Steele
Ifucking knew it was Elizabeth’s car the instant I saw it.
I was already pissed off when I had gotten on my bike. Even though Sheriff Davis had somehow found a miraculous sense of ethics and let me go, he’d still delayed me some from getting there. And, of course, I already hated the Bandits for the drunk driving accident that killed my father and brother.
But when I saw them surround her, when I saw one of them try and knock her window in…Satan would never match my wrath. The Reapers would have preferred for someone to shoot them in the back of the skull and descend into hell compared to what I was about to do to them.
“Elizabeth!” I shouted, so loudly I could hear myself clearly over the roar of the motorcycle.
I pulled out my gun and aimed it at the Bandit. He did the same. And then Elizabeth did something I never would have suspected in a million fucking years.
She ran over the Bandit in front of her.
She fucking ran over the asshole!
If not for the other Bandit attacking her window and all the other ones at the repair shop, I would have let out a cheer and a round of applause. I still fucking grinned at the sight.
I quickly recalibrated my focus, aimed the gun at the Bandit who had tried to shoot her window, and fired.
I missed.
He didn’t shoot at me, though.
He shot at Elizabeth’s tires. And he fucking made contact.
“Motherfucker!”
Thankfully, Elizabeth’s car didn’t skid out. But once I saw that wouldn’t happen, I took aim again. This time, I did not miss. My bullet struck the Bandit in the chest, knocking him forward. Two more shots, one to the skull, ensured he would not fire his gun again.
I cut my bike off. Gunfire was going off inside the compound. But I had one more asshole to take care of first.
The Bandit Elizabeth had run over was getting to his knees, trying to regain himself. As fucking awesome as Elizabeth running over the dick was, she hadn’t been going fast enough to kill him. But that was OK—that was my job.
I drove my boot straight into his face, knocking him down to the ground. For good measure, I gave him a hard kick to the ribs. It was a shame I couldn’t torture him for long; I had the Reapers to help. I got on top of him, punched him, and grabbed him by the collar.
“Did you and fucking Davis set this up?”
The Bandit looked up at me with a menacing glare and a bloody lip.His lip’s not bleeding enough,I thought as I drove a right punch into his jaw again. I picked him back up.
“The longer you take to answer, the longer you’re gonna fucking bleed.”
“Eduardo spoke to him!”
“And Damian!”
“Damian’s not out here, man,” the Bandit said. “He’s getting reinforcements. You think this shit is bad? Just wait.”
I nodded, smirked, punched him one more time, and pulled out my gun.
“Wait, wait, I told—”
One good shot ended his bullshit. I kicked him in the nuts, half out of frustration, half to make sure he really was dead. The utter lack of reaction gave me the answer.
I looked forward. Elizabeth had pulled her car over to the side of the road at a distance that, while nothing was “safe enough,” was probably as safe as could be at the moment. I hurried over to the front of the shop and listened.
Gunfire was going on behind the shop. I supposed that made sense; it would have been awfully tight inside the repair shop. But first, I was going to make sure there was no escape.
I hurried into the office, found a knife, came back outside, and cut all of the Bandits bikes. I then crept around the corner, looking to take aim at the unsuspecting Bandits. I took stock of what had happened.
