Page 99 of Property of Player

I follow him until we reach the wooded area. There’s no traffic for miles. Nodding to Drae, he surges forward with the rest of the crew to distract this asshole, and I ease up alongside him. Raising my gun, I blast out his tire. He swerves and manhandles the rig to the side of the road. The red minivan drives on. The five of us roll to a stop in front of him.

Randall jumps down from his cab with a goddamn baseball bat, his face red with anger. “You motherfucker. Did you shoot my tire?”

“No, man. It blew. Horrible luck. You okay?”

He looks confused. “Sorry. I thought you shot it.”

“Fuck no, man. Why would I do that? Cool lookin’ rig you’ve got. I love that race team. Big NASCAR fan.”

“Yeah, me too.” He moves to squat and look at his blown tire. “This fucking sucks.”

“Hey, come here,” I say, and when he stands I throw my arm around him. “Let my boys do the work for you.”

“For real?”

“Sure. What are friends for?” Once I get him around the truck to the grassy embankment, we jump him and drag him into the trees.

We work quickly and get him tied to the trunk of a big oak tree. Drae slaps a piece of duct tape over his mouth.

“Beck,” I say. “Move the truck.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Hurry.”

He takes off, and I turn my attention to the asshole who hurt my woman. I pull my Bowie knife and hold the wicked blade in front of his face.

His eyes widen, and he tries to talk, but it comes out garbled.

I grin. “You know why I’m here?”

He shakes his head.

“Taylor.”

His eyes flare with anger, and I swear I hear the muffled word bitch behind his tape.

I stab him but not too deep. I don’t want this to be over too quickly.

Now, he’s sweating and blubbering like a fucking pig, blood trickling down from his gut.

I wipe my blade on his shirt and put it back in the sheath at my hip. Then I pull out a cigarette and flick my lighter, watching the flame catch the tip. My eyes lift to Randall, and I grin. He’s turned white as a sheet now, his eyes wild.

He knows.

“It’s gonna be painful, Randall. You’re gonna beg me to kill you before I’m through with you.”

Drae glances toward the road, and I know what he’s thinking. I can’t afford to drag this out. We’ve got to get out of here before our bikes attract attention.

Still, this man has to pay.

It takes me fifteen minutes to finish him off. By the time I slit his throat, he’s got burns all over his body and is about to lose consciousness. No point in continuing if he can’t feel it anymore.

“Let’s go,” I say, and turn to find Pony heaving with one hand against a tree. Slapping his back, I haul him up. “Get on your fucking bike. He deserved it all, little brother.”

Pony nods, wipes his sleeve across his mouth, and stumbles ahead of me. Drae and I follow behind him without a word. I text Gage that the job is done, then Taylor. I know she’s worrying.

ME: On our way back.