Page 27

He keeps his eyes glued to the monitor in his hands. He’s controlling the flight of the drone while searching for heat signatures along the area. It’s only seconds before it picks them up. I spit out a curse when I catch how many of them are hidden away, waiting to ambush us.

“Find their sniper,” I order Joker.

Malice uses hand signals to get the rest of the brothers in position. Just as we’re about to split into teams toward the heat signatures, bike engines fire up in the distance and then they’re roaring toward us.

Fuck.

“Incoming,” I yell, just as the first shot rings out from one of the abandoned houses.

Joker calls out locations and my brothers take off to meet the motherfuckers who descend from the houses.

Ten bikes come flying down the street, guns popping off shots at us as they grow closer.

“What fucking club is this?” I scream at Cypher.

He’s abandoned his laptop to fight with the man coming at him with a knife. Cypher is good with his hands, so it doesn’t take long before he has the guy’s weapon and is burying it into their neck multiple times.

Then he’s back at his laptop, trusting his brothers to protect him while he does his thing.

I walk through the fucking horde of rival bikers, picking them off with my gun as they ride to us. Bodies jerk as my bullets find them, their bodies falling to the ground. Metal grinds against the pavement as the empty bikes slide across it before coming to a stop.

“Behind you, Prez,” one of my brothers roars.

A sharp sting at my right side yanks a hiss from me as I spin to face my enemy. My gun slips from my hand as I block his hits. I twist in the other direction as the motherfucker in a suit aims his knife toward me again. My hands are quick as I yank my precious from her holder.

The sharp blade of my axe slices cleanly into his neck. His blood gushes out, small spurts of it landing against my face.

“Nighty, night,” I sing, yanking it from him.

There’s a squelching sound as it glides from his body, and I shudder from the pleasure of the kill.

I run a quick eye around the grounds. Satisfied that my brothers are handling their own right now, I grab the motherfucker I just killed by the hair and lift his head. The demon tattoo on his neck has me gritting my teeth.

The Villarrubia Cartel.

What the fuck are they doing here? We’ve never had any interactions with them, preferring to do our business with the Zaragoza Cartel or De Toro brothers. The Villarrubia’s fuck with shit we’re not down with.

Then it hits me.

Fucking Frankie.

The Villarrubia Cartel’s specialty is humans. Any color, any age, and any fucking gender. They give zero fucks whose life they steal as long as it gives them what they want.

Power and money.

There are a lot of sick motherfuckers out there willing to pay a hefty sum to appease their vile proclivities.

These are the goddamn men who Frankie was going to sell my daughter to.

Before I realize what I’m doing, my axe connects repeatedly with parts of his body until I’m sitting surrounded by his severed head, hands, and ugly ass dick. That appendage gets shoved into his mouth before I cut his eyes out.

There. Now, he can’t see, taste, or touch what’s mine.

When I’m finished, I use his blood to draw a cross in the middle of his forehead before standing.

The reaper under my skin demands more, so I twirl my axe through the air as I shove my way through the horde. I aim for all the men with demons on their skin.

My precious sings through the air as I dance around my enemies. I slice, hack, and dice my way through them as I sing. My voice picks up as I spin around the men in twirls any ballerina would be proud of.

Look at me. Just a bloody, pretty ballerina cleaving my enemies to pieces.

“Daddy shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo,” I sing as I pierce the skull of a Villarrubia piece of shit.

Using the bottom of my boot, I shove his body off my girl. She’s got blood and guts covering her, and I grimace, squatting down to use the dead guy’s clothes to wipe her off. “I’m sorry, my precious. Let me clean you off quick.”

There are no more cartel members left standing, so I turn my attention to the fucking bikers who thought it’d be smart to attack us. Especially in such low numbers.

Dumbasses.

“Let’s go hunt, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo” I serenade, as my eyes lock onto one man in leather.

I run them over the back of their kutte.

Demented Demons MC.

Crimoor, Florida.

How the hell did Joker and Cypher miss this?

Are they so newly formed that there’s nothing on them? What role do they play in all of this?

My guys are good at what they do, and there’s no way in fuck they’d miss something like this unless there was nothing for them to find.

I reach a crescendo, my off-tune voice rushing through the night as I approach the Demented Demon with jaunty steps.

My brothers shake their heads with wicked little smiles as I pass by them and wiggle my fingers in a wave.

The filthy demon swings around. We stand in a stare-off, him aiming his gun my way, and me twirling my precious through the air.

“Ohhh, a duel. How exciting,” I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Do you think you can hit me before my precious eats your face?”

Butcher sneaks up behind him, his eyes on me, waiting for my signal. He knows that when I get to two, he’ll take him out.

“One,” I sing.

My precious sings me a pretty tune as I rotate my wrist in an eight motion. The man’s finger twitches against the trigger, and my lip curls in the corner.

“Two.”

Just as my tongue curls over my front teeth to form the next count, Butcher wraps the garrote around his throat while Manic grabs the barrel of his gun and yanks it from the Demented Demon’s hand. He struggles in Butcher’s hold as I stroll up to them.

Once I have the sharp end of the axe blade resting right under the garrote, he releases the man’s throat. I drop my eyes to the front of the fucker’s kutte.

Crisco .

“Where’s your president?”

Crisco laughs but doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Manic?”

“Yeah, Prez?”

“What do you think crispy human skin tastes like? Think it’ll taste like chicken? Crisco here is looking a little greasy. He should light up real easy hung over the fire.”

“Bet it does taste like chicken. Want me to get a fire going so we can give him a taste test?”

Crisco’s eyes widen. “You’re fucking crazy, man.”

I shake my head and click my tongue. “Don’t you know? Being crazy is fun. What do you say, crispy Crisco? Are you going to tell me where he is, or do we get to have some roasted nuts over an open fire?”

Crispy Crisco doesn’t seem to appreciate the sound of my voice as I sing that last part to him.

What a party pooper.

“He’s not here,” he chokes out.

“Yeah, I can see that.” I sigh. “You’re too stupid, huh?

It’s always the goddamn stupid ones I have to deal with.

” I push on my blade a little until blood slides out from under it and glance over to Manic.

“One time. Just one time, I’d like to go up against someone who has something inside their skull bigger than the head of a needle. Is that too much to ask for?”

Manic shakes his head. “Not at all, brother. It’s such a small ask, really.”

“Right?” I grumble under my breath as I turn back to the demon under my blade. “Who is your president?”

He shakes his head, causing my blade to slip in deeper.

My eyes drop to his neck, and I grimace. “Oops.”

“He said,” the poor guy gasps. “He said to tell you he’d see you soon, brother.”

“Fucking Frankie,” I snarl, using my body weight to shove my axe through his throat, before pulling it out.

The man drops to his knees, his hands trying to stop the flow of blood pouring out of the enormous gash in the front of his throat.

“Here. Let me take care of that for you,” I croon, nodding to Butcher, who grabs the man’s hair as I lift my pretty precious again.

Two good swings are all it takes before Butcher holds Crisco’s severed head in his hand as his body falls to the side.

I take it out of Butcher’s hand and lift it so I can look into the lifeless eyes and gaping mouth. “There. All better, yeah?” Then I sit it on top of Crisco’s body, slide my precious back into her holder, and whip out my dick. “You look a little parched, buddy. This will help.”

Tucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I aim carefully so I can direct the stream of piss right into crispy Crisco’s mouth.

When my bladder is empty, I tuck my dick away and step back to survey the destruction around us. Bodies litter the ground while my brothers stand around them. A few of us suffered some injuries, but thankfully, no one suffered major harm.

“Let’s get this cleaned up and get the fuck home. We’ll clear the houses, but Frankie isn’t fucking here.”

Hannibal works on those of us injured, doing enough for us to get back to the clubhouse safely so we can get looked at by Giblet and his ol’ lady, Bambi. They’re the only medics we have right now, other than Hannibal, until we get us a doctor or nurse on the payroll.

It’s another hour before we get the bodies into Frankie’s house.

Then we take the four cans of gasoline from the back of the cage.

We soak the pile of bodies and the rest of the house.

When we’re all standing a safe distance away, Savior does his prayer thing for his soul—and probably ours too—before he strikes a match and tosses it into the doorway.

There’s a few moments of silence before the fire catches, then it sounds like we’re in the bowels of fucking hell.

I lean against my bike, mesmerized by the orange- and blue-flamed devil dancing through the sky.

The cage Birdie lived in is gone, and by the morning it’ll be nothing but ashes.

We didn’t catch her demon here, but it’s only a matter of time until I’m able to slay him for her.