Page 67 of Christmas Wish
The stocky guy cleared his throat. “We should’ve asked your club for permission to wear it. We made a mistake. We’ll take care of it.”
“Duke is right,” the scrawny man said.
Tag glared at them, and from the way his brothers scowled at him, Ryder knew Tag was going to regret the day he ever affixed the Colorado bottom rocker to his cut.
“Shut the fuck up, Pencil,” the other tall man said.
“Let’s just take the damn thing off, Gear,” Pencil replied.
“Enough of this pussy bullshit!” Hawk grabbed Tag by the back of his neck. “We’re gonna teach you how to show some respect.
“Then if you wanna keep wearing the patch, there’ll be an outright war. It’s pretty fuckin’ simple,” Axe said.
“It’s not just us. We got a lot of members,” Tag said, a slight tremor lacing his voice.
“We know, and we’re gonna deal with them after we’re done teaching you a lesson,” Wheelie replied while the other Insurgents grunted their agreement.
“Let’s go,” Hawk said.
Wheelie, Axe, and Jax took hold of Gear and dragged him toward the door while Ryder, Smokey, and Animal escorted a squirming Tag out of the bar. Hawk, Rock, Helm and Throttle joined them in the alley with Pencil and Duke in tow.
“No one lays claim to Insurgents’ territory.” Hawk glanced over at Ryder and gestured him forward.
Ryder swung his good leg and it landed in Tag’s belly and the man fell to his knees. Then the Insurgents descended on the four men who failed to show them the appropriate respect.
Boots stomped.
Fists punched.
Chains whipped.
Bones cracked.
Cries echoed.
Blood flowed.
At the end of it, the four men lay on the cold pavement beaten to a pulp, their patches sliced off their cuts. The outlaws weren’t sure which ones belonged to the fallen Twisted Kings, but the two they took bore the Twisted Kings’ logo.
Rock bent down low. “Your fuckin’ club no longer exists.”
Ryder helped Axe, Wheelie, Throttle and Smokey put the bikes on Throttle’s flatbed pickup. Ryder handed the patches over to Wheelie, who lifted his chin as he crammed them in his pockets; the patches would be burned and the bikes stripped down for spares or resold.
“What about the other fuckers? Are we going over there now?” Ryder asked.
Wheelie shook his head. “We decided at church to teach whoever walked into the bar tonight a lesson. If the other fucks continue to wear the rocker and act like a club, we’ll wipe them out.”
Nodding, Ryder inhaled deeply. He seriously doubted the others would be a problem, but if they were, he and his brothers would take care of them. They had to because the punks broke the rules and failed to see the Insurgents as the dominant controlling club in Colorado. The Insurgents had to make an example of the Twisted Kings to show that the outlaw club wouldn’t tolerateanydisrespect in their territory. Wars started when clubs failed to follow territorial rules, as the Insurgents knew all too well, and those wars quickly escalated out of control and could go on for years, causing more agony and bloodshed than what was done that night.
Ryder swung his legs into the SUV and rested his head back. All he could think about on the drive back to the clubhouse was Savannah; he couldn’t wait to hold her in his arms.
He stretched out his legs and stared out the window. Shades of trees appeared like smudges in the landscape as darkness yawned behind them.
Soon he’d be home.
