Page 74
Mad Dog
Grind’s outburst has us all snapping our heads in his direction. Clearly the name rings a bell.
“You know him?” Marx probes the other man.
“I know of him. He’s a big name in BC,” Grind mutters.
“He gonna be a problem?”
Grind shakes his head. “Not for you.”
Marx stares him down before giving Grind a chin lift.
Diesel’s whines break through the conversation taking place. The bastard is really struggling. “Please lady, gimme the stuff.”
Chewy obliges, stepping forward shaking the canister in her hand. She leans forward, looking at a particularly gnarly burn. She holds the canister over the wound, then presses the nozzle. Fire blows out the end, literally burning Diesel’s wound closed.
“What the fuck is that thing?” Grind asks in awe.
“Oh, just a can of Axe body spray, but I rigged an igniter on it, see?” She turns to show him, the flame traveling with her, all of us taking a big damn step back.
“Baby, concentrate,” Rhodie murmurs over Diesel’s scream then silence.
“Shit, he’s blacked out again. Wake him up, Pops.”
Pops obliges and Lovely heads to turn the overhead fan on. “Thanks, Lovely,” Gus says, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Smells like a teenage boy turd covered in burnt hair,” Rider grumbles and shockingly, he’s not wrong.
Pops throws his concoction over Diesel, and shockingly, he doesn't immediately jerk awake. Instead he groans. “Huh. I expected more.”
“I think he’s almost fucked,” Jules says. He’s a man of few words, but when he does speak, he’s pretty succinct.
Marx stares down at the sorry excuse in the chair. “I’ve heard enough. We’ve been attacking Thompson’s operation piece by piece and still haven’t brought him down. With this ‘marketplace’ he has unlimited resources. We’ve hurt him, but we haven’t hurt him enough.”
“What do you suggest?” Rhodie asks, gently rocking his son.
“I suggest we stop screwing around and go straight to the top.” Marx and Rhodie share a feral grin and pride gives me an ache in my chest.
“We all in agreement?” Marx asks the room.
“Fuck, yes!” Lovely yells out and we all laugh at the sweetest, most proper Ol Lady we have dropping an F bomb.”
“Right, well, Willa, the rest is up to you,” Marx says.
“Oh oh! We need music!” Mira says, pulling her phone out of her pocket.
“There is only one song that would fit Willa taking her revenge,” Vi smirks.
“What’s that?”
The Ol Ladies look at each other, and Willa beams. “Silver Springs.”
The open bars play out as Chewy steps up next to Willa, handing her some weird looking massage gun dildo contraption.
“Open wide.”
***
