And waited.
And waited.
And at just the right moment, when he was far too invested to ride away from his commitment, and I was so close I could see the rise of his cheekbones, I moved fast, my body shifting as I reached into the band of my jeans, tore out my gun and fired it straight at the front headlight before I fired off a second shot at the front fender.
The bike swerved wildly, the rider’s body going rigid andhis mouth falling open the second he realized he’d lost control.
It took less than two seconds for the sound of his bike hitting the metal gates of the yard to occupy the air. The Nav bailed before impact, throwing himself to the side and letting his modified Harley V-Rod take the full force of the crash. It buckled against the metal, the back end rising before it all came to shit and fell to the ground.
Squinting against the smoke from the tires, I let out a sigh of frustration and walked over to The Nav. He was a crumpled heap beneath my feet, curling up into himself and clutching at his ankle. His weathered face was creased with pain—his eyes scrunched together as he whispered something I thought was Spanish.
I crouched down and rested the hand holding the gun over my knee. “Name?”
“Fuck you,” he spat.
“Your mother must have hated you.”
The Nav looked up, his hatred for me palpable before he raised his chin in defiance and muttered something else I didn’t understand. Whatever he said, it was far from a compliment, the venom in his words producing spit on the harsh rise of his voice.
I rolled my eyes and sighed again, not looking at him before I twisted around and pressed a hard hand on his injured ankle. He gritted his teeth instantly, his hiss of pain making my body sing.
“You sound in pain, brother. Pity.”
“I’m not your fucking brother,hijo de puta,” he spat. His phlegm landed on my cut, and I looked down at with a raised brow.
I reached up to wipe away the flecks of moisture slowly before I looked up at him through hooded eyes and tensed my jaw. My teeth ground together and nostrils flared as I stared at him. The Nav swallowed hard. “Don’t ever do that again,” Iwarned him, my hand twisting around his ankle with a grip so fierce, it made my fingers throb.
He cried out, the agony making his body twist to the side and his back to arch.
When I released him, I stood, dropping only to fist the hoodie beneath his cut before I dragged him up to me like he was nothing more than a stray dog. I pushed him toward the gate his bike had created a massive dent in, and then I threw him against it before dropping back down to crouch in front of his crumpled body.
His face twisted, and sweat dripped down his cheeks. I leaned closer to smell his fear.
“You stink like shit, brother,” I told him quietly. “Like trash. I like to keep the streets of my town clean, which means you aren’t welcome here.”
“Tu club se está muriendo. Tus calles ya no importan.”
“If you have to insult me in another language, you’re no threat here.”
The Nav curled his lip in disgust. “Your club is dying,” he whispered.
“We’re all dying, brother. Some sooner than others.”
His eyes searched mine wildly, and a quiet hum of tension took over. I heard some of my men move around behind me, right before the bike was backed away from its collision spot by them, the creaking of metal and the sound of glass hitting the ground taking over.
The Nav’s eyes drifted to the left, and I reached up to squeeze his chin, forcing his attention back to me.
“Count yourself very lucky I didn’t aim four inches higher and a little to my right. Your heart was in my line of sight,hermano, and I let you live. But let me make one thing crystal clear. If you ever follow and intimidate my girl again, I won’t just shoot you in the chest. I’ll tear you down and stick my gun up your ass before I fire upwards to make sure your heartstops beating. Do you understand me?”
I squeezed his chin harder, forcing his mouth to pop open.
“Do you understand me?” I growled quietly.
It pained him physically and emotionally, but he nodded anyway, his acceptance of defeat a blow to his ego and probably his reputation with The Navs, too.
“Did Trigger send you?” I asked him.
“Fuck you,” he whispered.
