“Run along kid,” Bruno sneered as he pushed his way past and shut the four of them inside, securing the door with two trash cans and the toolbox.
Walking around to the front of the premises, he looked over to where Marco was hiding and gave him a small nod. As he went right up to the main entrance to the Dragons clubhouse, it occurred to him that if Castillo knew what he was about to do, he would have been in the doghouse for a very long time…..Castillo wasn’t here. No-one fucking owned him anymore. He stomped around to the main doors and gave both handles a tug. Locked. But he could hear the bikers inside.
To hell with it...
Bruno wasn’t a man to knock at the front door and wait like a friendly neighbor with chocolate chip cookies.Fuck no.
These pussy ass bikers need to learn who this town really belongs to.
He drew his gun and prepared it by pulling back the slide. Aiming the muzzle at the lock, he clicked the safety off.
BOOM!
He blew the lock off.
Chipped wood blasted onto his body and face. Swiping a fragment of wood from his shirt, he raised his foot and sent a killer,I-don’t-give-a-shitkick and the door busted open wide. Without hesitation, he stepped his two big feet inside to be greeted with twenty loaded pistols at his face. “Put down your weapons now if you want to keep your motherfucking teeth.” Bruno’s low baritone echoed through the room as he glared around at everyone.
Their snickers and smug-ass smiles told Bruno they didn’t care for shit who he was.
The place was dark, stuffy, and humid. A sweltering rathole, more like a prison. Their clubhouse was a makeshift affair, musty and outdated, containing a huge table, buckets of biker equipment, a shitty bar.
The big man walked slowly into the center of the semi-circle of biker blooded guys that had formed around him and gazed at the men of the Hell Dragons MC. Apparently, they hadn’t heard his warning. “My name is Bruno De Luca. Now one of you stupid-ass motherfuckers threw a beer can into my cousins’ car, it hit the windshield. Now the way I see it, either you were rolling stoned. Or, you really are stupid as you look. Because this is my town, and I’ve got an arsenal of men more dangerous than anything you know. Wanted men in more states than you can count on your two hands.”
POW!
A shot fired at his feet.
“You’re mistaken, mob bitch!”
Bruno threw back his head and laughed, jerking his head sharply to the perpetrator, he knocked the gun out of his grip and brutally blasted him in the shoulder with a single round.
“Arghhh,” the man fell down in agony.
“Nobody touch him!” Bruno thundered. “As I said, my name is Bruno De Luca. And you ain’t talking your way out of this shit. Anyone else pulls a stunt like that, and every last one of you will be taught a lesson you won’t forget, you hear?”
The tension in the air rose by at least ten degrees.
“If you shoot me,” Bruno continued, “an army of very bad, very twisted men will come back here and kill every one of you men and your families. They WILL die. Their blood will be on your hands, not mine.”
The men glanced at each other and then backed up a bit.
“And why the hell should we believe you?” an older man to his left growled.
Pacing right up close to the man, Bruno countered, “Can you afford not to?” He gazed at the man with fire in his eyes. Holding a stony expression, he glanced around at the cautious faces in the room. “Drop the weapons and hit the ground!” he ordered, gesturing to the floor with the muzzle of his gun.
Everyone looked around at each other again. Then, one by one, the bikers lowered their weapons. He counted twenty weapons touch the ground before he stepped forwards. “Now, which one of you is the Prez?”
Before anyone could reveal or not reveal who the club president was, a deep grumbly voice barked from somewhere off to the left, “What business do you have here Mr. De Luca?”
Bruno raised a brow and looked over to where the voice had sounded. He couldn’t see anyone because of the darkened shadows, however.
“I asked you a question. Do not disrespect me in my own house. What the fuck is all this about?” The man’s voice was growing closer and so were his footsteps.
Bruno growled. “Face me like a man and I’ll show you the respect a man deserves.”
Out of the shadows stepped a big man, fat not muscular. A body of marshmallow rather than stone squeezed like sausage meat into skinny black jeans and a grubby white shirt. The stranger met Bruno’s eyes and raised his brow. “What the fuck is all this about?” he repeated his demand, voice cold and impatient.
“You heard me before, I demand to know why your men are just paradin’ around our territory, spinning their god damn wheels!”
