay in the overgrown field, we could probably take out most of them without them ever being able to spot us.”

“They could put out a fire pretty fast, though,” I say, considering. I pull out one of the knives I’d gotten—also from Hank, who was extremely eager to find out that we are, in fact, undercover agents tasked with taking down the Demon Gators—and consider it. “Slash the tires first. That way, they can’t go for help. And the signal out here…” I check my also-borrowed phone. “Sucks. How do people live around here?”

“Without reception,” Knives answers with an amused snort. “I think I’ll take New Bristol any day. You got violence anywhere, but at least in NB, I can stream tv without issues.” He glances at the backseat of the car, where we’ve got our collection of tools. Two shotguns, as many shells as Hank could get his hands on, a handgun from Sheryl, and enough gasoline to burn the entire place down and then some.

It’s not the arsenal we would have had access to at home, but it’ll have to do.

Part of me wants to call Silvano and run the plan by him, to ask if he has thoughts and what he would improve. But Knives and I both agreed that we’d do this on our own, because we still can’t be sure what Silvano’s reaction would be. It’s not like he can do anything from where he’s sitting in New Bristol, anyway. We can’t afford to wait and have Boar and his friends leave on the off chance Tommy believed Hank about the federal investigation.

“Yeah. Streaming TV. That’s my life goal right now,” I say dryly, but I’m distracted. “All right. I’ll get the bikes. You get into position in case they sniff me out before I get back.” I wait for his nod, then head over as carefully as I can to the row of bikes.

I feel better knowing that Knives has my back. There’s no one I’d trust more, now that we’ve started to work through the issues that have been plaguing us for so long.

I work as swiftly as I can to slash the tires of the bikes, having to work a little harder than I’d like with the less than brutally sharp knife. If every single one of these bikes has an owner here, we might be in trouble, though. That’s more than the twelve people we’d counted earlier.

I tense when I hear voices growing louder, and I quickly duck down behind the bikes.

“Why’s she giving me the cold shoulder?” a voice asks in a tell-tale drunken slur. “I told her I’d get her the ring.”

That’s Pyre, I think. It’s hard to tell with only the nearby firepit to light things, but I spot the fauxhawk.

His friend claps him on the back. “You should dump her. She’s a stuck-up bitch, and we’ve got more than enough easy pussy to go around.”

I wince when Pyre wobbles around the bikes and toward the barn wall. He unzips his jeans and, one hand resting against the barn, starts pissing.

All while he’s sobbing. “She’s not… she’s not a bitch. I love her, man. She’s so beautiful. Not just her pussy. All of her.”

His friend very pointedly turns his back to him. “Yeah, yeah. You done there? We can get some more tequila in you. That’ll make you feel better.”

Pyre nods and zips up, then stumbles a few steps in my direction. I hold my breath and keep perfectly still.

Pyre looks at me and frowns.

“Pyre, come on! The tequila’s waiting!” his friend shouts.

Pyre shakes his head and keeps walking. “Okay. More tequila.”

I wait until they’re both gone again, then let out a long, shaky breath. Shit. I hope Pyre’s alcohol-addled mind will gloss over what he’d seen.

I make quick work of the rest of the tires, then grab the gasoline canister and start pouring it over and around all the bikes.

I quietly walk back to where Knives is waiting in the long grass. He’s holding one shotgun and hands me the other.

“That was close,” Knives whispers. “Did they spot you?”

I grimace. “Pretty sure Pyre did. He looked right the fuck at me.” I mutter another curse under my breath. “He didn’t out me, though, so I don’t know. He was drunk, and they were about to pour more tequila down his throat. I don’t think he’s the only one who’ll be drunk, either.”

Which is good for us.

I square my shoulders, looking at the bikes. “All right. You ready?” The scent of gasoline is heavy on the air, and if we wait too long, someone might notice.

Maybe.

Knives nods at me. “Let’s kill some gators.”

For some reason, that strikes me as impossibly funny, and I have to fight not to laugh. I shake my head, though, fighting my amusement. There will be time for that later—after we get out of this alive. I pull out a lighter and strike the sparkwheel, then toss it onto the gasoline-soaked ground.

It instantly catches, whooshing up into a massive flame, and I hiss in discomfort at the proximity to the heat. Knives gets his finger on the trigger, and I move a few feet so I have a different vantage point for my own shots.

It doesn’t take long for the Gators to notice the blaze. There’s a lot of cursing, and they come rushing towards the bikes.

“Jesus fuck!” one of them shouts. “Quick! Water!”

Water is not going to help much with a gasoline fire—and they figure that out fast when all they do is cause the sparks to fly higher. It’s funny how they’re running around like headless chickens, trying to figure out just how to put out the blaze on their precious bikes.

Until somebody comes out with a fire extinguisher. I take aim—but Knives shoots first. The guy with the fire extinguisher screams and falls forward into the flames.

There’s no point in waiting anymore. I aim for the closest guy and take him out too. Knives gets three more shots in, and I shoot to cover him while he reloads.

We take out five of the guys before somebody shouts, “Get away from the fire, you fucking dumbasses!”

That’s Boar. His voice is etched into my mind after that incident in the swamp, and I feel the anger churning inside me.

He’d wanted to string us up and leave us to die painfully.

Maybe I’ll aim for his gut and grind my foot into his wound to return the favor.

The remaining Gators scatter, and now that they aren’t hovering around the fire it’s harder to see them. Knives shoots a few more times, but he only gets one guy.

“Whoever the fuck you are, you’re going to regret messing with me!” Boar shouts from behind a decrepit vehicle.

No, you fucker. You’re going to regret messing with us.

I glance in Knives’s direction, but it’s too dark to see him. I’ll have to trust that he knows what he’s doing, too… just like he’s going to have to trust me. I start moving, slow enough to avoid rustling the grass too much. Not that they’d be able to hear us with how loud the fire is and how they’re all still shouting, but there’s no sense in being careless.

If I can get around to the other side without being spotted, I’ll be able to shoot Boar from behind.

“He’s in the fucking grass,” Boar shouts to his men. “Stop standing around like fucking idiots and go get him!”

That’s good. He thinks there’s only one of us. Knives shoots again, drawing everybody toward his position.

Why hadn’t we done something like this the first time?

I keep sneaking through the grass, and I’m feeling triumphant—until one of the Gators says, “Boss, two sets of bootprints! There’s more than one guy!”

Fuck. I glance at the ground underneath me, and I realize the dirt is just moist enough to keep the indentations where I’ve stepped.

The Gators fan out in a wider pattern, and I take a shot before I lose them in the darkness.

I get a guy in the knee, blood and bone exploding forth. The guy cries out and falls to the ground. One of his friends starts going for him, but Boar shouts, “Fucking leave him! Don’t make yourself a target!”

I can’t imagine leaving one of my men, but I guess they realize they’re outmaneuvered, if not outnumbered. I try to shoot again, but I’m out of shells, and I fumble with the shotgun to reload it.

It gives them time to start closing in, though, and I look for Knives to try to get an idea of where he’s at so I know how to cover him.

I’m not leaving him alone again.

I can’t see him, though, and I don’t like being in the dark in the middle of fucking nowhere. I can’t risk shooting aimlessly and hitting him instead.

I’d hoped the fire would distract them more, but Boar has an ironclad command of his men.

Some of the men come my way, too, and I realize I’ve got a problem. They’re a lot faster than I am since they aren’t making an effort to stay hidden. I finish reloading just as a guy gets dangerously close to me.

It’s Tommy, I realize.

“Come out, you fucking rat,” Tommy shouts, casting his gaze around. He hasn’t spotted me yet.

I unsheath the knife, and when Tommy is nearly on top of me, I thrust the knife into his belly.

He screams and drops to the ground. I drag the knife higher. He stares at me, blood gurgling out of his mouth and eyes wide.

“This is for Jim,” I whisper.

He makes a panicked sound.

I slash his throat.

It’s a satisfying feeling.

He’s just lucky Jim is alive—and that I didn’t have time to do worse.

The only problem is that now, they’re able to pinpoint my location. I scramble to move, but now Boar is the one closing in on me.

I haven’t heard Knives’s gun go off again, and I don’t know where he is.

There’s a part of me, a tiny part, that wonders if he just left.

I quickly quash that nasty little thought. He wouldn’t. Even if we were still at odds, he would never do that.

“Didn’t get enough the first time?” Boar sneers as he gets a look at my face. The shadows cast by the fire makes his expression even nastier.

We’re standing close together now, and his men are starting to get closer too as they follow their boss’s lead.

“What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.” I hold up the shotgun, trying not to grimace. I’ve only got two bullets left, and I doubt I can get him with the knife. “And I got most of your men.”

It’s true, too. Boar has only four guys with him now, including Pyre. Between the fire and the bullets, the majority of them are down. Maybe not dead, but out of the picture.

Pyre is standing behind Boar, still half drunk. He keeps looking between me and Boar.

“Stringing you up was too good for you,” Boar growls. “I’m going to saw off your limbs and make you watch while I feed them to the gators. Then I’ll toss your torso to the gators too.”

I sneer at him. He’s not going to have the chance. I’m fueled by anger and adrenaline—and maybe, just maybe, a little bit of fear, too.

He’s too fucking close, and there’s not much I can do.

“Pyre,” I say, trying to appeal to him again. “You know all of this is fucked up, right? Your girl wouldn’t like this.”

Pyre glances at me. “What? You don’t… you don’t know her.”

I keep my gun aimed at Boar, but I meet Pyre’s eyes. “I do. I know Nevaeh, and she doesn’t want you doing any of this.”

Pyre makes a high pitched sound. “How… how do you know her name?”

Boar makes an impatient sound. “Fucking Christ, Pyre, you don’t shut up about her. He probably overheard your whining.” He raises his gun and aims it at me. “And you, you little pansy. You think you can shoot faster than all four of us?”

Movement behind him catches my attention. I inhale, but I don’t give away what I saw. “I only need to shoot faster than you . And while you’re focused on me, your precious motorcycles are still going up in flames. Your babies will never be the same again.”

I’ve struck a nerve, because all of the guys except Boar swivel their heads to look at the burning bikes.

“Fuck!” Pyre shouts, and finally, Boar looks away from me.

One of those bikes, still engulfed in flame, rolls in our direction. I don’t know how Knives managed to get it to move, and I honestly don’t give a fuck.

I shoot. I hoped to get Boar, but he moved so that one of his other guys was in front of him. I get that man instead. I don’t have time to think, and I just re-aim to grab the third man. He goes down just as the blazing bike rushes past him.

I have to dodge out of the way. The grass catches fire, but I don’t have time to worry about it. I have one bullet left, one I really need to reserve for Boar.

I’m just hoping I don’t have to use it on Pyre. Knives had been quick to promise Nevaeh that we wouldn’t hurt him, but I hadn’t been so sure for just this reason. If he decides to attack, what am I supposed to do? Let him kill me?

“Looks like you’re outnumbered now,” Knives says, stepping out with his shotgun held high. “No more men to hide behind or use as cannon fodder. Nobody to take a bullet for you. Nobody to do any of the heavy lifting.”

Boar looks between me and Knives, then reaches out for Pyre. In his drunken stupor, Pyre can’t fight back fast enough. Boar hooks his arm around Pyre’s throat and forces him close, like a human shield.

“I still got one,” Boar says as he starts walking backwards. “And I think you two are out of bullets.”

“Boar?” Pyre asks, voice high. “What’re you doing?”

Fuck.

“Can’t even face us like a man?” I ask him, trying to rile him up. “Gotta put someone between us like a pussy?” I scoff at him.

“I know how to get out on top,” Boar counters. “You two, you’re somebody else’s dogs. Not me. I’m in charge, and I know exactly how?—”

He suddenly cries out. Pyre elbowed him hard. I take aim, ready for the shot as soon as Pyre gets out of the way.

Only Pyre turns around to face Boar. “I fucking trusted you!” he sobs. “After Slim, I thought… I thought… but Nevaeh was right about you!” He’s still half-drunk, and he tries to punch Boar.

Boar is significantly larger, but Knives is on them too. He kicks Boar away from Pyre.

Boar stumbles and gets up.

I shoot.

Boar screams and collapses.

A stomach wound would be a bitch to die from, but we don’t have time to let nature take its course. I stride closer, knife still drawn, and stab him in the fucking throat.

Blood sprays everywhere, but I don’t care.

It’s just a pity I didn’t get to watch him die slowly.

I walk over to Knives and Pyre. Knives is just as blood-soaked as I am.

Pyre looks at us with agony in his eyes. “Why did this happen?” he asks between sobs. “We were just… having drinks.”

Knives gives me a look, then awkwardly rubs his beard. “Sorry, Pyre. Your boss… He stole from us. If you don’t want this kind of life, you should listen to Nevaeh.”

I nod, taking a deep breath to try to force the tension from my body. “Nevaeh’s a good woman. You’re lucky to have her. And she really cares about you.”

Pyre sobs and looks at the blazing barn. “I just wanted a crew to ride with.”

The last thing I want is to have to try to console another fucking drunk. I sigh. “Yeah, well…” I glance at Knives. “There are other crews. Better crews, ones that don’t steal from the fucking mafia and expect nothing to come of it.”

Knives stares at the destroyed motorcycles, breathing heavily. “We need to cull the fire and bury the bodies,” he says. “Or burn them, or dump them somewhere in the swamp.” He sets his weapons down. “Pyre, you don’t have to help. But if you do, we can give you a ride afterward.”

We’d give him a ride anyway, but the help will be welcome.

Pyre nods, wiping away tears and snot from his face. “Nevaeh’s gonna be so pissed about my bike.”

I snort. “She’s gonna be pissed about a lot more than that, my friend,” I tell him. I clap him on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get to it.”

Never let it be said that I shy away from doing the dirty work.