Bruno glanced into the wing mirror. That little bitch could suck his big fat cock.
Meanwhile, from the doorway of the clubhouse, the horny biker bitches cooed at the dream brought to life. Six-foot-six of pure feral power. Sex on two wheels. A man who took their blows and never hurt them either.
Blood hot as a gun, he stormed through the open clubhouse gate and screeched up to Marco. “Come on, you’re riding bitch,” he said, hook his thumb over his shoulder to the seat behind him.”
With a growl and a look of utter disgust, Marco mounted the Harley behind Bruno and held him around his waist.
They hit the pavement and put some serious miles between themselves and the Hell’s Dragons.
“Yipee...mother-fucker!” Marco yelled.
Bruno sped away and felt his mission was a success. Stealing a bike had never been his intention, but making his point was.
He didn’t fear the danger coming for him.
No, he fucking welcomed it.
Chapter Thirteen
The dead end…
Bruno rode the shadows as he sped away from the compound with wrath in his eyes and twelve angry bikers on his tail.
Yells and profanities echoed behind him, drawing closer.
He glanced in his wing mirror and sneered. Much as he’d love to take those bastards down with his white-knuckled fists, much as he’d relish slicing off their balls with a shot of his gun, he couldn’t do that, not now. Not in broad daylight. Not when the streets were peppered with women and innocents who could get caught in the crossfire.
Storming through back-streets and residential areas even he didn’t know well, he hoped he could shake them. It wasn’t working. Coming out on the main road, he peeled into traffic.
Fuck.
Honing in on their target, the thundering rumble of the bikers engines were getting louder, hungrier by the second.
Bruno zigged crazily through traffic with only his left hand as he held his gun in his right.
Just ahead, to his left, Bruno’s eyes narrowed on a small opening between two tall hotel buildings, too narrow for a whole pack of bikers to move through at speed, then calculated his next move. Veering left into what he guessed was a side alley to an adjacent street, dark and empty, he inhaled sharply as he skidded to an abrupt halt in front of a dead end.
A growl erupted from his lips. “Just my mother-fucking-titty-sucking luck!”
Knowing that any moment now they’d be caught between a wall and a crew of angry bikers, Bruno rolled behind a large garbage container for cover and killed the engine. In moments, he’d pulled out a gun ? cocked and ready to fire.
“What the fuck are you doing? We gotta go!” urged Marco, panting like mad.
Bruno remained calm, resolute, focused solely on what needed to be done. “Pull out your weapon. When you see them coming down here, fire like mad. I’ve got fifty rounds on me. That should be enough to put fear into them. So long as they don’t get down here, they can’t touch us.” He stared at his cousin with hardened eyes.
Marco glared at the mouth of the alley and swore. “Fuck it.” He jumped off the bike and prepared his gun by pulling back the slide.
Bruno kicked off the Harley and slung down the stand.
Both men squatted behind the trash container with the entrance of the alley in their sights and listened patiently for sound. It was difficult to tell which direction the bikes were coming from, all they knew was that they were close. The yells, the profanities, had vanished from the air but engines still rumbled carnivorously over the midday traffic.
They waited, expectant. Five seconds. Ten seconds. But no shouting, no bikers.
Bruno frowned. “Where’s the fucking cavalry?” Bruno snapped, the silent tension driving him crazy.
Minutes passed and the sounds were becoming more and more difficult to distinguish. Then the noise level had dropped so suddenly, it took him a moment to realize they could hear nothing at all.
“We’re wasting our time, they’re not here,” Marco grumbled.
